Status: In chapters
Goode Parenting
The Date
Vivian sat in a slouched position with a tablecloth on her lap and a wine glass in her hand. She had almost finished the whole bottle herself by the time the waiter came to ask if she’d like the check.
“Yes please,” she replied groggily.
“Where is sir?” The waiter asked in broken English, pointing to the empty seat across from the drunken woman.
“He had to go…I think he left the stove on at home,” she lied. The waiter nodded as if he knew she wasn’t telling the truth but honestly didn’t care…as long as someone was still there to pay and give him a good tip.
“Be back one second,” he insured, taking the wine bottle with him.
In a hazy state, she studied her surroundings while she waited. It was your typical Italian restaurant. The smell of garlic protruding from the kitchen, the sound of clinking wine glasses from every candle lit table, and the familiar crunch of complementary bread sticks all around. It was soothing to the woman who had for many years dreamed of visiting Sicily to get a taste of her Italian roots. She longed for some heritage and history in her life. The scenery around reminded her of her Italian born mother who moved to America in the late 70’s to become a famous actress. She died without having fulfilled the dream but spent all of her life desperately trying.
Vivian’s mother died incredibly young at the age of twenty nine. It was ovarian cancer that did it and at the time the family did not have enough money to help her. Vivian was only eight. Her sister was almost twelve and took care of her in her mother’s absence. With a drunk for a father, the two girls were pretty much on their own from there.
“Here you go,” the waiter handed her a black book with a piece of flimsy white paper hanging out the side. “I’ll come pick it up when you are ready.”
“Thanks,” she nodded, taking the check. She opened the book and struggled to read the small print. She gasped at the price when she could finally make out the numbers. “He ate WAY MORE than I did,” she muttered angrily to herself, taking her credit card from her purse and writing the tip on the line below. The waiter came over to collect and frowned at the amount, even though to Vivian it was substantial.
“Thank you mam,” he said sarcastically, swiping the book from her hand. “I’ll be right back with your receipt.”
She rolled her eyes at the word mam. She hated that word. It made her feel old and worn out and unwanted. In four years she would be creeping up to thirty and to her it was like the end of the world. She wasn’t married and she had no kids or family to call her own. Even her estranged older sister had been married once or twice and had a child. In her own eyes, Vivian was pathetic.
“Here are your receipt and your card,” the waiter said. “Have a good night.”
“Thanks, I’ll try,” she answered, struggling to get up. She wondered why she wore those point toe heels she could hardly walk in. She would have to call a cab. Walking home would be torture in her state if she didn’t.
Vivian arrived at her apartment at 11 and kicked off her shoes as soon as she stumbled through the door. She collapsed on her sofa in the living room of her penthouse suite and remembered she had to go to work the next day.
“I should probably drink some water,” she mumbled, trying to get up but instead just laying stretched out on the comfy cushions. She knew without it she’d have a terrible hangover the next day and running Lotus Preparatory School would be hell without a fully functioning mind and body but she was too tired at that point to care about anything but her soft makeshift bed for the night.
She closed her eyes and thought about Michael, the successful businessman who had left in the middle of dinner during their so-called date. The fact that he was a babbling idiot with two timing, caveman mentality didn’t come to mind when she remembered his golden hair, deep sea blue eyes, and perfectly shaped features. She went over his charming good looks and his pure Australian accent once more before falling asleep and decided that the reason he left her to foot the bill was not because he was a cheap arrogant pig but because she must have said something to make him go away. It was always her.
She fell asleep to the sound of the phone ringing.
“The machine will get it,” she said sleepily before drifting off into dreamland.
“Yes please,” she replied groggily.
“Where is sir?” The waiter asked in broken English, pointing to the empty seat across from the drunken woman.
“He had to go…I think he left the stove on at home,” she lied. The waiter nodded as if he knew she wasn’t telling the truth but honestly didn’t care…as long as someone was still there to pay and give him a good tip.
“Be back one second,” he insured, taking the wine bottle with him.
In a hazy state, she studied her surroundings while she waited. It was your typical Italian restaurant. The smell of garlic protruding from the kitchen, the sound of clinking wine glasses from every candle lit table, and the familiar crunch of complementary bread sticks all around. It was soothing to the woman who had for many years dreamed of visiting Sicily to get a taste of her Italian roots. She longed for some heritage and history in her life. The scenery around reminded her of her Italian born mother who moved to America in the late 70’s to become a famous actress. She died without having fulfilled the dream but spent all of her life desperately trying.
Vivian’s mother died incredibly young at the age of twenty nine. It was ovarian cancer that did it and at the time the family did not have enough money to help her. Vivian was only eight. Her sister was almost twelve and took care of her in her mother’s absence. With a drunk for a father, the two girls were pretty much on their own from there.
“Here you go,” the waiter handed her a black book with a piece of flimsy white paper hanging out the side. “I’ll come pick it up when you are ready.”
“Thanks,” she nodded, taking the check. She opened the book and struggled to read the small print. She gasped at the price when she could finally make out the numbers. “He ate WAY MORE than I did,” she muttered angrily to herself, taking her credit card from her purse and writing the tip on the line below. The waiter came over to collect and frowned at the amount, even though to Vivian it was substantial.
“Thank you mam,” he said sarcastically, swiping the book from her hand. “I’ll be right back with your receipt.”
She rolled her eyes at the word mam. She hated that word. It made her feel old and worn out and unwanted. In four years she would be creeping up to thirty and to her it was like the end of the world. She wasn’t married and she had no kids or family to call her own. Even her estranged older sister had been married once or twice and had a child. In her own eyes, Vivian was pathetic.
“Here are your receipt and your card,” the waiter said. “Have a good night.”
“Thanks, I’ll try,” she answered, struggling to get up. She wondered why she wore those point toe heels she could hardly walk in. She would have to call a cab. Walking home would be torture in her state if she didn’t.
Vivian arrived at her apartment at 11 and kicked off her shoes as soon as she stumbled through the door. She collapsed on her sofa in the living room of her penthouse suite and remembered she had to go to work the next day.
“I should probably drink some water,” she mumbled, trying to get up but instead just laying stretched out on the comfy cushions. She knew without it she’d have a terrible hangover the next day and running Lotus Preparatory School would be hell without a fully functioning mind and body but she was too tired at that point to care about anything but her soft makeshift bed for the night.
She closed her eyes and thought about Michael, the successful businessman who had left in the middle of dinner during their so-called date. The fact that he was a babbling idiot with two timing, caveman mentality didn’t come to mind when she remembered his golden hair, deep sea blue eyes, and perfectly shaped features. She went over his charming good looks and his pure Australian accent once more before falling asleep and decided that the reason he left her to foot the bill was not because he was a cheap arrogant pig but because she must have said something to make him go away. It was always her.
She fell asleep to the sound of the phone ringing.
“The machine will get it,” she said sleepily before drifting off into dreamland.