CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

By the time I left Ovsanna’s, it was almost five. I was drained. Not literally this time, but I definitely needed some nourishment. I drove over the hill to see if my mother wanted to feed her favorite son. I didn’t have to ask. She saw my car in the driveway and the braciole was on the stove before I opened the screen door. She had pizza dough resting on the granite counter. While we talked, she formed a half dozen calzones and slipped them onto the baking stone in the oven. I grabbed some bagged lettuce, cherry tomatoes, chi-chi beans, and avocado and made a salad. My dad came in to set the table. Start to finish, the food was on the table in fifteen minutes.

“So I’ve got a question,” my mother said. “What the heck did Ovsanna Moore do to my sister on Christmas Eve?”

“Aunt Addie, you mean? Why, what’s wrong with her?”

“There’s nothing wrong with her. That’s what I’m asking you about. She hasn’t been this easy to get along with since she ran for homecoming queen in twelfth grade.”

“I don’t know, Ma. Ovsanna’s just got a way about her. She can be pretty persuasive.”

“Yeah? Has she persuaded you into bed yet?”

“Ma!”

“Well, I wanna know. She’s a big-time movie star and a Hollywood producer. And she’s got to be at least ten years older than you, although she sure doesn’t look it. I wanna know what’s goin’ on. Are you sure you can take care of yourself?”

“Ma. What’s next? You’re gonna tell me to make sure I go to the bathroom before we leave the house?”

“Well, are you using protection, at least? You know what they say on those commercials—you’re not just sleepin’ with her, you’re sleepin’ with everybody she’s ever slept with. And she’s been around a long time.”

You don’t know the half of it, Ma. “Ah jeez, Ma, I skeeve when you talk about stuff like that. I’m a grown man. Just trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

And thank God, I thought, you don’t.