thank you.â She looks so proud that someone gave her a drink. I donât want to tell her itâs just a promotional thing new restaurants do for new customers to keep them coming back. No different than the complete car wash we give a first-time customer at the garage.
âIâm not sure what to order,â Mom says.
I have to admit Iâm not much help. The dishes all sound so unfamiliar: Goong Hom Pa, Pla Lad Prig, Peek Gai Yad Sai, Tom Yum Koong . I canât even guess what they are. I have no reference to guide me. High school French wonât help here. I canât even place the rich smells permeating the restaurant. Strong spices, peppers, a hint of lemon maybe, fish, and some other mysterious scents make my mouth water.
âExcuse me,â my mother says while waving at the waiter. âCould you help us with this menu?â
âAllow me,â a gentle voice comes out of nowhere from behind Mom.
âOh, Petch,â Mom says. âThank you so much for the drinks. You didnât have to.â
Petch? How does Mom know anyone named Petch? Her most exotic adventure in life was going to a luau party at the Skinnersâ house.
âMy pleasure,â this man says, taking my motherâs hand and bending to kiss it.
Mom smiles, not just with her mouth but with her whole face, lines I havenât seen in a while forming at the corners of her eyes. I clear my throat and she looks to me, pulling her hand away.
âPetch, this is my daughter, Jennifer. Darling, this is Petch. Heâs in my book club.â
âHi,â I say as he kisses my hand too.
âCharmed,â he says.
He is short and dark-skinned. His cheekbones are high and gorgeous. Dark eyes twinkle with a smile, but his eyes are no longer on mine. They are focussed on my mother and I donât like the way they look.
âExcuse us, Petch, but weâre having our supper,â I say.
âJennifer,â Mom says. âPetch is only saying hello. He owns this place and he can help us with the menu.â She turns to him and says, âWould you, Petch?â
He sits down, takes the menu, leans into Mom and starts to explain all the food. Watching her talking with him, laughing at his lame jokes, touching his arm as he speaks, I feel a distinct hatred for Petch rise up in me, and an increasing dislike for Mom. Sheâs flirting. Say what you want about her but she is flirting. I want to reach out, grab her and run out the door before this can go where I think it might be going. Iâll also need to lock her in the house, just to make sure she doesnât attend this book club anymore.
âWell, that sounds great, doesnât it, Jennifer?â Mom says.
âYeah, sure.â
âWeâll have that.â
âI shall make it with my own two hands.â Petch kisses Momâs hand again.
âYes, you seem pretty active with your hands there,â I say. I grunt as Momâs foot makes contact with my calf.
Petch says goodbye and Mom sits quietly for a minute, lining up her fork with the top of her napkin. Iâm just about to break the silence when she beats me to it.
âYou were very rude, Jennifer. Petch was just being nice.â
âAnd you. You seemed pretty nice too. I could go home if you two want to get a room or something.â
âHow dare you?â Mom says, slamming her hand down on the table. Glasses shake. Forks and knives clink. People at other tables turn to stare.
âI think itâs pretty obvious what was going on. I donât think acting all coy and innocent is going change how pathetic you looked.â
âPathetic? Is that what I am?â Her eyes look sad and I remember seeing that look so many times over the years.
No, not pathetic, I want to say. I want to tell her I didnât mean it, to make that hurt look go away.
âYes.â
She takes a deep breath in and I watch her struggle with the tears threatening