Few Kinds of Wrong by Tina Chaulk

thank you.” She looks so proud that someone gave her a drink. I don’t want to tell her it’s 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.
    â€œI’m not sure what to order,” Mom says.
    I have to admit I’m not much help. The dishes all sound so unfamiliar: Goong Hom Pa, Pla Lad Prig, Peek Gai Yad Sai, Tom Yum Koong . I can’t even guess what they are. I have no reference to guide me. High school French won’t help here. I can’t 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.
    â€œExcuse me,” my mother says while waving at the waiter. “Could you help us with this menu?”
    â€œAllow me,” a gentle voice comes out of nowhere from behind Mom.
    â€œOh, Petch,” Mom says. “Thank you so much for the drinks. You didn’t have to.”
    Petch? How does Mom know anyone named Petch? Her most exotic adventure in life was going to a luau party at the Skinners’ house.
    â€œMy pleasure,” this man says, taking my mother’s hand and bending to kiss it.
    Mom smiles, not just with her mouth but with her whole face, lines I haven’t seen in a while forming at the corners of her eyes. I clear my throat and she looks to me, pulling her hand away.
    â€œPetch, this is my daughter, Jennifer. Darling, this is Petch. He’s in my book club.”
    â€œHi,” I say as he kisses my hand too.
    â€œCharmed,” 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 don’t like the way they look.
    â€œExcuse us, Petch, but we’re having our supper,” I say.
    â€œJennifer,” Mom says. “Petch is only saying hello. He owns this place and he can help us with the menu.” She turns to him and says, “Would you, Petch?”
    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. She’s 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. I’ll also need to lock her in the house, just to make sure she doesn’t attend this book club anymore.
    â€œWell, that sounds great, doesn’t it, Jennifer?” Mom says.
    â€œYeah, sure.”
    â€œWe’ll have that.”
    â€œI shall make it with my own two hands.” Petch kisses Mom’s hand again.
    â€œYes, you seem pretty active with your hands there,” I say. I grunt as Mom’s 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. I’m just about to break the silence when she beats me to it.
    â€œYou were very rude, Jennifer. Petch was just being nice.”
    â€œAnd you. You seemed pretty nice too. I could go home if you two want to get a room or something.”
    â€œHow dare you?” Mom says, slamming her hand down on the table. Glasses shake. Forks and knives clink. People at other tables turn to stare.
    â€œI think it’s pretty obvious what was going on. I don’t think acting all coy and innocent is going change how pathetic you looked.”
    â€œPathetic? Is that what I am?” 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 didn’t mean it, to make that hurt look go away.
    â€œYes.”
    She takes a deep breath in and I watch her struggle with the tears threatening