“Older woman?” My mom cackled from behind the counter. She shoved a piece of Kentucky Hot Brown breakfast casserole in my face along with a hot cup of coffee. “Honey, you take a good gander at this face. I’m the older woman.”
“You’re a youngin’.” My dad scooted down to the open stool next to me. “You’ll always be my baby.”
“I bet the jumbled mess in your head is all about the change.” Mom pointed a direct finger at me. She grabbed the coffeepot and made her way down the counter, topping off the customers’ coffee cups.
“Oh dear.” Dad took off his John Deere cap and rubbed his hand over what was left of his gray hair. “Your mom was a doozy to deal with when she was going through the change.”
I smiled.
“Lucky for her she had you.” I took one more look at the fattening casserole and decided my diet wasn’t such a good thing either.
“Why you eyeballing my food?” Mom took great offense to anyone who ordered from the diner and didn’t devour it as soon as she set it down. “What’s wrong with you?”
“The change,” Dad snarled and brought his coffee up to his lips, taking a drink.
“Oh honey, you need to go see Doc Faith. She’ll give you something because if you don’t get a handle on it now, you’re gonna be having your own personal summer in there.” She circled her finger in front of me. “Now”—she pushed the plate closer—“eat up.”
“I’ll take it to go.” I looked at my watch so she’d think I was telling the truth. “I’m running late.” I bent down and picked out their mail, which also included their personal mail.
Truth be told, I’d never want to hurt my mom’s feelings, and her food was delicious. That was the problem. I’d seen all those pop-up ads on Facebook, and the internet talked all about the change.
I swear, sometimes I felt there was a little bug in my computer that could read my mind. Anytime I even thought about something, the next thing I knew, that thing I was thinking of or even mentioned had some sort of ad pop up on my devices.
Mom leaned over, nearly knocking my coffee into my lap, and slapped her hand across my forehead.
“Nope. No fever.” She pulled back. “Listen, you might have something else if you ain’t hungry. I saw on Oprah how this lady thought she was going through the change.” Mom’s eyes drew up and down my body. “She lost her appetite too. It was awful. I’ll spare you the details until you see Faith.”
“Mom, Oprah isn’t on anymore.” I stood up and watched her grab a to-go box and push the casserole into it.
“I know that. I saw it once.” She reached under the counter and put another to-go box on top of my other to-go box. “You don’t forget things you see on Oprah.”
“Then it all must be true,” my dad groaned and rolled his eyes, taking the mail from me.
I tried not to laugh out loud, but Mom saw it anyway.
“That there,” she said, tapping the top box, “is some freshly baked smoky summer sausage and grits casserole for Millie Barnes. She’s entertaining some of the Elk’s women this afternoon, and I told her I’d send some slices with you.”
“No problem.” Then I watched her stack another box on top of the other two.
“That is for my grand-fur-babies.”
Every time, without fail, I left the diner with something equally delicious for Rowena and Buster.
“Now, do you want me to send something to Mac?” Her chin slid slightly to the side, the opposite direction of her eyes as they bore into my soul. She tapped her fingernail to her chest. “Way to a man’s heart is the stomach, right, honey?”
“Mmhhmmm.” Dad was too busy separating his mail into categories, which I’ve never understood. He held out a piece of mail. “This ain’t ours.”
“Oh.” I took it and noticed it was a certified letter that needed a signature. “Monica is generally really good about separating out any sort of special deliveries,” I said, talking about the mail clerk who took pride in separating out the mail before anyone even got to work. “Simon Little?”
That was super strange. Simon Little was Nick Kirby’s business partner at the garage who just so happened to be Peaches Partin’s ex and Sarah Hodge’s new boyfriend. Boy, things were coming around full circle.
“When did you start delivering to the gas station?” Dad had already seen who it belonged to.
“I don’t, but that means I have to get going so I can take the extra walk there to get it where it needs to go.” It was a perfect time to get out of there because my stomach was really growling. If Mom heard that, she’d lay herself in front of the diner door until I ate the entire contents of my to-go box. Plus, it let me off the hook from answering any questions about Mac Tabor.
“You give me some sugar.” Mom held her arms out and walked around the corner, giving me a peck on the cheek. She patted her hands on my back. “You let me know what Faith says.”
If my mom was one thing, she was persistent. I’d never even committed to going to see Doctor Faith Hunter, but in Mom’s mind, her even suggesting it meant that I already had an appointment.
I waved goodbye to them and quickly delivered the mail to Pie in the Face, where I grabbed the outgoing mail from Geraldine Workman like Iris had told me to. Then I dropped off the mail to the Community Center and the Roasted Bean coffee shop before I found myself standing face-to-face with Mac Tabor in his office.
“Thanks.” He greeted me with his big white smile, taking me back to the first time I’d met him when Richard and I were dating. At the time, I’d felt horrible and guilty about my thoughts about Mac.
Why wasn’t I dating him, I remember thinking to myself when I’d gotten swept up into his deep brown eyes and thoughts of me running my hands through his thick brown hair—compared to Richard’s thin short hair.
But that was years ago, and here we stood today. He still had those amazing deep eyes and thick brown hair, with only a few wrinkles.
“What’s with the look?” Mac asked. None of my expressions ever went unnoticed by him.
“You could always tell when I was thinking something.” I smiled and handed him his mail. “I was just thinking how unfair it is how a man can get better looking with time while we women start falling apart.”
“Oh. This sounds like something you need to discuss with Iris.” He wasn’t going to touch that with a ten-foot pole.
I laughed.
“That is every woman but your woman.” My jaw dropped when I blurted out the words without any sort of filter. My mind didn’t even process it before I said it. “I’m so sorry. Lucy is a beautiful woman. I—”
“You forget that I know you better than probably anyone, and I’m already used to you just saying stuff.” He put a comforting hand on my arm, which sent electric shocks through me, causing me to take a step back. “Sorry. I really shouldn’t think I can touch you like that anymore.”
“It’s fine. I’ve got to get going.” I gestured to the door.
“Is this how it’s going to be now that we aren’t…” He stumbled for the right words.