Page 55 of Just Friends

“Work is busy,” I say, ignoring the knowing looks my siblings are shooting each other. “I’m actually leading in sales this quarter.”

Mom looks delighted, and I wish I could pull the comment back. Kristin Bates is a piece of work, and it’s much more fun to disappoint her and test the limits of her Botox than it is to please her.

“That’swonderful, honey,” she says, clapping her hands together. “Elizabeth just got a raise at work.”

I wait for a snarky comment about Ellie’s job situation, but it doesn’t come, and the tension in my shoulders eases. Ellie worked for our family’s property management company for years, with Mom and Dad as her bosses, which put a ridiculous amount of strain on their relationship. But since she quit two and a half years ago, things between them have slowly been repairing.

“My work is lovely. Thank you for asking,” Adam pipes up from directly across the table.

He’s eating the scallops, which is a bold choice since I’m pretty sure they come from a freezer bag at the grocery store on the corner, and says this from around a bite, which is even more bold considering Mom still sometimes smacks our elbows if we leave them on the table.

Mom ignores Adam, presumably since his mouth is full, and focuses her attention on Cam and Ellie at the other end of the table. “Elizabeth, when are you and Camden planning on having children?”

I choke on my drink, barely managing to keep it from spraying on Adam, whose mouth is now dangling open, half-chewed scallops inside.

“Mom, you can’t ask people that,” I say incredulously.

She looks genuinely confused, and I think there would be a wrinkle between her brows if her skin wasn’t stretched within an inch of its life. “I’m her mother. I can ask whatever I want.”

“No, you can’t,” Adam chimes in, scallops now swallowed.

“Whyever not?” Great, Mom is starting to sound like a Puritan again. This always precedes one of her tantrums.

“Because that’s private,” I interject.

“Again,” Mom says, splaying her perfectly manicured hands out flat. “I am her mother. There’s nothing private between family.”

This time, Cam chokes. Adam and I hold back matching smiles, our cheeks flushing pink and our lips turning white from pressing them together so tightly.

Dad eyes all of us, always more perceptive than Mom. He’s also not so oblivious to believe we haven’t kept things from our overbearing mother.

“Let’s change the subject,” Dad says diplomatically and takes a long sip from his drink.

Mom purses her lips, barely containing an eye roll, and leans back in her chair, almost allowing her spine to touch the backrest. Her hands fold together, resting on the table. “Fine. Adam, when are you having children?”

Adam’s mouth falls open again, and Kelsey goes red next to him.

“Mom,” I say again.

“What?” She looks around the table. “I can’t ask him either?”

“No,” I tell her, squeezing the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger. “You cannot ask anyone about kids. Ever.”

The table goes quiet once more, only the faint sounds of Italian music and chatter from nearby tables breaking the silence. Then Mom asks, “Alexander, when do you plan to get married?”

Dad pushes up from his chair, setting his cloth napkin on the table. His hand falls onto Mom’s shoulder, giving her neck a firm squeeze. “This has been fun, kids. We’ll see you next month, if not before.”

Mom stares up at him from her seat, unmoving, her pale blond bob falling back from her face. “What are you doing? We’re not leaving now. We’re in the middle of a conversation. Alex was just about to tell us when he plans to finally settle down and marry.”

“I’ve actually been looking up what qualifications I need in order to become a monk,” I say, and Mom swivels back to face me, her eyes wide as saucers. “Celibacy is a gift not all people have the chance to embrace.”

“You are not going to stay celibate,” Mom snaps.

“Does anyone know where I can purchase a chastity belt?” I ask the table, and Mom’s cheeks go red with fury.

“Alexander Malcolm Bates. You are not going to remain celibate.” Mom’s voice is rising, attracting the stares of people at nearby tables. But I’m too delighted by her anger to feel embarrassed.

“Well,” Dad says, slapping his hands together, “that seems like a good stopping point. Good night, kids.”

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