Page 18 of Dear Pink

“Oh, I take him with me.”

I cock my head in confusion now. “To the hospital? Where do you put him?”

“In my desk drawer.” She smiles. “He likes it there.”

Yeah, I bet. With enough Xanax, anyone would like to hang out in a desk drawer. I begin to tell her that her actions constitute animal cruelty when my mother and Giovanna come in with the artichokes. As expected, no spaghetti and mussels for me tonight.

“I hope you like chicken marsala, Tonya?”

“Oh, didn’t Giovanna tell you? I only eat bright blue-colored foods.”

The entire family stares at her. No one says a word or asks a question.

“If it isn’t Smurf blue, it doesn't make me happy,” she continues with a straight face.

I almost fall out of my chair in relief. The one issue my mother finds intolerable is a poor nutritional diet. Mom is serious about health. This date will be short.

Giovanna just shrugs. What was she thinking? Clearly, my mother forced her to bring a date to dinner, and this is all she could arrange on brief notice. I want to laugh at the audacity of it all.

“Well dear, you can eat the—” Mom doesn’t finish her sentence, taking a large sip of her wine instead.

What in the world does this woman eat?

“Blue food is the happiest food,” Tonya explains.

“Um. Okay. Sure.” My mother’s fingers curl around the serving dish as she places it on the table. “I may have last season's blueberries in the freezer.”

“Gosh, I had blueberries yesterday.”

My mother rolls her eyes, her restraint breaking. She might lose it on Tonya any minute. I almost feel sorry for the poor woman. Almost. I mean, she’s probably an animal abuser.

I shift in my seat and Seymour glances in my direction, his eyes clearer. Is the Xanax wearing off? Anxiety creeps up my spine.

“Giovanna, honey—” Mom pauses for emphasis.

Ohhhhh,honeyis never good. She doesn't call ushoneyunless it’s in front of company, and she plans to beat us with a wooden spoon later. This evening is not going to end well for Giovanna. She knows it too. Mom’s voice sounds full of venom.

“Honey, you should have mentioned Tonya’s dietary restrictions. What will she eat?”

Without missing a beat, Tonya unzips the front pouch of her cat-shaped purse and extracts a plastic container of blue skittles and M&M’s. “I always come prepared for these sorts of situations,” she says.

Holding back a fit of hysterical laughter, I grab a serving spoon and scoop mushrooms and artichokes onto my plate. “Looks delicious, Ma.” I open my eyes extra wide at Giovanna, declaring my silent win. Tonya is an epic fail on her part.

The room is quiet except for the sound of chewing. Dad, who entered the dining room late and has remained silent through the entire exchange, doesn’t remove his eyes from his chicken. My mother eats with sharp fork pokes, my sister avoids eye-contact with everyone else while stuffing artichokes in her mouth, and Tonya munches on her Skittles, oblivious to the awkward family dynamics around her. I perch proud as a peacock and suck on an artichoke. This disaster date will buy me a couple of weeks of freedom from dating pressure. Mom will back off for a long time after this debacle.

Breathing a loud sigh, I settle into my chair. That’s when an unfamiliar sound hits my ears. It stops and starts again. A tearing sound comes from the corner of the room. I crane my neck to hear better and note Tonya’s empty backpack. I smile. Seymour Whiskers has awoken from his medicated state and is relishing his newfound freedom.

“Tonya, Mr. Whiskers broke out of his backpack prison,” I announce.

She turns from her candy and gulps. “What did you say?” The fear in her voice is real.

That’s when all hell breaks loose. His piercing meows declare a call to war. Seymour dangles from the strips of what were my mother’s new silk curtains. He leaps to the second curtain panel, sliding sideways as it tears into two parts. His silly hat falls off. He leaps to another section of the curtain. He’s a pirate, a hero for every cat stuck in a backpack. I laugh as he makes sharp circles around the room before bursting through the screen door into our backyard wilderness, taking most of the screen with him.

“Seymour, darling.” Tonya jumps to her feet, her fedora askew, and runs out the door, spilling her bag of sweets all over the hardwood floors. The sound of candy rolling makes me gulp a belly laugh. “Seymour,” she calls into the woods at the edge of our property.

I push away my chair. “And this is my cue to escape—I mean leave.”

“Me too,” Giovanna says, meeting my gaze.

---