Page 22 of Just Joshing
She grinned, lifting her own fork. I watched it come down on her half, scooping up the little piece of heaven.
"Don't look so distressed," she chuckled. "We can order another one."
I made a mental note of the address. These guys were about to get a resident writer.
"Anyway, back to your students."
She swallowed, letting out a small sigh. "It's hard to explain."
"Try."
I watched her search for the words.
"They're a mix. Some are employed, some unemployed. Some are caring for kids or siblings or parents. Some work under the table. Mike is a sometimes drug dealer, Amelia strips at her uncle's club. They're just kids doing what they can to try and get out of the shitty situation life dealt them."
I tapped the side of my mug, considering her. "You know my Ma wasn't so different to those kids."
She grinned. "Who do you think signed me up for the classes?"
My mother's family were from the Dominican Republic. Poor, out of work, with little options; my grandfather had packed up his family, borrowed and sold everything he had and made the trek to the good old US of A. They'd lived in a one-bedroom basement apartment in the Bronx for their first two years.
While money ran deep on my father's side, my mother's family had worked hard to build their wealth. It was only after my mother had started modelling – sending her earnings back to her parents – that they'd really taken off. My grandparents, always savvy business people, had funneled her earnings into manufacturing organic goods. When the demand had started growing in the early 70's, they'd been ready to deliver. My uncles ran the company, my grandparents now "retired". Ma had met my father at some fancy shindig, married him and then came Pete and I.
From birth, she'd instilled the value of hard work into us. Ma may be rich now, but she'd never forgotten her roots.
"What are your plans this weekend?" Molly asked, licking the tines of her fork.
It took more effort than it should to pull my gaze away from her pretty little tongue and answer that question. "Pete said we'd do something. I've got a skype catch-up with Sam, and a script to start. Ma wants me to attend confession. I assume it's because she's worried for my eternal soul and not because she wants me to donate to their new school."
Molly giggled. "You're not getting out of that."
"Never. I respect the back of my head too much." I couldn't count the number of times her palm met my head growing up.
Molly snorted. "You deserved them."
I grinned. "Every single one. Especially the one after finding Felicity in my room during junior year."
Molly's nose wrinkled. "Was that when you were getting the blow job or going down on her?"
"A true gentleman never kisses and tells." I pretended to zip my lip.
"You know, for the number of times you got caught, I would assume you'd have learnt to lock your door." She quirked an eyebrow. "Unless you enjoy exhibitionism?"
"Wow. You've caught me."
We both laughed. The waitress reappeared.
"Anything else?" She asked, lifting our empty brownie plate.
I glanced at my watch, looking back over at Molly. "Another brownie?"
She nodded.
A warm, gooey brownie arrived on the table as we discussed my work.
"Sam's got it under control in Alaska. But I need to do something different with our next project. As much as I love the heavy drama, I'm feeling…" I didn't know how to describe it.
Molly propped her chin in her hand, tilting her head as she watched me. "Not to go all Marie Kondo on you, but what's sparking joy?"
