Page 90 of The Player's Club
“I’m sorry I’m such a fucking mess.”
She clucked her tongue. “Language. And everyone is a mess. By the grace of God are we saved from our own messes.” She made me look up at her. “If you care about this Elodie girl, you’ll tell her how you feel.”
I gaped at my mom. “Elodie?”
“Yes, Elodie. I saw how you looked at her when we went to dinner. And a woman who attends the funeral of a man’s . . .” My mom’s mouth twisted. “I hate the word ‘girlfriend,’ but I guess that’s all we got. A woman who attends the funeral of her guy’s ex-girlfriend is a special person.”
“She is special. I’ve always known that,” I said, almost to myself.
“Then tell her. Don’t hope that she just knows.”
I shook my head. “It’s not like that.”
“Well, it could be if you talked to her. Are you in love with her? Because she should at least get a chance to respond to your feelings.”
I hardly recognized my mom at this point. When I’d been growing up, she’d always deferred to my dad. She’d rarely taken us aside and given us talks like this. She’d either tell us to talk to our dad or to pray about it.I must’ve looked confused because my mom chuckled. “I’ve been going to therapy lately. Can you tell?”
Now my eyebrows rose. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” She squeezed my shoulder. “And maybe you should, too.”
I nearly burst out laughing because Elodie had suggested that exact thing. But I wasn’t about to tell my mom that. She’d just tell me to listen to the women in my life because ninety-nine percent of the time, they were right.
I got up and hugged my mom tightly. “Thanks.”
“I love you, Mac. And I’m proud of the man you’ve become. I hope you know that.”
For the first time in a long while, I believed her.
ELODIE
I wasn’t sure if I had the courage to get out of my car. I stared at the outside of the brightly colored restaurant, the Filipino flag on full display, and wondered why the hell I’d agreed to this meeting.
My uncle had reached out again. In a fit of desperation, because I was lonely and I missed Mac, I’d agreed to see him. Mac telling me that I should be grateful for any family who wanted a relationship with me had made an impression. So now I was going to lunch with my Uncle Jose and Aunt Maria at a restaurant that was apparently one of the best in the city for Filipino cuisine.
After another deep breath, I finally got out of my car. The restaurant was bustling, and I could hear sounds of Tagalog and English mixed. The smell of lumpias reminded me of my mom so much that I nearly turned around and ran.
“Elodie!” A man beckoned to me. “Over here!” It was too late to run now. I smiled awkwardly and sat down at a table with a man who looked like the male version of my mom. His wife was tiny and gorgeous.
Uncle Jose gave me a brief hug, while Aunt Maria just nodded at me. My uncle was in his midfifties, his hair silver at the temples. He had a big smile that seemed to take up his entire face.But it was his eyes especially that reminded me of Mom. It hurt to look at him, because it made me miss her even more.
“Have you been here before?” Jose asked me as I sat down.
I shook my head. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had Filipino food,” I admitted.
“Your mom was really good at making lumpia. Even better than our mom.”
Before my mom got sick, she’d make lumpia often. I remembered coming home from school to the smell of fried dough and pork. I’d always end up being too impatient to wait for the lumpia to cool, and I’d burn my tongue biting into them. My mom would scold me, even as she piled my plate with more of the fried rolls.
“She was,” I said.
We fell into silence. I didn’t know what to talk about, and it seemed like my aunt and uncle didn’t know either. I was grateful when our server took our orders, although my uncle ordered for our entire table when I hesitated on my choice.
“Their sinigang is amazing.” He kissed his fingers.
“It’s too hot for soup,” Maria complained.
“It’s never too hot for sinigang. Besides, it’s good for you. Clears out all the bad juju.” He winked at me. “At least that’s what my mom always said.”