“So what did you and Mr. Kapostoulos talk about, Mom?”
He’d accompanied us to the Vietnam War Memorial and to the World War II Memorial, which Nana had particularly wanted to see. He spent most of his time chatting with my mom, leaving me and Nana to wonder about their conversation. At the World War II Memorial, after we’d walked around the expansive structure, he thanked us for sharing part of our day with him and he spoke briefly to my mom, alone.
“He prefers to be called Kap,” Mom said.
“Right.” I wondered if my smile looked as disingenuous as it felt. “So what did you talk about? Did he want to know all about your life history?”
“Not yet, not all of it,” she said with a sly smile. “But he did tell me that he encouraged Ruth to call and apologize to you for her outburst at Arlington yesterday.”
“He didn’t.”
“It seemed important to him.” She glanced at her watch, then at her purse on the counter.
“That’s all I need,” I muttered. A thought occurred to me. “Did he ask for your phone number?”
“Ollie. I don’t even have a phone number here. He knows I live in Chicago.”
“You have a cell phone.”
She turned away and went back to humming. Nana warned me with her look to stop asking questions. But I couldn’t let it go. “Did you give it to him?”
Finally, Mom turned. Her hair was pulled back, and her face was flushed, but she was smiling. She looked so pretty, so vivacious and so full of life. Kap had put that sparkle in her eyes just by paying her some attention. I sighed, knowing I should let it go. But I couldn’t.
“Yes, I did,” Mom said in a tone that dared me to object. She placed three bowls of tortilla soup on the table. They steamed with freshness and a hint of spice. I started in on mine and was immediately rewarded with a taste of home. “Do you have a problem with that?”
Nana kicked me under the table. I took another sip of soup and pretended not to hear.
Mom waited. Nana kicked me again.
“Nope,” I lied. “Not at all.”
“Good, because he and I are going out Friday.”
I opened my mouth in protest, but a third swift kick to my shin shut me up. Bending my head, I concentrated again on my soup.
“That’s wonderful, Corinne,” Nana said. “Where is he taking you?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Mom,” I said, putting my spoon down, “we don’t even know this man. How do you know it’s safe to go out with him? He could be a masher.”
“A masher!” She laughed. “I used to use that line on you when you were a teenager.”
“Mom, I’m serious. You know nothing about him.”
“He was good friends with Carl Minkus,” she said. “A very famous NSA agent.”
“Yeah, and that famous agent is dead.”
She shook her head, but kept smiling. “You sound like an overprotective parent.”
“But you just met him.”
“In fact,” she added mischievously, “I think you’d make a great parent.” She fixed me with a glare. “Exactly when do you plan to give me grandchildren? I’m not getting any younger, you know.”
She always knew what buttons to push to circumvent an argument. I’d only finished about half my soup, but I stood up. “I’m sorry, this is great, but I’ll have it later. I promised to stop by Bucky’s house, and then I have dinner plans with Suzie and Steve.” I carried my bowl to the side to cover with plastic wrap before placing it in the fridge. “And I need to call Tom.”
Excusing myself, I blew out a breath. My mother knew we were on dangerous ground here. Marriage and babies were not something I cared to discuss. Not now at least. Maybe not ever. I didn’t see myself toting around tots anytime soon. My chosen career was in a male-dominated field and while all the rhetoric claimed that women could have families and maintain careers, too, I knew that in this extremely competitive arena I needed to hold tight to every edge I could wrap my enthusiastic fingers around. I’d been top chef here for a relatively short time. And as soon as the next administration took over, I could be out of a job. Kids were not on my horizon. The topic wasn’t open for discussion, and Mom knew it.
Her bringing it up when I pressed her about this Kap fellow was her attempt to strongarm me into silence. For now, it worked. But I’d figure out a way to talk with her about him. There was something about the guy I just didn’t trust.
I thought about my upcoming visit with Bucky. He and I would have to discuss the situation. If the Easter Egg Roll were to be permanently canceled, the press would have a field day. There would be no way to recover from such a public-relations nightmare. I thought about calling our contact at the American Egg Board, Brandy. Effervescent and eager to help, she was just the sort of person who could get things rolling.
I started to look up her number, but stopped myself. Tom would probably consider that “meddling” in the situation. Anger rumbled up from deep in my throat. I was thwarted, no matter which way I turned.
I dialed Tom’s cell but hit “end” when I heard my house phone ring. Geez! I hadn’t gotten this many phone calls at home in the past year. I picked up the kitchen phone because it was closest. “Hello?”
A woman asked, “Is this… Olivia?” Familiar, but I couldn’t quite place the voice.
“Yes.”
“I… that is… this is Ruth Minkus.”
Fortunately I was right next to a chair. I sat. “Hello,” I said, and because I couldn’t come up with anything better, “How are you?”
She sucked in a breath, but didn’t answer. “My husband’s ‘friend,’ Mr. Kapostoulos”-her emphasis on the word “friend” dripped with sarcasm-“suggested I call you.”
My face must have conveyed my pure shock because both Mom and Nana stopped eating to stare at me. Mom pantomimed, “Who is it?”
“He suggested you call me?” I echoed into the receiver. Then pointing into it, I mouthed back, “Ruth Minkus.”
They exchanged looks of horror and both started mouthing questions at me. I couldn’t follow them and pay attention to Ruth at the same time, so I averted my eyes. I chose to stare at the ceiling, hoping its blankness might aid my concentration. My brain couldn’t absorb the fact that Ruth was calling me. And, based on the stammering on the other end, she didn’t quite believe it either.
“I suppose I mean to apologize for my behavior yesterday.”
I was quick to interrupt. “There’s no reason to-”
“Kap said I offended you.”
“Kap’s wrong,” I said, with more than a touch of vehemence. Movement from my right caused me to look over. My mom made a face and got up to work at the stove. Nana stayed put, watching me. I returned my gaze to the ceiling.
“I was not at all offended. I understand completely. You’re going through a lot of strain right now.”
“I am,” she said in a tiny voice. “It’s been so much pressure. I’ve been working hard to help my son, Joel, in his bid for the senate seat and now this… I don’t think I’m handling it very well.”
I felt for her. She had just lost her husband and was being bullied into making unnecessary apologies. Embarrassed to have been pulled into this, I said, “I am very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
I was about to make another pleasant, innocuous comment-one that would allow me to segue into an excuse to get off the phone-when she said, “Joel thinks I was wrong to accuse you, too.”
“As I said, Mrs. Minkus, there’s no need-”
“Were you planning to come to Carl’s wake tomorrow?”
“Ah… no, I wasn’t.”
She made a tsking noise. “That’s because of my outburst, isn’t it?”
“No,” I said. “I didn’t-” I was about to say that I’d never had any intention of attending her husband’s wake, but realized how rude that might sound. Softening my response, I tried a different approach. “I know this has to be a very stressful time and I wouldn’t want to compound that tension. I’m sure my presence at the wake would be distracting.”