That raised an eyebrow and made me sit up just a little straighter. “What about your mother?”
Natasha took a deep breath. “My mother is a professor of ecclesiastical history at the Harvard Divinity School.”
What was I supposed to say behind that family résumé? “Impressive,” was all I could come up with; and I felt like a fool as soon as I said it. I took a sip of water and hoped she didn’t agree. “How many sisters do you have?”
“Two sisters: Victoria and Kathryn.”
“Let me guess—you’re the oldest?” I asked more than said.
“And you’d be wrong. Victoria is the oldest and Kathryn is the youngest.”
“The middle child.”
“Yes, I am the middle child,” Natasha said in a spooky kind-of voice, and then she let out the cutest giggle. “And I’m afraid to say that I’m a text-book middle.” Her voice dropped and her facial expression changed. “You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”
“Not at all. One of my favorite people is a middle child.”
“You?” Natasha asked.
“My older brother, Stevie.”
“You’re the baby,” Natasha said, and her gaze became soft and playful.
“Guilty as charged. I’m the baby. There’s my sister Rhonda, Stevie, and then came me.”
“And I bet your mother spoiled you, too,” Natasha said as our waitress returned with our drinks, just in time to save me from any discussion about my mother.
“Two Pomegranate Margarita Martini’s.” Then she placed a platter of lump crab, roasted shrimp, and spinach stuffed mushrooms on the table between us. “Compliments of the house.” She put two small plates on the table. “Your food will be out shortly,” she said and left us alone.
I picked up my drink and took a sip, and watched as Natasha picked up a spinach stuffed mushroom. “How do you like the martini?” she asked.
I took another sip. “It’s good. What about you?”
Natasha took a bite and shut her eyes like it was the best-tasting food she’d had in years. “It’s good,” she moaned, and then she opened her eyes and looked at the way I was looking at her. “I’m sorry, I skipped lunch today and I’m starving.”
“No problem.”
“You have got to try one.”
Just as I was about to reach for one, our dinner arrived and was served. After that, we talked our way through dinner. We actually did more talking than eating, and found that we have a great deal more in common than just a mutual appreciation for old movies. We were both numbers people. I graduated from the University of Chicago with a BA in finance, and then got my masters in information systems and operations management at the University of Florida. Natasha went to UF, too, but her degree was in mathematics. The more she talked, the more I understood Natasha Edwards was an impressive woman. And I was impressed by her.
Anyway, our getting-to-know-you conversation somehow rolled back around to growing up, and Natasha was telling me that she was a daddy’s girl.
“All three of us were.” Natasha dropped her head. A smile slowly crept across her inviting lips like she was remembering a very happy time.
“What is it?” I asked. “If I’m not intruding.”
“I remember one weekend we were going to Boston for some event for my mother, and I didn’t want to go.”
“Why not?”
“Her events were boring. A bunch of boring people making boring speeches.”
“How old were you?”
“I was fourteen. Thought I was grown,” Natasha said in a sassy voice, and laughed a little. “Anyway, I waited until the car was loaded and I just walked away.
“Why?”