Page 30 of Volatile Vice

“Cheeseburger,” I say. “Medium, with all the fixings.”

“You got it. Would you like fries with that?”

“Onion rings, I think.”

“Perfect.” She makes notes and turns to my mother. “And for you, ma’am?”

“The same. Only fries for me instead of rings. And a diet soda.”

“Yes, of course.” She turns back to me. “I forgot to get your drink, ma’am.”

“Do you have Orange Crush?”

“I’m afraid we don’t. We have orange juice.”

Bleh.

“Just a diet cola will be fine then. Thanks.”

“You ask every time,” Mom laughs. “And no restaurant ever has it.”

“One might someday.” I unfold my napkin and place it in my lap.

Mom rakes her gaze over me slowly. “So how are things coming over at your house?” she asks. “Are you getting everything set up for you to settle in?”

More than she knows. “Yes, it’s coming along great.”

A brand-new security system, plus a new bodyguard. But if I tell her about the bodyguard, she’ll just worry.

The rest of lunch goes by with a half hour of inane chit-chat. No dessert—though I was craving something a little sweet. Mom settles the bill and then we walk over to the movie theater.

Mom scans the walls of movie posters lining the box office area. “Which one were you thinking of seeing, sweetheart?”

“The new Matt Damon one looked pretty good.”

Mom wrinkles her nose. “He never did much for me.”

I frown. “Did you have something else in mind?”

“No, of course not.” Mom squeezes my shoulder. “We’ll see whatever you want to see.”

We grab our tickets, and Mom raises her eyebrows when I dogleg toward the snack bar.

“You’re still hungry?”

I nod. “I’m always hungry, Mom. My body is, anyway. Sometimes I have to force the food through my mouth to give my body the sustenance it longs for.”

She smiles. “I suppose that’s a good thing.” She grabs her wallet and hands me her credit card. “Get whatever you like, angel.”

I smile at her. Mom still loves to pretend like I’m twelve years old when we go out and do things like this. As if I don’t have millions in my trust fund that can cover the overpriced bucket of popcorn I’m about to purchase.

I end up getting the largest bucket, along with extra butter, of course. On a whim I also get a bag of M&M’s, which I dump unceremoniously into the popcorn. Sweet and salty.

The nice thing about the movie is that I don’t have to talk. Mom was chatting all through lunch to distract us both from what happened with Brick. Now the movie can do the chatting for us.

I munch on my popcorn, barely absorbing the plot of the film.

A few hours later, we make the drive back home.