Page 69 of The Woman in 3B
My sister’s eyes squinted in contemplation. Her voice dropped conspiratorially. “What’s your opinion on pineapple on pizza?”
Anissa pursed her lips, matching Dawn’s level of seriousness. “With Canadian bacon,” she slowly drawled, “there’s no perfect pairing.”
The smile on Dawn’s features grew. “Oh, I like this girl.”
I closely followed the taillights of Dawn’s SUV, not knowing the directions to the restaurant. I’d turned on the car radio for background noise, but that didn’t help ease the tension I’d felt since I’d snapped at my sister. We drove through several stoplights before Anissa spoke.
“You’ve never dated a person of color.” It wasn’t a question, but rather an observation.
My fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “That was terrible back there. I’m sorry if I made things awkward.”
“I know you mean well and you’re only looking out for me,” Anissa said lightly, “but I’ve been living in this skin for thirty-four years. I don’t need you jumping to my defense every time you think someone is being a bigot.”
“At least now I know how old you are,” I tried to joke.
Anissa didn’t take the bait. Her features remained serious. “You can’t freak out like that, Alice. It makes me feel likeyou’rethe one uncomfortable with the color of my skin.”
I let out a deep, uneven breath. “I’m sorry,” I apologized again. “My sister puts me on edge. Ever since we got to June’s piano recital, I’ve felt like a rubber band being pulled tighter and tighter. It’s like my brain was just waiting for an opportunity to snap on her. I’m sorry I overreacted and I made you uncomfortable. That’s literally the last thing I wanted to happen today.”
My earnest apology coaxed an encouraging smile onto Anissa’s face.She reached across the center console and rested her hand on my knee.
When we arrived at the mom-and-pop Italian restaurant, a hostess led us to a large, circular table in one corner of the restaurant. It was too late for Sunday brunch and too early for dinner, so the restaurant was fairly empty. When I saw the table, I instantly became concerned about seating arrangements. There were five of us for six place settings. Even though I knew she could hold her own, I didn’t want Anissa stranded by my sister, knowing Dawn wouldn’t be able to resist peppering her with questions. But I also didn’t want the empty seat beside her, which might make her feel like she was isolated on an island.
Peter and June claimed two chairs next to each other. My sister clucked her tongue. “Can you handle sitting next to each other? I’d better not have to separate you,” she warned.
My niece and nephew ducked their heads as they sat down. “We can. You won’t,” they collectively mumbled.
Anissa and I similarly grabbed two adjacent chairs.
“I’d better not have to separate you two, either,” Dawn said pointedly.
My eyes widened at the suggestion. My sister looked pleased by her clever and quick thinking.I was privately impressed by the uncharacteristically sassy remark, but I didn’t want to give her too much credit. Her ego was big enough.
Once seating assignments had been settled, Dawn produced a plastic bag full of crayons from her mom-sized purse and dropped it onto the table. June and Peter reflexively reached for a handful each and began to solemnly draw on the back of their paper placemats.
My eyes darted between my niece and nephew and then back to my sister. “Don’t kids always have their faces pressed against some electronic screen?”
“Never at the table,” Dawn clipped. “They get an hour of screen time a day.”
“Wow. You really are Super Mom, aren’t you?” I couldn’t help remark.
Dawn’s mouth flattened. I felt fingernails bite into the top of my thigh, a silent under-the-table-warning from Anissa to behave.
The restaurant wasn’t busy so we didn’t have to wait long for our food to be delivered. Our waitress returned with two extra-large pizzas and a bowl of salad. Dawn took charge and began filling plates with slices of cheesy pizza and Italian salad. Cherry tomatoes rolled around on the plates.
“Is this okay?” I asked quietly while Dawn continued to serve the table. “Pizza two nights in a row?”
Anissa leaned her head closer to mine. “I hope you’re not preoccupied by the calories,” she replied. She spoke more quietly in a low voice meant only for my ears. “But if you are, I can give you a workout later.”
Her suggestive words had my cheeks burning. “I’m not worried about that,” I corrected. “I just don’t want you to be bored with the food.”
Or me and my vanilla family, I silently added.
“Alice, I eat most of my meals at airport food courts. This is practically gourmet.” She popped a crouton from her plated salad into her mouth for affect.
“So Anissa, are you a flight attendant, too?” my sister asked.
Oh, Lord,I thought.Here it comes.
