The Owl & Moon Cafe: A Novel (No Series) (15 page)

“Be sure to wear cute underwear. You never know.”

The rise and fall of audience laughter from the talk show was almost more irritating than hearing her mother’s sexual innuendo, but it was the innuendo that tipped her over. “Look. If you were seeing Fergus, I’m sure cute underwear would be a high priority. It’s not for me, okay? Eat something off that tray. I mean it, Mom.”

Allegra muted the television. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just letting you know underwear’s not an issue for me. You eating is.”

Allegra kneaded the pillow fringe between her fingers. “Bullshit. You’re trying to make me feel bad for still having a healthy libido when I have cancer and I’m supposed to be all over that.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Mariah, it’s what you say every time you look at me. I wish you’d freaking get over it once and for all. Your mother has sex! Sex is fun! Lots of women over fifty do it. Over sixty, even. Except your grandmother.”

Mariah looked at the floor. The rug needed vacuuming and there were dirty glasses that needed picking up. Would it kill Allegra to use the same glass all day? “I’m aware of the statistics. I’m also aware that if you limit sex to one partner, it often leads to that strange concept called intimacy. You know? It’s right next to commitment on the supermarket shelf.” Mariah immediately thought of her own track record and wished she could take the words back. With Lindsay’s father, there was commitment; only it had all been on her side. “Mom, I’m sorry…”

Allegra had her mad face on, all thin lips and looking away. “Thanks for reminding me what a slut I am. What’s your problem, anyway? It’s not like I can go barhopping in my condition. Are you worried Fergus might find me attractive? I don’t understand how you can take one measly comment and read so much into it. What difference does it make if I’ve slept with one man or fifty? So what if I have boyfriends younger than me, so what if I try to make myself happy. Is that a crime?”

Mariah zipped her dirty jeans back up. “Sex is easier for you than it is for me. If that’s all you want out of a relationship, if both parties agree, fine. But sex has consequences or I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

“The same can be said of Lindsay.”

Mariah’s face flamed. “At least she knows who her father is! Why can’t I? All I ever wanted was a picture. A face to look at. I’m nearly thirty-four! Whoever he is doesn’t matter. He certainly can’t make my childhood up to me. Or is that a secret you plan to take to your grave?”

“My grave?” Allegra tried to throw the pillow at her, but her lack of strength landed it on the table. “How did you get to be so cruel? I don’t even know you.” She got up, braced herself against the wall, and closed the bedroom door behind her.

Mariah stood there. God, her mouth was out of control. Where had that business about her father come from? She should apologize. Picking up the tray, she noticed yesterday’s lunch behind the couch. Screw it. Leukemia or no leukemia, she was calling Dr. Goodnough and asking for the feeding tube. Her mother wasn’t only after sex. Plenty of times she’d caught Allegra standing out in the alley, arms folded across her breasts, staring at the ocean, two blocks away. She knew Allegra was thinking about true love. In the café, she sang along with the radio’s love songs. She didn’t mop the floor so much as dance it clean. Love, love, love; she ran around town leaving cheerfulness in her wake like goddamn wedding confetti. But no one besides Mariah heard the click as Allegra shut the door on her daughter’s questions. No one else lived with that simmering stomach longing for just this one truth, except maybe Lindsay. Did that mean she should pack her daughter up, drive around the country until she found Ephraim? Of course not. She’d find Lindsay a picture somehow. A picture and a name—that was sufficient.

She dialed the doctor’s number, but he was gone for the day. “Tell him Mariah Moon called,” she said. “Tell him Allegra hasn’t eaten any solid food in two days. Actually, four days. Ask him what it would take to get a feeding tube installed. Thank you.” She hung up and cleared the untouched trays.

She showered, shaved her legs, and rinsed her hair with the expensive conditioner she’d bought because she thought it might add body to her hopelessly straight brown locks. It cost a lot, but she deserved good conditioner. She deserved a date, too. Dinner someone else fixed. She turned the water off and thought of the way Fergus tilted his head as he kissed her, and shivered while she towel-dried her hair.

