Cozy and candlelit

Inside the dimly-lit restaurant Jane gives her name to the hostess working the front, a girl a few years older than you. She offers you a spot at the bar while you wait for your table and the two of you take two seats at the center the long hardwood bar. The place is fairly quiet tonight, you are alone at the bar aside from a college-aged couple drinking and talking down at the far end, and several of the tables in this section sit empty.

"What do you want Natalie?"

"I don't know. Pick for me, I guess," you answer, not especially knowledgeable when it comes to ****. You had tried a few things, but you were still underage after all. Luckily it was legal to drink the presence of a guardian in your state. A nice perk of having an open-minded parent, you mused.

Jane asks the gruff-looking bartender for two cosmopolitans.

"This your daughter, ma'am?" he asks.

"Yep, that's right," she answers. "Alright, just checkin'. You two look more like sisters to me, but I won't ask for ID," he says, chuckling slightly to himself.

Thinking about it, you really didn't bear much resemblance to your mom in your current form. People used to say you had your mom's eyes, at least before they found out you were adopted. The bartender was probably just trying to flirt. Mom usually cut guys off pretty fast, but she didn't seem phased by it tonight.

A minute or two later and he finishes the order, filling two martini glasses with a reddish-pink concoction from his shaker.

You observed your mother's mannerisms as she picked up her glass and took a sip. This was your first experience drinking a cocktail, or anything at a bar, but you followed her lead and took a healthy sip.

The strong taste of **** forces you to exhale a bit.

"Like it?" Mom asks.

"Might be more of an acquired taste," you answer, "but its not bad."

Five minutes or so pass before the hostess finds you and tells you your table is ready. Jane has already finished her drink, but tells you to bring your glass. You take a quick gulp so as not to spill any on the way.

The hostess leads you towards the back of the restaurant. The place is practically a maze, with soft lightning and quiet music. She leads you to a row of booths, all filled with couples dining save for a lone empty one. The hostess sets your places and you take your seats across from each other on the heavily-padded bench seats. You begin to peruse the menu filled with several pages of authentic Italian dishes.

An hour later and you are both nearly finished with your plates. The bottle of Prosecco your mother ordered is nearly finished as well. You've spent the whole time chatting happily about this and that, past, present, and future. Honestly your own problems, which consisted chiefly of inhabiting the body of a girl and having no friends and no female life experience seemed pretty minor at the moment. Your mom pours out the last of the bottle equally into your glasses.

"You still have to drive us home Mom, maybe we should go easy on the ****," you say.

"How about we just walk home? Its only 15 minutes, I'll even let you change your shoes before we leave."

"I guess that's fine Mom. Whatever makes you happy."

Your mother smiles broadly. She wasn't drunk by any means, but maybe a little tipsy.

Jane speaks again now having finished off her pasta, "One more thing before we get the check, ever had limoncello? They make their own here."

"What's that, a dessert?" you ask. "Yeah, more or less," she explains.

She orders two from your waitress who returns quickly with a pair of tiny chilled glasses filled with a syrupy yellow liquid. She raises her glass towards you, apparently intending to make a toast.

"To my daughter Natalie, the bravest girl I know," she says, tapping her glass against yours before downing the citrusy brew in one fell swoop.

You follow suit, trying not to cough as the ice-cold liquor runs down your throat.

"Jeez Mom, what do they put in that stuff?" you ask, taking a drink of water to cleanse your palette.

"Lemons mostly," she answers unhelpfully.

After paying for the check you thank your mother for the lovely meal and the two of you make your way to the car. You are so full of pasta you can hardly stand up, but your mother offers you a hand. Outside you slip on your tennis shoes with no socks before leaving the parking lot behind as you walk towards home in twilight.