Looking For Space // Josh Kiszka

XXV

There was nothing like a one-on-one outing with my mother to stir up all feelings of tumultuous, deeply woven threads of anxiety in my gut. Those feelings had worsened since I discovered her unnecessary disdain for Josh and I'd avoided talking with her for the most part, especially about him and I, but she had pressed and pressed to have lunch with me on Sunday. Which meant my Sunday, in all likelihood, would be ruined.

I tried to listen to Josh's voice in my head. He would be telling me it wouldn't be so bad, or it would be alright, and that I shouldn't let one thing ruin my whole day. I knew he was right--he was usually right--but it didn't ease my nerves very much.

I got to the restaurant first and I was glad about it--so much for punctuality on my mother's part. I sipped on the glass of water and tried no to look at my phone too much, perhaps because I knew that left me open to nitpicking if my mother showed up and I was looking at the screen, so I fiddled with the paper from the straw wrapper instead, tapping my foot under the booth.

The shuffling of fabric, clacking of shoes on the tile and the clearing of a throat signaled my mother had arrived. I looked up at her and presented to be what felt like an awkward smile, and she slid into the other side of the booth, pulling her coat away from her shoulders.

"How are you?" she asked, at least sparing me awkward silence.

"Fine. Good," I answered, pretty honestly, and placed the straw wrapper off to the side. "How are you?"

"Fine," she replied, seeming as though she was going to say more, but then stopped and sighed. "You haven't been returning my texts."

"Sorry," I said, already feeling like I had to grovel. "I'm not good at that. Kirsti can attest."

"I have mail for you," my mom announced, starting to rifle through her bag. "The credit union keeps sending your statements to us for some reason."

I took the stack of white envelopes from her, glancing over them. Nothing important. "Yeah, I changed my address, so I don't know."

The ordering of our meals gave us a 35 second break; receiving the meals was another 25 seconds, but then at least we had breaks of chewing and sipping. I wondered if she would pay for it--probably, but there was always a hint of doubt, like that act in and of itself would be some dig at me.

I didn't know why it was like that. I really didn't.

"What else has been going on?" my mom asked, taking a sip of the Diet Coke fizzing in the blue plastic cup--the question that meant, "I don't know what else to say but we're not finished eating."

"Not a lot," I told her, glancing at a couple in the booth across from us, trying to guess how far along in their relationship they were. Probably pretty far--they both looked comfortable, complacent even, and weren't talking too much, but I saw the guy laugh at something his girlfriend said, a really hearty laugh, and I questioned the complacency I had ascribed to them.

I cleared my throat, snapping back to our conversation--if you could call it that--adding, "I set my friend Bev up with one of Josh's brothers for Valentine's Day. They sort of hit it off."

My mom actually smiled a little at that. "Really? That's great. What did you guys do?"

Actual interest? "We went to this dessert bar--Caramel," I told her, picking at the last of my fries. "It was really good. Josh and I got this apple crumble, Bev and Sam got this fancy brownie."

"Was it expensive?"

I shook my head, chewing, swallowing. "Not really, actually. Well, the wine was sort of expensive, but--that's what you get for buying a glass."