Trust Issues

"Your mother said she's not coming to our youngest boy's baseball game tomorrow," said the Lovely Bride on Saturday morning.

"Grandma doesn't love you," I told the youngest.

"Ignore your father," said the Lovely Bride. "Grandma loves you very much. The weather's going to be bad, though, and she doesn't want to sit outside for two hours."

"I sat outside in a snowstorm for three hours this morning to watch the middle boy play soccer," I pointed out.

"That's a start," said the Lovely Bride.

"To what?" I asked.

"To making up for your behavior."

"What behavior?"

"Giving your children the finger is not acceptable."

"They think it's funny," I said.

"It is, sort of," the middle boy chimed in.

"It was funnier when you saw that sign," said the youngest.

"What sign?" asked the Lovely Bride suspiciously.

"Dad was taking my friends and me to a game and we saw a sign for a pumpkin patch and he said, 'Pumpkins galore, you freaking whore,' and we all laughed and decided he was the most messed up dad of all."

"Don't lie to your mother," I said nervously.

"You're a horrible person," she told me.

"At least I'm going to my son's baseball game," I said. "Unlike my mother."

"Do not start with her tonight," she warned me.

"I'll avoid temptation and wait in the car," I said.

"No you won't. It's your sister's anniversary and we're going to have a nice dinner."

We arrived at the restaurant right on time, which is to say ten minutes after my mother got there. My sister and her husband were also there.

"Would you like anything from the bar?" the waitress asked.

"God yes," I implored, ignoring my mother's glare. "Something red and Spanish."

The wine came and I settled down a little, at least until my mother and my brother-in-law began discussing left turns on red.

"A significant number of accidents happen during left turns at stoplights," she said. "Cars try to rush through before the light turns red."

"Really?" I asked. "What data set are you using as the basis for that assertion?"

The Lovely Bride kicked me under the table. "Eat your dinner and be quiet," she hissed.

"How was the food in Hungary?" I asked, rubbing my ankle.

"It was fine," said my mother. "Their goulash is very different than we see here."

"They used to serve us goulash in elementary school," I said. "It looked like a cat with a bleeding ulcer coughed up a hairball on the plate."

The Lovely Bride kicked me again. "Stop," she whispered.

"Prices were quite reasonable in Hungary and Vienna," said my mother. "I was able to check the exchange rate regularly at the ATM."

"You brought your debit card?" I asked.

"Of course," she said.

"Do you have it with you tonight?"

"Yes. Why?"

"What's your PIN?" I asked, grabbing for her purse.

"I'm not going to tell you that," she said, moving the purse out of my reach.

"Why not?"

"Why would I?"

"To show your confidence in me."

"Don't give it to him," said my sister.

"No, don't," said the Lovely Bride.

"I'm not stupid," said my mother as the waitress reappeared.

"Would you like another glass of wine?" the waitress asked.

"God, yes. Put it on her tab," I said, nodding towards my mother.

The Lovely Bride kicked me one more time. "I'm sorry," she said to the others at the table. "He wanted to wait in the car. Next time I'll let him."

"Do what you need to do," my mother told her.