We walked to a nearby diner and were seated at a small table near the window. After looking at the menu, I ordered a grilled chicken sandwich and she ordered a Reuben. After my iced tea and her Diet Coke arrived, she put her elbows on the table and propped her chin in her hands.
“So tell me what’s new. How is Scotty? At the birthday dinner, he seemed very preoccupied with his electronics.”
“His iPad. He earns breaks with it when he does what he’s supposed to.”
“Don’t you think he should do what he’s supposed to just because? Won’t he always expect a reward for behaving properly if you keep doing this?”
I stiffened. “If this lunch is about criticizing my parenting, it’s over.”
She held up her hands. “It’s not, it’s not. I’m sorry. You know best.”
“I do.”
“I only worry that as he gets older, it will get tougher on him. The school and his peers aren’t going to treat him like a baby.”
“I don’t treat him like a baby, Mom. I treat him like he needs to be treated to get through his day and feel good about himself.”
“OK, darling, don’t get upset. Without seeing you two every day like I used to, I don’t know the situation. Tell me about the IEP.”
I filled her in on things at school, and she appeared genuinely concerned. “He wet himself? On purpose?”
“Yes. Hoping that it would delay going to school, so he could miss the math test.”
“Oh, the poor thing. I hope he doesn’t do that at school. The kids would be so cruel.”
“I worry about that too,” I admitted. “But I can’t control how other people react to him. I’m trying to help by getting him a few more accommodations at school, but it’s an uphill battle. And I hate those meetings.”
“Why?”
“Because the focus is always on what he’s not doing, or what he’s doing wrong. He has a lot of gifts, and he’s so smart. Why can’t they figure out a way to help him learn based on what he does well? Why force a kid to take a test the same way as every other kid when, neurologically, he is not like those kids?”
“What would help?”
“More time. A separate room without any noise or distractions for testing. Allowing him to give verbal answers.”
“I thought you wanted him in a regular classroom.”
“I do. I’m talking about having a safe space at school where he can go if he needs it. Maybe an aide for at least part of the day.”
“I see.” She lifted her shoulders. “That sounds reasonable.”
“You’d think.”
Our sandwiches arrived, and she waited until the server had refilled our drinks and left before saying anything else.
“OK, I can’t take it anymore. Tell me about her.”
For a second, I blanked. But one look at her eager expression, and I realized. Fucking Monica. I picked up one half of my sandwich. “Her name is Jillian Nixon. She’s a pediatrician.”
“Is she related to Dale and Bunny Nixon?”
“No clue. But I don’t think so. She grew up on a cherry farm on Old Mission.”
“Hm. Maybe a different family, then. I think Dale was originally from downstate.” She looked a little disappointed, then flapped a hand before picking up her sandwich. “Oh well. So tell me more. Monica mentioned you met her at a wedding?”
“Yes.” I gave her a sanitized version of our meeting eleven years ago and told her we’d run into each other—sort of literally—at Sebastian’s wedding.
“The lawyer?”
“Yes. His wife is Jillian’s sister.”
“How nice.” She smiled and touched her lips with her napkin. “So you’ve been seeing her about a month?”
“About that.”
“And it’s going well?”
“It is.”
I said nothing further, and she sighed dramatically. “For heaven’s sake, Levi. You’re killing me.”
“How so?”
“Because this is the first woman you’ve talked about in years, and I’m thrilled for you, and you won’t give me more than the vital stats and two-word answers.”
I swallowed a bite. “It’s new.”
“Another two words. Can I at least have four please?”
Taking another bite, I chewed and thought. “I like her a lot. There, that’s five.”
Another sigh. She put her Reuben down, a hurt expression on her face. “You’re punishing me. I get it.”
“Do you?” Haha, another two words. I kind of liked this game.
“Yes. You moved out because I was all up in your business, as Monica tells me, and now you’ve shut me out completely. Am I really that bad?”
I popped the final piece of my sandwich in my mouth and thought about how to answer that. “Sometimes.”
“Is that really why you moved out?”
“Monica said that?”
“Only because I was griping about never seeing you. She said you’ve been busy and told me you’d been seeing someone. I was shocked that I had no idea. And hurt. I want to be in your life, Levi. And Scotty’s life.”
“I know, Mom. And I want you to be in it. But you have to stop telling me I’m doing everything wrong.”
She put a hand on her chest. “I never said you’re doing everything wrong!”