She's Up to No Good(80)

I should have been nervous. I was a wreck when I met Brad’s parents the first time. But this felt different. I didn’t know if it was because Joe’s mother already knew my mother and grandmother, or if it was because I was different now. Then again, we had been dating seriously for a couple of months when I met Brad’s family. This was—well, I didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t that.

I dug in my bag for the lipstick I had thrown in at the last minute before leaving home. It was an older one—I hadn’t worn lipstick in months. I applied it carefully in the mirror, then stopped and looked at myself. No. I grabbed a tissue and rubbed it away, leaving only the hint of a stain, and dropped the tube in the trash as I left to check on my grandmother. I was tired of trying so hard. I just wanted to be me and have that be enough.

Grandma was sitting in the living room, fully dressed and ready to go. I looked at her, tilting my head. “What’s that face for?” she asked.

“Your eyebrows look good.”

“Of course they do.”

I didn’t bite. “Ready?”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“Then let’s go.” She struggled to rise, and I offered her my hand, which she took then shook off in favor of the railing, to go down the stairs to Joe’s waiting car.





La Tasca Sofia was in town, not on the harbor, but it sat on the water side of Main Street in what had once been a house, with a back patio overlooking the marina, twinkling lights threaded above it to mimic stars. “This was the Abbotts’ house,” my grandmother said, looking up at it. She shook her head. “A million years ago.”

“Wait until you see what she’s done with the patio,” Joe said. “I think it was still the old deck when you were here last.”

I looked at my grandmother curiously, marveling at the fact that she knew Joe before I even met Brad. She had this whole secret life that I knew nothing about. I wondered how much my mother knew.

A woman came bounding down the stairs toward us before we even reached them. She wrapped my grandmother in a tight hug, kissing both of her cheeks before turning to me. “Jenna?” she asked. I nodded, and she hugged me as well.

“I—it’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Fonseca.”

“Sofia.” She held me at arm’s length to look at me but showed no sign of letting go anytime soon. “You look more like your grandmother than your mother.” She released my right elbow to pinch her son’s cheek warmly, then took my arm. “Joe, help Evelyn in—we’re getting a ramp installed. It should have been done already, but it’s my cousin, and he works slowly.”

“I don’t need a ramp. You think the cottage doesn’t have stairs?” She did, however, take Joe’s offered arm.

“You should have a ramp there too,” she said. “I’ll send my cousin over. If he ever finishes ours.” She held the door open and gestured for us to walk inside. “I saved the best table outside for us.”

The interior of the house had been gutted to become a large dining room, with a kitchen in the back right, a handful of pillars where there had once been load-bearing walls. The floors were finished in hardwood, and there was a nautical theme, tastefully done, with antique anchors, driftwood sculptures, and large, framed black-and-white seascape photographs that had to be Joe’s. Sofia led us through to the patio and a table at the far edge with a Reserved sign. She told us where to sit, putting me and Joe next to each other, seating herself across from me.

“I’m sorry my husband isn’t here,” she said as a waiter appeared with wine. “He’s in Sonoma this week.”

“Jenna doesn’t need to meet the whole family,” Joe said, smiling.

“Who said the whole family? I didn’t invite your sister.”

I felt uneasy suddenly. We had talked about my family, of course, and Emily. And he had talked about his mom, but mostly in the context of my family again. I didn’t know he had a sister. I didn’t know if he knew I had two sisters. He hadn’t talked about his dad, so I hadn’t asked. What else didn’t I know?

Another waiter brought menus and laid them in front of us, telling us to take our time. Sofia told him he could bring the appetizers now, then turned to me. “How is your mother? I see her on Facebook, of course, but . . .” She shrugged. “You know how that goes.”

“She’s good. I think she’ll retire in another couple years.”

“And then what?”

“Travel probably.”

“I hope she’ll come here. It’s been too long. You were so young the last time she was here.”

I tilted my head. “We met then?”

She smiled warmly, Joe’s smile. “You and Joe played on the beach together. You were what? Five?”

“Almost,” my grandmother said.

I tried to remember, but there was nothing beyond my grandmother and the rocks. I turned to Joe, and he shrugged.

Puff pastries filled with fish appeared on the table, as well as bread, shrimp, and an egg dish. I put my napkin in my lap, letting Sofia explain what everything was.

“I used old family recipes as a base for most things.”

“I still remember the first time I ate at your grandmother’s house,” my grandma said, helping herself.