Mariah had planned her outfit based on observations of the women her age who came to the café. She would wear the DKNY blue jeans found at the thrift store while shopping for Lindsay’s Halloween costume. Carl Sagan being too wide a reach, she’d decided to go as Einstein. Mariah’s white Gap blouse freshly ironed with Gammy’s spray starch would make her winter skin look rosy. Her high-heeled boots, also a thrift store find, weren’t very comfortable, but everyone seemed to be wearing them and no one could tell she’d glued the heel back on. At the last minute she went to the closet and took out her mother’s suede jacket with the beaded fringe and slipped it on. She looked in the mirror and tried to imagine Allegra wearing it, chanting “Give Peace a Chance” and dancing to bands that were now called classic rock. Why shouldn’t she wear it? Retro was in.

“Er,” Fergus said as they got out of his car—a gray Mini Cooper—and Lindsay’s favorite model, “what have you done with your hair?”

“Nothing,” Mariah said. “Why?”

“It smells like, I don’t know what exactly. Chewing gum?”

She looked at him, stunned. “If you find my hair offensive you can take me home.”

He looked back, silent for a moment. “Well, my goodness. Somebody is having a bloody awful day. Mariah, you remind me of
Mimosa pudica.
”

“Here we go,” Mariah said, thinking the term had to be sexual. “Say hello to Mr. Get in Your Pants.” She put her hand on the door handle. Fergus reached over and put his hand on hers. “I had a feeling—”

“Keep your knickers on, girl. It’s a plant. They call
Mimosa pudica
the ‘sensitive’ plant because if one touches it, the leaves close in on themselves. My admin assistant has one on her desk.”

Mariah forced herself to meet his eyes in order to show him she didn’t give a rat’s ass if they finished this date or not, but inside, she could feel cliffs crumbling. “The conditioner was supposed to—Oh, pull over at the corner and I’ll walk home.”

“Why ever would you want to do that?”

The trees were lit with fairy lights. They made everything soft and romantic, even in the fog. They had been on two “tea” dates and a couple of dinners and still she struggled to find conversation material. Probably that was her fault, mulling over gender roles and courtship rituals instead of responding spontaneously. She couldn’t help it, which was why she was studying the romance novels so closely, but they seemed to be of help only if you ran into a handsome man in a horse stables, or a swarthy gardener gave you a steamy look.

“I’m not fit company tonight.”

Fergus touched her arm. “I disagree. I didn’t mean to insult you about your hair. I rather like it, actually. It’s, well, it’s certainly refreshing.” He stared at her soberly, and then there was just the tiniest twitch to his mouth, and he flared his nostrils.

They both started laughing at the same time. “I smell like a cough drop, don’t I?” Mariah asked.

“Oh, I dunno. Myself, I’ve always favored Altoids lozenges. Opens the sinuses. Refreshes one’s view. Quite invigorating.” He leaned in and kissed her right there, in front of the Italian restaurant where they had reservations at the table next to the fireplace, and the bad day fell away. The jolt Mariah felt from that kiss went straight to her center. When they broke apart, she heard her own shallow breath and his. If Allegra could see them now, she’d be laughing her ass off.

“Still want to go home?” he asked.

Then, like the woman her mother had been before leukemia tied a knot in her tail, Mariah pulled Fergus to her and kissed him back.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he said, and they got out of the car.

Raffaello’s, in downtown Carmel, off Mission and Ocean at Seventh Street, was famous for its northern Italian cuisine, and expensive. Mariah looked over the menu, having to read everything twice, she was so unsettled by those two kisses, and the lingering bad feelings about the words she’d had with Allegra didn’t help. The flickering candlelight, soft classical music, and nice paintings on the walls helped soften her edges, but she planned to excuse herself as soon as they ordered, call Gammy, and have her convey her apologies to Allegra.

