Go Big Or Go Home

Sprawled out on a chaise, the sun’s heat lifting off the ground, I stretched my arm up over my head. A puddle of sweat collected on my neck and beads of moisture dotted my brow. The humid air, thick and heavy, made my lungs ache. I lifted my head just a little and with my left thumb, arced my bikini bottom away from my flesh. I wanted to see if I’d tanned any in the ten minutes I’d been sunning. Content with my progress, I dabbed my brow with my towel and then reclined back down. That’s when my phone started to vibrate.

“Yeah?” I answered with an exhausted pant.

“What’re you doing? Working out?” my mom asked.

“Well, at the moment I’m sweating my ass off at the pool.”

“Go in the water.”

“It’s a sea of old people and noodles. I’d rather sweat.”

“Want to go to the Tangled Web? I’ll buy you some yarn,” she bribed.

“I’ll be over in an hour.”

After collecting my things, I moseyed back to my condo, showered, dressed and headed to my parent’s house. From there, my mom and I relocated to Chestnut Hill. Before diving head first into mountains of silken skeins and woolen hanks, we had some lunch.

I opted for buffalo chicken tenders, hold the flour, and my mom had chicken quesadillas. Sheltered by a large umbrella, we nibbled our food as we watched passersby on the other side of the patio. We talked yarn, sipped iced teas and exchanged pattern ideas. When our bellies were full, my mom motioned for the bill. And as soon as the waitress provided the tab, I snatched it out of view.

“Give that to me!” my mom yelped.

“Suck it,” I answered as I held the receipt away from her and fumbled through my bag.

“PJ, I’m not kidding.”

“Neither am I.”

“Give it!” she said as she wrapped her fingers around my forearm and squeezed with all of her might.

“Jesus, that hurt!” I muttered between clenched teeth as I yanked my arm free. “Why are you being such a freak?”

“It makes me uncomfortable. You have grad school expenses.”

“And?”

“And I just, well, I don’t like being indulged.”

“It’s $17 dollars. How is that an indulgence?” I asked as I rubbed my throbbing arm. “It isn’t like I was trying to pick up the tab for Barclay Prime. Yeah, no, dad’ll be grabbing that check on Wednesday night. Which is good, because I’d really prefer not to arm wrestle you at your birthday dinner.”

“Fine, you can pay,” my mom said with a sullen pout.

“No, forget it. You took all the fun out of treating. Here,” I said as I dropped the bill on the table and tucked my wallet back in my purse.

That was Saturday. In an hour, I’m driving over to Neiman Marcus to purchase a ring for my mom. It’s a collection of golden yellow cables with one pave diamond band adorning the cluster. It’s from me, Leslie, Olivia, Anders and my dad; something special to help my mom celebrate turning sixty-five. And after we finish our $40 steaks and homemade creamed spinach, the table dotted with half-filled champagne flutes and plates displaying overlooked crumbs of dessert, my dad and I will present my mom with the gift.

I’m thinking I should change out of my three inch pumps and wear sneakers to dinner. Listen, if she’s uncomfortable about me buying her an order of chicken quesadillas, there’s a good chance she’ll blow a gasket over this ring. I figure the sneakers will make it easier for me to sprint for the door, clearing the room well before she has a chance to pounce. Of course, that’ll leave my poor handicapped father to get pummeled. Whatever, every man for himself!