#Babymachine (Baby Crazy 1)

So I took advantage of the opportunity, shameless to the max.

“Can I get the Philly cheese steak and fries please?” I asked the waiter. “And the cherry pie with whipped cream on top? Everything together is fine, thank you.”

The dude was too professional to show his surprise at my mongo order, but he flicked his pen, jotting quickly on the notepad.

“Of course, Miss,” were his words. “Right away.”

I turned back to the stunned eyes of my parents. But Lynne recovered quick.

“I love it. That’s one thing I’ve always adored about you, Beth,” she smiled. “You eat whatever you want and keep that sexy goddess shape.” She gentle pinched my arm with a smile. “I always thought George could use a bit of your hungry energy, he’s so thin these days.”

“Not that thin,” interrupted George proudly, curling his arm so it bulged. “These biceps got us through that trek in the Himalayas. So it’s all muscle, baby, not fat.”

Uck. It’s gross seeing old people flirt, but hey. It’s easier just to go with it sometimes.

But Lynne continued.

“George your daughter just eats life up. Why aren’t you more like Beth?” she asked playfully.

My dad looked at his wife with a scowl, but when she only stared back with challenge and sass, he grinned and turned to me. “I know I haven’t been so great with you, Bethy. Lynne here tried to make me see that for a lot of years, but now is when I’m finally understanding it.”

“Better late than never,” Lynne added and patted my arm.

I shrugged. Whatever was going on with George now didn’t have anything to do with me, I was sure.

“Okay,” I mumbled. “Sounds good.”

That should make them happy right? Get them off my back?

But George and Lynne were on a mission.

“Not okay, Beth,” George said with a shake of that floppy graying rocker hair. “I know I hurt you. A shitty New York lunch won’t make up for it, but I want to try.”

Wow. Was this my father? The same one who’d basically ignored me for the last couple years? Crikey! What was going on?

I looked at Lynne and she just shrugged, smiling like the cat who swallowed the canary. “I’ve been working hard on him, honey,” she explained. “And finally, that hard shell cracked a couple weeks ago. We wanted to see you to make up for the years of absence.

I goggled, so surprised at the turn of events. Really? Was this really happening? Why now of all times? All that bullshit about George’s shell finally “cracking” was a little strange, right? I mean, the dude’s almost sixty and appears just as self-centered as ever. So what was the real reason behind this gesture?

I shook my head.

“Oh, okay. Um, thanks. I’m just shocked is all.”

“I know,” George said with apology. “Sorry it took so long for me to get it, Bethy. You didn’t deserve to take the fall for all my shit.”

I shook my head, unsure what to say. But fortunately, the waiter arrived with our orders then, making it unnecessary to speak. So I dug in, my appetite back for the first time in months. The food was tasty and it was nice to talk with George and Lynne.

They told me about their plans to move back to the city and open some sort of a tantric sex education club. They didn’t want me to be part of it, thank God, but they wanted to stay in touch, stay in my life and help fix the bad things that happened between me and George.

It didn’t make everything better just like that, but I was happy to see them and have real conversation.

“We mean it,” said Lynne seriously, taking my hand in hers and squeezing softly. “We want to be here for you from now on.”

“Better late than never!” exclaimed George, picking at his teeth with a toothpick. “You can drop in on us all you like.”

Okay. That was something, although I prayed that my parents wouldn’t be in some weird position if I happened to pop by their place. So smiling once more, I made my excuses.

“I gotta head to school,” was my murmur. “See you later?”

“You know it!” crowed George. “NYC baby, here’s where it’s at.”

And with that, I took off. It was nice, looking over my shoulder to see George and Lynne drinking wine, lazing in the sun. They were good together and happy as lovebirds.

I tried not to be jealous.

Because who gets jealous of their dad?

Especially an old rocker dude of fifty-five, with an old hippie wife who wears her hair in cornrows.

But as soon as I hit campus, sadness crashed over my frame again, like a wave beating the shores.

Snap out of it, a voice inside my head hissed. Mason isn’t moping over you. He could have contacted you, but he didn’t. So stop this now.