“ You sound funny.”
“Well, a young man stopped by the house. He and your father have gone to Duncan Donuts for coffee.”
“What are you talking about?”
"He pulled up in a Ferrari. Your father made sure I knew it was a couple years old but still pretty cool."
I clenched the phone until my knuckles where white.
“Are you kidding me?”
“He brought me a bouquet of yellow roses.”
“Mom, listen to me.” I breathed and rubbed my face with my free hand.
“He wants to stay for dinner. I told him sure if he didn’t mind meatloaf.”
“What?”
“Very handsome, fellow. Says he’s known you since high school and that you won’t talk to him anymore.”
“I’m going to fly to Chicago and kill him.”
“Now, I know you didn’t have a lot growing up, honey, but I never taught you to be mean to people just because they have money.” My mom said in a sing-songy way like she was speaking to a kindergartener. “Rich people are people, too.”
“You did not just say that!” I rolled my eyes and looked out my window. The city was bustling with people and cars stopped and started with the traffic lights. It was really beautiful to watch when you weren’t seeing red.
"I did and the reason I'm calling is that Luke asked me to and tell you to just talk to him. He has something to tell you."
“Luke? Did you just call him Luke? His name is Lucas Prine and he’s up to something. Now he’s got you people involved. Dad is with him you said?”
“Yup. They’re probably at The Duncan right now.”
For some reason, my parents insisted on putting the word "THE" in front of everything. The Dunkin, The Netflix, The Pinterest. You get the idea.
“Mom, could you have dad call me when he gets back?” I asked as politely and quietly as I could.
“Of course. Oh, and he said he sent you some flowers too. Were they nice?”
“Yes, mom. They were nice. Everyone was laughing at me because my office looked like a funeral parlor there were so many.”
“That’s just jealousy. Trust me on that.”
“Mom, trust me. Lucas Prine is a spoiled brat. I don't know what he wants from me but I don't want anything to do with him. Can you get that message across to me? Can you help?"
“What don’t you like about him, honey?” My mom’s voice sounded worried. I worried her. My panicky, paranoid, alarmist ways made her nervous and now she was going to worry. That was the worst thing to do to my mom especially when she was far away from me.
“I don’t know, mom.” I stopped. “He’s not that bad. It’s just that we are too different. Way too different.”
“Well, I’ll tell him what you said. But Tilly?”
“Yeah, mom?
"I get the feeling this guy isn't going to give up so easily. He reminds me of your father."
“What? Oh my God! I can’t hear any more of this. Dad wasn’t an asshole.”
My mother let out a whooping laugh and it was directed right at me.