Your Mother Should Know

San Jose to Burbank

San Jose to Burbank

Even though Philip drove his mother’s red Ford briskly over Highway 17 to the San Jose International Airport, they had plenty of time to talk. He figured she was still in a snit about his using her car for the first leg of the trip as she sat mostly silent, arms folded in her lap, and when he attempted communication, she responded with one word answers of yes, no, and a few mm—hmms. Her mood improved slightly when they were aboard their hour flight to Burbank.

They each ordered a soft drink to go with their complimentary bag of peanuts. Philip drank thirstily and began crunching the ice with his teeth, a habit he’d acquired in childhood and one he knew drove her crazy.

As expected she made a face.

“Tell me something,” he said.

“What?”

“Will you ever speak again?”

“Probably not,” she said and then winked at him.

“Stinker!”

* * * *

After the plane landed, they took the shuttle to the car rental agency and waited until the clerk checked their reservation on the computer.

“Your Dodge Dart is ready and waiting,” the clerk said.

“I thought we reserved a mid-size car,” Philip said.

“You ordered a small vehicle,” he said.

Mother jumped in. “We always order a mid-size. You must be new here.”

“Nope,” the clerk said. “Just never had the pleasure of waiting on you two before.”

Philip hated the guy and pictured him wearing a T-shirt with “Sarcasm is one of my many talents,” written across the front.

“Well, this is the last time we use you, right, Phil?” His mother loved a good fight, and apparently so did the clerk.

“We’re the best and cheapest at the Burbank Airport. The other guys don’t have what we do, ma’am.”

Philip couldn’t hide his amusement. She hated being called ma’am; it was one of her longstanding pet peeves. Nothing to do now but hang back and watch her in action.

“That’s exactly my point,” Mother said.

“Huh?” The clerk looked taken aback.

Philip let her have the last word. She usually did.

“They don’t have you.” And with that, she grabbed the car keys and headed for the door.

Mother waited impatiently outside while Philip circled the blue rental, ran his fingers over the paint, supposedly checking for dents. He bent down and looked underneath the frame. “Can’t be too careful,” he told her.

“The car’s fine, Phil, come on.”

“Just one more walk around—”

His mother opened the passenger door and yelled over her shoulder, “Don’t forget to kick the tires while you’re at it!”