Ladies' Luncheon

"Are you sure I'm invited to lunch?" I asked my mother. After two weeks of accompanying her to a seemingly endless round of social events, I was pooped out. I had nothing left to say.


"Of course you're invited!" Mom enthused. "It's a mother-daughter lunch!"


"Why do your friends have to sit all the way in the back?" I complained. I had my mother's elbow as we trudged painfully through the dining room, slow as snails.


"You're pushing me!" My mother said. "Stop it. I'm walking as fast as I can."


"If you'd just try to take big - "


"Don't say it! Don't tell me to take big steps!" Mom shot back.


"It would help your balance if you took longer steps," I explained. "Those halting, mincing steps are dangerous."


"They're NOT halting!"


"They're not steps," I growled. 




When we arrived at the table I saw that it wasn't a mother-daughter luncheon at all. It was me and Mom and her two dear old friends, two sisters, Rosie and Mare. I gazed at the ocean, several hundred tantalizing feet away. I looked with longing at the rows of inviting lounge chairs by the pool.


Oh, well, I thought. I remembered when there had been a table of 12 every Friday; now there were 3. And me.


"Tell me, Amy," Mare said. She was wearing a beautiful pink flowered blouse and white slacks. A cloud of curled white hair framed her face with its clear blue eyes. "How much longer will you be staying?"


"We have to leave on Monday," I replied.


"Oh, that's a shame," Mare said. "Have you had a good time?"


"Yes," I said. "It's been wonderful."


I looked over at Mom, who was swiping at a palm leaf that drooped over her head.


"Do you want to move?" I asked.


"What?"


"The palm tree?" I pointed. "Is it bothering you? Do you want me to move you closer to the table?"


"What?"


"THE PALM TREE! IS IT BOTHERING YOU?"


"No, it's fine."


"Tell me, Helene," Mare said, turning to my mother. "How long can you stay?"


"We're leaving Monday," Mom said. "I wish we could stay longer, but Amy has to go back to work, and the girls seem to feel that one of them has to be with me while I'm here."


"And how long will you be staying this time?" Mare asked, turning to me.


"Until Monday," I sighed.


"Did you like The Music Man?" Rosie asked Mom. We had gone to a matinee the day before, and had nearly come to blows.


"Can't say I did," she answered. "All the music seemed repetitive somehow and boring, but Amy liked it."


"I loved it," I said. "And I saw it twice. You kept falling asleep."


"I did not!"


"Did too."


"Did not."


"Did too."


"Tell me, Amy, where do you live?" Mare interrupted.


"I live in Vermont."


"Oh, Vermont. We used to ski in Vermont years ago, up north somewhere..." she mused.


"Was it Stowe?" I ventured.


"Yes! It was Stowe."


"I'm going to The Music Man next Saturday," Rosie said. Her sleek blonde hair was swept to the side and she flashed an engaging smile. 30 years before, she and my young daughter had blown a ping pong ball back and forth across her dining table.


"It was hard to understand," Mom stated, pouring a packet of brown sugar on the table a good few inches from her tea cup.


Despite myself, I began to giggle.


"It's not funny," Mom said crossly.


"What, dear?" Rosie asked. "What's not funny?"


"Can I help?" I said to Mom, little remorse darts spiking my heart.


"No!" Mom retorted. "I can do it!"


"Amy, where do you live?" Mare asked.


"Vermont," I breathed, chomping down on a piece of rosemary cheddar flatbread.


"Oh! Vermont! We used to go there years ago..."


"Stowe?" I asked.


"Stowe!" Mare said, delighted.


"Do you know what Amy did?" Mom said, apropos of nothing.


"No," Rosie and Mare answered, turning to me.


"She walked on live coals!"


"Why would she do that?" The two sisters looked confused.


"Shall we order?" I suggested, holding up my menu. I had decided on a beet salad.


"Oh," Mare beamed. "Will you be joining us?"