Tuesday morning, Iz’s phone chimed with a text. She was half-asleep, but she could read: Mom.
Hi baby! Can you do lunch today? Meet me at McNamara’s. It’s close to my new condo and I can show you!
Iz sighed. She typed out a response that she could. She had three interviews lined up that week but nothing for Tuesday. It was probably the best day to meet with her mom.
At noon, Iz sat at a table in McNamara’s restaurant, waiting for her “fashionably late” mother to arrive. McNamara’s was one of those restaurants where one went to be seen. Iz wasn’t surprised that her mom selected it.
And speak of the devil. Fifteen minutes late, her mother glided across the expanse of the restaurant, stopping twice to chat with people Iz didn’t recognize. Mom was always on. Well, that’s not entirely true.
