It is so not my fault! You gotta trust me on this.

Okay, I’ll admit that maybe I’ve done a few things that I shouldn’t, and maybe even said a thing or two that wasn’t completely the truth. This, however. Not.My.Fault.

So, we were at dinner.

I went, of course, because I thought about it, and wondered what if I wasn’t there for my mom? She needs me, right?

Might as well make the best of things and do dinner. Gotta eat sometime, right?

I thought mom was so nervous that she was going to drive off the road on the way to the restaurant.

She was dressed nice, but not too nice. I probably would have had to say something if she had been. I, on the other hand, went casual. Who needs to pretend it’s a special occasion when it’s not.

Bette Porter comes dressed in a suit. Bad sign from the start.

On the way to the restaurant, I tried to figure out what mom’s post-dinner plans might be. You know, drop the kid off with a responsible adult and take off for a day or two. It could happen. Maybe not the first thing someone would expect from my mom, but the potential was there.

Mom’s kind of clueless about this stuff, though, and it wasn’t worth really trying to find an answer without spelling things out. I don’t think she was ready for that.

Back to dinner and Bette “dressed for success” Porter.

Bette was being all New York and stuff for mom, picking wine and that. Me? What could I do? As mom taught me, I was on my best behavior. After all, I couldn’t do anything wrong if I was following the rules, right?

And I was there for her. Why else would I have been there?

I made sure I sat next to mom. Now this was a tough choice. After all, if I’d let mom and Bette Porter sit next to each other, then who knows what Bette Porter might do. There’d be serious opportunity for contact with that kind of a seating arrangement.

By sitting across from Bette Porter, that meant mom was also sitting across from Bette Porter, so they’d have to be looking at each other throughout the meal.

But at least they’d just be looking. And if Bette Porter tried anything funny, I’d see her. She couldn’t get away with anything if they weren’t sitting next to each other, right?

Then again, if I hadn’t sat next to mom, maybe it wouldn’t happen. But it was a mistake.

They were having the beef. Just a cow that someone probably dragged it off for dinner one day, and the next day it was dinner. I felt kind of sorry for the poor cow.

Okay, so here’s where I said one of those thing that maybe wasn’t totally true. I told Bette Porter I was a vegetarian. And there, at that meal, I was. So it wasn’t exactly like I was lying.

I just kept thinking of that cow and stuff. I’m sure the last thing the cow worried about was how well it’d be paired with a merlot. It was a warning to me to be aware, I was certain.

So, we ordered, and mom and Bette Porter made small talk to each other. They talked about what they were doing, about art stuff, about people that they knew. I sort of felt uncomfortable when they were talking about people I knew, since it was weird that Bette Porter knew them, too.

Bette Porter tossed in a couple questions to me, of course, so that she could make it appear that she had any interest.

But if she was keeping track of me through Aunt Alice and Aunt Shane, as she had said, wasn’t this stuff she should have known, already? Or did she just need me to verify their information?

I played along, just like I promised mom I would.

Things were almost normal. I think it lulled me into a false sense of security.

Then, when it all happened, things went into slow motion. Have you ever been through that? Where you see what’s going to happen and you know it’s going to be bad, but there’s nothing you can really do to stop it.

Bette Porter, Ms. New York Fabulous, was telling some story about some artist that I guess mom knew. Mom was laughing, and leaning closer to Bette. Bette was laughing and leaning closer to mom.

For a moment I thought they’d actually hold hands or something.

That can’t happen! That’s why I’m here, after all, to keep that from happening.

I had to take action.

Figuring I’d do something that would be kind of normal, I reached for the ketchup. Well, right at that same moment, both mom and Bette Porter’s hands intersected mine.

Interception. Perfect!

For that instant, it was perfect. And then it all went bad. Way bad.

They each withdrew their hands. I continued with the original course, grabbing the ketchup. As I pulled it back, I had to lift it to keep from hitting Bette Porter’s hand with the bottle.

I mean, how would that have looked, if I smacked her with a ketchup bottle, even accidentally?

In retrospect, maybe I should have let the ketchup bottle hit her. It wouldn’t have been hard, or anything.

Instead, I kind of jerked the bottle out of the way. It hit Bette Porter’s wine glass.

It’s not like I could drop the ketchup bottle, so I lunged forward with the other hand.

And I might have caught the stem of the glass, too, had Bette Porter not been reaching for the glass at the exact same moment.

My complete focus was on the glass, but once she smacked my hand out of the way, I knew I wouldn’t have a second chance.

Silk blouse. Merlot. Not good.

Bette Porter’s look was one of shock. It’s like it was frozen on her face.

Quickly turning toward mom, I saw she kind of had this horrified thing going on.

Me, I could feel the blush rising. I mean, it was an accident and all, really it was. But still, that didn’t stop me from feeling bad about the whole thing.

“I’m sorry,” I said to mom.

She looked at me, and then quickly gestured towards Bette.

At that point I turned towards Bette Porter, and I spoke the words so fast, because I did mean them, I didn’t even realize that it was a lot easier to say than I’d have expected. “I’m sorry,” I repeated.

Bette was dabbing at the blouse with her napkin, a sort of smiling grimace frozen on her face.

Putting down the bottle, I found myself staring down at my salad. I didn’t want ketchup, anyway.

I just wanted to go home.

(tbc)