“It is,” Mom insisted. “I’m such a-Alice, what’s the word for what I am? I’m a…”

I could think of a few choice words for what she was. “I don’t know.”

“Fatalist,” she said triumphantly. “These things must happen for a reason.”

“Really?” I asked distractedly. Bette would argue that the origin of the word more or less suggested that it wasn’t so much that things happened for a reason, just that they happened.

But I was probably thinking about Bette too much.

“I thought you said me and Bette were like, a match made in Heaven or some ***** like that.” I frowned. “Now you’re saying you think it’s for the best?”

“Well, I must have been wrong,” Mom said, “because if Bette thinks you’re better off as friends, she must be right.”

Oh, good. My mother favored the Bette is Always Right ideology, too.

“You think so?” I couldn’t help asking.

“Call me crazy, but she’s always seemed to have your best interests at heart,” my mother said, “so it must be…” She laughed suddenly. “Or maybe I don’t know what the ***** I’m talking about, I’ve had a little bit to drink tonight.”

I laughed. When we hung up, I felt sort of sleepy. Sometimes my mother’s a lot smarter than anyone (especially me) gives her credit for. Of course, a lot of times we give her credit for being a lot smarter than she actually is. She’s nothing if not inconsistent, you know.

At any rate, as I fell asleep on the couch that night, I was sort of glad to have her in my life.

***

“Don’t any of you ever work?” Marina asked playfully as she set Kyle’s espresso in front of him.

I grinned. “Says the lady who spends more time talking to us than at the counter, serving her customers.”

“What can I say? I have my favorites.”

“Good,” Spencer said, holding up his empty coffee cup. “Get one of your favorites a refill, will you?”

Breakfast at The Planet on a weekday with three of my favorite people-Kyle, Spencer, and Bette-is one of the best things in the world.