Page 158 of ClickBack

“Yeah?”

“Your mother said seven.”

I look at the clock, then down at her. “She didn’t say we had to be useful.”

Giselle laughs against me. I tuck her closer and close my eyes. We still have time.

We get downstairs at six fifty-five. Mom is in a chair near the elevators, and Von is leaning against the wall beside her, going through something on his phone. He looks up when he sees us.

“There she is.” He pockets the phone and hugs Giselle before shaking my hand. “You keeping him decent?”

“I haven’t accepted that position.”

“Good. Benefits are terrible.”

“You ready?” I ask him.

“Been ready.”

Mom stands. “He got here thirty seconds before you.”

Von points toward the doors. “And now we’re all here.”

Graves joins us outside. The restaurant is close enough that Von complains about taking the car, then remembers the heat when we get out and stops arguing.

We have a table toward the back, away from the entrance. Mom sits beside Giselle. Von takes the other side of Mom, and Graves sits where he can see the room. I slide into the chair beside Giselle and leave my phone in my pocket.

For the first few minutes, Von tells Mom about something that needs fixing at his place. She listens, asks whether he has called the building, then asks why he is telling her before he has told them.

“I thought you might know what it was.”

“From the noise you made?”

“I did the noise pretty good.”

“You did,” Giselle says. “I still would call the building.”

I laugh. Von looks at her in disappointment.

“I thought we were getting along.”

“We are. I’d hate for you to have to keep making that sound.”

Graves puts his menu down because he’s laughing too hard to read it.

We order. Mom asks Giselle about Rae’s interview, and Giselle tells her enough for me to hear how proud she is without having to complain first. Mom asks what Rae wants to do next. They talk about grown children making plans far enough away that you can’t fix things by driving over.

Von lifts his head. “I called the building last time.”

“Sweetheart, we have moved on,” Mom says.

He looks at me. I shrug. He’s on his own.

When the conversation turns to music, Giselle mentions the argument we had after the gallery. Von immediately sides with her song choice. He hasn’t heard the other one yet.

“You don’t even know what I picked,” I tell him.

“I know you.”