There was no view other than the fireplace. That pretty much left the face of your dining partner. Some diabolical architect’s formula for romance, Mariah thought. Well, it’s working. I’m the same person I was before he kissed me—a woman who could terrify a classroom full of graduate students—only now I’m the one feeling terror.

She sneaked glances at Fergus. His ruddy skin had its share of pox scars and frown lines. His brow jutted out harshly, in a Neanderthal way. She liked the way his strong chin offset the nose that bordered on hawklike, and the sum of the parts made her feel certain that, just like it had with Ephraim, whatever birth control she’d try would fail her. Having loved Lindsay when she was just a raspberry of clustered cells, she knew she couldn’t get rid of a baby. She wondered, if they ever got around to sex, whether Fergus would agree to wear not one condom, but two.

He touched the top of her menu and pulled it down to the table. “Are you avoiding me?”

“I’m sitting right here. How can I be avoiding you?”

The waiter appeared, and both sat back while he filled their tumblers with ice water and set down a basket of sliced bread, which, Mariah noted, had uneven cells—the result of not enough kneading, and inadequate rise time. “Have you decided?” he asked. “Or shall I go over the specials one more time?”

Mariah said, “I’ll have a glass of iced tea, and the shrimp salad appetizer.”

“And for your main course?”

“No main course. Just the appetizer.”

“An affordable date, this one,” Fergus said.

“I’m paying for my dinner,” Mariah said, “and that’s all I want.” Or can afford, she held back. “If you haven’t learned by now, American women are eternally on diets.”

“And quite unnecessarily.”

“Sir?” the waiter prompted.

“Stout. Bring a mug for me and one for my lovely friend, to whom I plan to introduce the finer points of such beverages. So long as it isn’t the Manhattan variety, I’ll begin with your chowder. Then I’d like the rack of lamb, rare, with mashed spuds, cream and butter. Also, if you could bring us some more of this lovely bread, that would be great. Oh, and bring an extra plate for my dieting friend in case she decides to nibble.”

“You have a large appetite,” Mariah remarked as their drinks and the second basket of bread arrived, as Fergus had gone through most of the first. He broke a piece in half and prepared to butter it.

“I live on a boat, remember?” he said. “The galley’s not much. A microwave oven. When I eat, I eat. I utterly despise cooking for myself.”

Mariah wanted to ask if his socks were damp when he put them on. How awful that would be on a daily basis. And going to Laundromats, even worse. “I could live on candy and soda.”

“Because you’re cooking every day at the café instead of teaching sociology?”

“Who told you I taught that?”

“Your daughter.”

“Lindsay?” Mariah sipped her tea, which was way too sugary. “When?”

“I ran into her in the public library the other afternoon. She was looking up books on growing herbs. Has her interest in science focused onto horticulture?”

Mariah reached for a slice of bread. “It may have something to do with her science project. It’s very top secret, so I only have scanty details, but she’s been lugging books home every day. Was your exchange…”

“Pleasant?” Fergus set his stout down and licked away the mustache it had left above his upper lip. “She no longer looks at me as though she wants to drive a stake through my heart, which I consider something to build upon.”

Mariah wondered why Lindsay didn’t tell her, especially lately, when she so vehemently reminded her mother of the circumstances of her origin. “Lindsay’s slow to make friends,” she said.

“How’s that tea?”

“Not so great.”

“Care to try a pint of stout?”

She took the glass he offered. “You probably wonder why I didn’t order very much. I snack all day, so by dinnertime I’m not all that hungry. As soon as I find a teaching gig, I’ll revert to my old habits.”

“Have you made applications locally?”

“I really can’t until my mother’s well enough to return to work.” If ever, Mariah thought, this notion causing her heart to sink. How could you tell a person battling to save her life to hurry up? “I have a question related to your job.”

He leaned in close enough that Mariah could smell his spicy soap. “Fire away.”

“Why does a full professor take a leave from a prestigious teaching post in Glasgow for a one-year slot at a community college halfway around the world?”