May 2015 (immediately follows #124)

Don't Look Back—You're Not Going That Way

"You can't have just ice cream." Yes, my words were directed toward Lexi and Lindsay, but I tried to include the other "children": Ev, Lily, Charlie—and Mother.

Lexi and Lindsay ducked behind the gigantic Farley's menus, comparing notes and giggling. Ducky and I had heard rumors that Lindsay and her mother—now that the divorce was final—were going to be moving out of state. Lindsay hadn't mentioned anything about it, and until we got solid confirmation, we weren't saying a word. It might not come to fruition. Hopefully. Pollyanna, reporting for duty.

Most of the crew stuck with the safe, boring, tried-and-true burger variations and chicken strips, but Mother seemed determined to have spaghetti. "Are you sure you want spaghetti?" I asked, my voice dripping doubt.

"Yes!" She almost pouted. "You make the best spaghetti, Cassandra!"

Whoops. "Mother, this is a restaurant." Well, kind of. "It's not my spaghetti. I didn't make it. And we aren't at Mario's."

She looked particularly peevish. "But I want spaghetti! Your spaghetti!"

Yes, it was a compliment to my cooking, but the timing sucked. "Tell you what. I promise—cross my heart—I'll make spaghetti for dinner tomorrow." Before she could object, I went on. "You know it takes me all day and that's why it tastes so good, so I can't make it tonight. But I promise I'll make it tomorrow. Fair enough?"

She smiled sunnily. "I want pears."

Hunh? Oh. In the "save your calories for dessert" category they offered sliced pears and cottage cheese. "That will be fine."

The kids—big and little—ran around playing arcade games and amassing tickets until the food arrived. Even Mother joined them; turns out she's pretty good at Skee-Ball. (Suzy reported that she tried to divide her winning tickets among all five "children," but that Ev, Lily and Charlie said the youngest members should get their share.) I went to corral bodies, reminding them that hot food was best when served hot. Even though it had only been fifteen or twenty minutes, there were several prizes already collected, and room was made for them at the table…as best we could manage.

Lexi had shoved her space ball—a dome that would shine stars on the ceiling—under the table, and Lindsay saw the wisdom of this and followed suit with her own grand prize, a weaving and beading kit. Unfortunately when she sat back up, she jostled the wooden plank with her burger and fries. (In her defense, it was awfully close to the edge.) Food went flying.

Human nature—everyone at the table froze and glanced her way. Her face flamed and screwed up, and for a brief second I was afraid we would see a tantrum like she used to throw in years past.

Not quite. "I'm such a jerk! I'm such a klutz!" she raged—at herself. "This is why we don't go out!"

Not a surprise. I'd heard some pretty cutting remarks from both of her parents, who frequently acted with her like they were speaking to a tough adult.

Before I could say anything, Ducky—who was seated closer to her—simply shook his head. "No. You are not a jerk. And while everyone can be a "klutz" at some point, this was merely an accident. Accidents happen. Excuse me?" This last was directed to the young man who had hurried over and was sweeping up the debris. "We've had a little mishap. Would you be so kind as to request a replacement—and if they could rush it, so that we all can eat together, that would be appreciated." He gave his most winsome smile.

"Absolutely." The waiter, a cute redhead about sixteen, winked at Lindsay. "Don't worry," he stage whispered. "Burgers aren't bad to clean up. Last week, one of the new guys dropped an Oinker right before we got to the table. What a mess!"

Lindsay managed a shaky smile, but when he left, her eyes were still hesitant. "I'm sorry…"

Ducky patted her hand. "I know. And as I said—accidents happen. I promise, the world will not stop spinning over the toppling of a cheeseburger." He gave her a broad wink. "Even if it had been one of Uncle Jethro's."

That actually got her to laugh. At the last backyard party, she had downed three burgers flipped by the fearless NCIS leader. When he teased her that she was selling them to passing strangers, she missed the joke and gave him wide-eyed assurances that she would never do that, he made the absolute best burgers on the planet. Watching her being nudged back to playing with Lexi and Ducky (and "stealing" French fries from Ducky's plate while they waited for her new lunch), I was very, very glad that both of her parents had been way too busy to join us.

Later, when the rest of us worked on our own more reasonable sundaes, and the girls demolished the monster platter of ice cream and waved their "Little Oinker" ribbons with great glee, I was doubly glad they hadn't joined us. Every kid should get the chance to eat their weight in ice cream without a killjoy present. And before anyone asks—yes, at their age my best friend and I earned our own "Little Oinker" ribbons, too!