Page 8 of Sour Brew Face

When I pull up to Mo’s small house, I’m surprised to see how well manicured the lawn is, the flowers in window boxes, and hanging plants that decorate her front porch.

Her bright red door opens seconds after I knock and my breath whooshes out of my lungs as I take her in. She’s more beautiful than I remember. Her long light brown hair is slightly curled, hanging low down her back, with little pieces pinned back to reveal her flawless face. She has barely any makeup on, though her butterscotch eyes are more pronounced than the last time I saw her and there’s a subtle rosy tint to her cheeks. She’s wearing a dress that fits loosely to just above her knee, and upon closer inspection, I realize the design is actually tiny mice with sewing products.

“Are those the mice fromCinderella?” She nods, her pink painted lips tip into a wide smile. “You look amazing.”

Her eyes drop to her feet before she raises them back up, almost shyly. “Thank you. I figured since you called me out last time about wearing pants and a tank top, I’d mix it up a bit.”

“I don’t care what you wear, in fact, if you feel more comfortable naked, I will support you 100%.” She chuckles and her shoulders relax. She’s nervous. So am I. “Are you ready to go?” I offer my hand and when she places her soft hand in mine, it’s everything I can do not to haul her into my arms and kiss her.

“Yeah, where are we going?” She pulls her front door shut and checks the handle to make sure its locked, then I lead her to my car.

“First, where’s your purse?” I look her over again while I open the passenger door, but I can’t find a strap for a purse anywhere.

Reaching into a pocket on the dress, she pulls out her cell phone. She flips it around and opens it up, revealing a tiny wallet on the back. “Phone wallet and my doors are keyless entry.”

“Ok, I’m getting the feeling you’re a lot more tech savvy than I am.” I close the door once she’s seated, rushing to the driver’s side. I take another deep breath to calm my racing heart and push away the image of her toned legs as her dress rode up when she sat.

Her husky voice fills the car when I get in and buckle up. “As a woman who lives alone…I take my safety seriously.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Speaking of safety, I need to make a pit stop on our way to dinner.”

“Okay.” She answers with a shrug, not seeming to be bothered in the least. I brace my hands on the wheel, keeping my eyes on the road.

“I have to stop at my mom’s really quick, she heard a noise and was rather dramatic that I check it out for her in case it’s a serial killer.”

With a chuckle she pats my thigh, “I understand. It’s nice that you look out for her.” She sits up in her seat, pulling the hem of her dress down, much to my dismay. “Where are we eating? I’ll warn you, I enjoy food, so it better not be one of those snooty places with a dollop of food on the plate and ‘palette cleansers’ between courses.”

“I assure you; I know of no such places. It’s the steakhouse downtown.”

“Ooh, they have the best porterhouse for two.” She says it so casually, but my knuckles turn white as I strangle the steering wheel with thoughts of her going there with other men.

“Been on other dates there before?” I’m proud of how even my tone is.

She waves me off, “Nah, the guys and I have been there before.” I release my hold on the steering wheel and wince as the blood rushes back into my fingers.

“Well, I don’t mind sharing the porterhouse if it’s your favorite.” I offer, but her silence has me glancing at her. She’s biting her bottom lip. “What’s wrong? If you don’t feel comfortable sharing that with me, we can order something else.” Why wouldn’t she want to share a steak with me? I learned how to share in preschool, and I distinctly remember that being mentioned as a valuable skill I had mastered on my report cards.

“I don’t share beef.” I nearly choke on my own saliva at her words.

“Uh…what?” I croak out as I pull into my mom’s driveway.

“Sorry, I usually order it by myself. I’m not good at sharing my food.” I let my eyes travel up and down the length of her body, paying particular attention to her trim waist and lack of double chin.

“You eat a 40-ounce steak and four sides by yourself?”

“It’s not 40 ounces of meat, there’s a bone.” I tip my head back on the headrest and laugh.

“This I gotta see. Give me a few minutes to make sure my mom hasn’t succumbed to the homicidal whims of a vagrant.” I get out of the car and shut my door. Before I round the hood, Mo has stepped out as well. “You don’t have to come in.”

“You might need back up.” She can back me up anytime; against a door, a wall, the side of a car…

Using my key, I unlock my mom’s front door and step inside, holding it open for Mo.

“Mom!” I yell, hearing her puttering around the kitchen.

“I could have died a hundred times by now. What took you so—” Mom comes out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She stops short when she sees Mo with me.

“Mom, this is the woman I was telling you about. Mary Opal, meet my mother, Eugenia Mayes.” Mo offers a bright, kind smile and extends her hand for a shake. My mom snaps out of her trance and shakes hands with Mo briefly.

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