Diner

Maureen looked out of place. Her khaki suit, republican pearls, and heels floated amongst John Deere hats and Carhardt coveralls in the truck stop café. I waved her over.

“Thank you for meeting me,” she said as she sat smoothing out her skirt. A thin layer of makeup couldn’t conceal a yellowing black eye. Maureen’s parents were second generation Irish immigrants. She went to Catholic school until her college graduation with a bachelor’s in art history. Her manners and grace were impeccable.

“Sure,” I said over the top of my sweet tea.

A waitress took her order: coffee (black), chicken salad no dressing and a glass of ice to cool the coffee.

“I’m so sorry for our behaviour last week,” Maureen said scanning the restaurant for any of her country club friends. “David’s behaviour was unforgivable.”

“So’s that shiner,” I pointed at her eye.

"I came here to apologize,” she whispered.

“Mission accomplished.”

Maureen shifted in her chair picking at the chicken in her salad. She set the fork down and pushed the plate away. “Is he going to okay?”

“He’d be a lot better if you supported him.”

“But I do.” She leaned in closer over the table; her voice was barely audible over the din.

“What about David?”

“You can’t expect miracles.”

“Why am I here?” I asked. “Why don’t you talk to Jonah?”

Maureen paused, readjusted her napkin, and lapped an ice cube out of her glass. “What is you relationship with Jonah?” she asked through crunching ice.

“Why?”

“This is hard for a mother to say but… my son loves you. He’s always talking about you. When you two have a date he’s like a fourteen year old girl, trying on different outfits, picking out cologne. It’s quite adorable.”

“He’s adorable.”

The waitress returned, cleared our dishes, and left.

“Do you love him?” she asked.

Uncomfortable, I gulped down some water. “Yes, I do.”

“Does he know it? Have you told him?”

I shook my head; my blonde locks masked my tears. I’d never been interrogated like this and I’d never confessed anything like this to a near stranger.

“He needs to know,” she said placing her napkin on the table and standing. She stooped and hugged me. Her hug was fierce, pinning my arms to my sides. I hadn’t expected a hug; this wasn’t Maureen’s typical embrace she shared with her society friends. A society hug involves little body contact and lots of back patting. She left.

Photo: skev9