Page 109 of Error Handling
“I had to board her for the week. It’s a private place that lets the dogs run around all day. Plus, I got to leave her a squeaky toy and yak cheese.”
Mom straightens and pushes away her plate. “Yak cheese?”
“Yeah. It’s a new thing. Dolly loves it. Do you want to take that to go?” I ask, referring to the remaining three-quarters of my mother’s burrito.
“No, I’m fine.” She waves a bony hand at the plate and turns up her nose like the leftover food is some sort of human or animal waste.
Mom pays for the meal and leaves a generous tip, and then we head to my apartment. When I pull up to the curb, a navy SUV is already parked there. I don’t recognize it. Two people step out. I recognize one of them immediately. The other, I’ve never met.
Mom gasps. “What is your father doinghere?”
“Calm down, Mother.”
Mom finally takes off the raincoat, but she can’t escape the turtleneck. Sweat is pouring down her cheeks, and her entire face is an unhealthy shade of red. I’m afraid this chance encounter with her ex might put her over the edge. I get my phone ready to call 911.
“You don’t look so good, Mom. You pass out when you’re hot, remember?”
“I’ll be fine.” She clutches her purse. “I just didn’t expect to see your father in Charleston, South Carolina.”
“I told you he was coming!” I can’t control my volume.
“I know, but we weren’t going to cross paths.” Mom makes a crossing motion with her hands.
“Well for some darn reason, he’s at my apartment.” But I don’t saydarn.
“Sarah! You studied English literature. Surely you have a wider vocabulary than that.”
“Not for situations like this. Get out before your skin splits like a ripe tomato.”
“What’s gotten into you, Sarah? I’ve never heard you talk like this.”
“Seriously, Mom, we’re both going to have heatstroke. Especially you with that turtleneck and those joggers. Which are very on-trend, by the way. Nice touch. But I’m sure I can find you something cooler to wear.”
“I’m not getting out until he’s gone. Why is he here?”
“To see me, probably.”
I kick my door open, walk over to the passenger side door and open it too. “Mother. Now,” I say through clenched teeth.
Mom purses her lips and shakes her head. I throw up my hands and walk over to my dad.
“What are you doing here?” I say.
Dad looks more prepared for the weather, with a Hawaiian shirt, a pair of white shorts, white socks pulled to mid-calf, and a pair of brown loafers. The tucked shirt emphasizes his protruding stomach.
“We’ve been here for an hour,” Dad says.
“What? Why?”
“We figured you were out grocery shopping.”
“Hefigured you were out grocery shopping,” my dad’s companion says. What’s her name?Baby Jesus. Baby Jesus. Baby Jesus.Mary!
Hopefully, this is Mary and not another trade-in. I decide it’s not safe to address her by name. I offer my hand to the woman. “I’m Sarah.”
The woman takes my hand and smiles warmly. “I’m Mary.”
Thank goodness. Maybe Mary is his last hookup.