As soon as Diego stopped speaking, Mom began to eat again. Small bites that she chewed about a hundred times before swallowing. When the waiter passed nearby, she waved him down and ordered a vodka tonic.
Diego squeezed my hand under the table. I didn’t squeeze it back.
Zooey rubbed her belly and offered Diego the table’s only smile. “That must’ve been a horrible way to grow up. My psych professor says we never truly know what we’re capable of until we’re put into a hopeless situation.”
“It’s true,” Diego said.
Mom wiped her mouth with the cloth napkin and set it on the table. The waiter returned with her drink and she drained it before saying, “I hope you learned how to deal with your anger while you were in juvenile detention.”
“Not living with my father helps. And I paint.”
Charlie slapped the table. “Shit, I’ve got two rooms that need painting. When my little bro pisses you off, come on over and grab a brush.”
Zooey’s eyes lit up. “Could you do a mural for the baby’s room? I’ll pay you.”
I tried to intercede, but Charlie and Zooey sank their claws into Diego, and he’d soon agreed to paint the baby’s room, though he refused to accept money for his work. Charlie and Zooey got caught up wrangling over the color palette and only stopped when Diego suggested a combination of colors. He got along with my family better than I did.
Mom signaled the waiter for another drink. After he dropped it off, she cleared her throat to get our attention. “How do you like the restaurant?”
I hadn’t given the place much thought. I’d been so nervous about Diego joining us for dinner that I’d barely noticed the surroundings. “It’s cool, I guess.” Neptune’s was a quaint seafood restaurant with views of the intracoastal. Small and chummy, the decor was thrift-store chic, and the food was outstanding. It wasn’t a normal dinner joint with bland selections you could find anywhere. The menu was inventive and playful and definitely not cheap.
Zooey was more enthusiastic. “My dad adores this place. He brings all his clients here.”
“Five stars,” Diego said, looking down at his completely clean plate. “I’d definitely eat here again.”
“Good.” Mom leveled her gaze at me and Charlie. “Look, I’m going to need you boys to pitch in around the house. Things are going to be tight for a while.”
Charlie cast me a questioning glance, but I was clueless. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay, Mom.”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I quit Tutto Fresco.”
My stomach dropped. I’d spent my savings on Christmas gifts. I began mentally calculating how much money I could give Mom to help with the bills if I returned them. And maybe I could get a job.
Charlie said, “You quit? Right before Christmas?”
“Yes.” Mom sipped her vodka tonic. She sounded unconcerned, but her jaw muscles twitched, and she clutched her drink glass so tightly, I worried she might break it. “But don’t you boys worry. I’ve got a new job.”
“Where?” As soon as I asked, a smile blossomed on Mom’s face, the tension fled. “Here? You’re working here?”
Mom nodded. “I start after the new year.”
“You think the tips will be better?” Charlie asked.
“I’m not waiting tables,” Mom said. “I’m the new sous chef.”
“Congratulations, Mrs. Denton,” Diego said, unaware of how big a deal it was. Actually, I was glad he said it because I was too blown away to speak.
Mom glowed as she described how nervous and tongue-tied she’d been during the interview. She thought she’d blown it because of the way the owner’s attention had wandered, but rather than give up, she marched into the kitchen and prepared a spicy tuna tartare. All it took was one bite, and the job belonged to her. It was a gutsy move, and I smiled thinking about how scared she must have been to ignore the head chef yelling at her for being in his kitchen while she chopped and sliced her way into a new job.
“I’m really proud of you, Mom.” In fact, I’d never been more proud.
Zooey said, “What made you decide to go for it?”
Mom smiled at me. “Someone gave me a mirror.”
? ? ?
After dinner, Diego and I meandered down the street in front of my house. Neither of us said much. The silence grew between us like a weed pushing through the cracks in a sidewalk. Finding out that my mom had quit her job waiting tables to follow her dream was huge, but Diego occupied my thoughts. I wondered who he’d been before he was locked away, and who his time in juvenile detention had turned him into. My Diego—with his carefree grin and slugger-green eyes—hardly seemed capable of hurting anyone, but he’d admitted to beating his father so badly that he’d broken his bones. Dinner had left me with more questions than answers. Was Diego a nice boy who sometimes lost his temper or a monster who’d mastered pretending to be nice?
“Your mom’s cool,” Diego said.
“Sorry about the interrogation.”
“At least she didn’t pull out my fingernails or electrocute my genitals.”