A mother daughter moment.
|"Oh My Gosh!" She tapped her index finger several quick times against the glass window of the driver's side Toyota Corolla. "That's the guy." Like I'm supposed to know. Before I can respond, she answers, in the quick speed, never take a breath until you've spit out five sentences, delivery. You know, teenagers and young adults all have it. Listening makes me gasp for the air I know she must need.
"Three shots skinny, no foam latte. You know!" She gives me a quick glance. "I told you about him yesterday." She scrunches up her brow, "The creepy guy?"
It's been a long day. I search my memory. I sorta recall some story, told in that breathless tone, about some guy who gave her the creeps. Was I only half listening to her then? I laughed; a repressed laugh, which came out like a snort.
Should I tell her? It's funny to me; how young people talk. How she knows this man by the drinks he orders at her job?
I smile. "I love you." I know, it's so off topic, but she flashes me a sweet smile.
"I know." She senses my weakness. My motherly warmness, and she dives in. "So, do you love me enough to pay my Visa bill?"
"Um." I hesitate, trying to grope for a sarcastic response.
"Mom." Again, there's that smile, the one with the dimples. "I'll pay you back." And after a small pause. "I'm just not sure when."
She's bought me lunch several times lately and I can't resist. It must be tough going to school AND working. When I was a sophomore in college, all I had to worry about were lectures, note taking, exams, and where the next party was. Working thirty - forty hours a week wasn't on my weekly agenda. I admire her efforts. "Okay," I cave.
She smiles. Now it's her turn. "I love you."