13
Tuesday, August 22 started with a call from my mother insisting I have brunch with her at the IHOP located at the mall near Rivka’s house. This was wrong for several reasons. First, my mother was a total foodie, so hearing her say “IHOP” was like hearing a nun say “fuck.” She shouldn’t have known that word. Second of all, my mother despised malls so even if she was suddenly embracing franchise pancakes, it wouldn’t happen there.
The restaurant was packed. I wove past families with screaming toddlers, seniors arguing for meal substitutions, and a couple of wait staff bitching none-too-quietly by the kitchen.
Mom sat at a back booth, a combo platter of eggs, sausage, biscuits, and gravy untouched in front of her.
I slid in across from her. “Are you dying?”
“Why would I be dying?”
“W
