Arrive at the Restaurant

I calmly parked the car, slung my purse over my shoulder as I stepped out. The wind against my skin through the small tears in my jeans and blew a few loose strands of hair into my mouth. But no one accused me of being an impostor. No one gave me strange looks as I confidently strolled into the restaurant and looked around for my “friends”.

Over by one of the windows I saw two women matching the pictures I'd seen on my mom's online feeds sitting outside in the restaurant’s private patio. There was a woman on the chubbier side with blonde hair with highlights, I took note of her outfit which was a cream-coloured cotton joggers that ended by her calves, a white casual top, and a greyish denim jacket (Kathy) and a slender auburn-haired woman in a floral sundress (Kimberly). As if to confirm my suspicions, Kimberly had seen me and was waving me over.

“Abigail!” She laughed, jumping out of her chair and running over with open arms to hug me. As she clasped me in a warm hug all I could think about was the feeling of her squishy breasts squeezing against mine.

Kathy stood and did the same, all of us chattering in the usual manner of people who hadn't seen each other in years-- “How are you?” “You look amazing.” “Oh my god, it's been so long.”

With the greetings done, I took a seat and placed a napkin over my lap. We chatted amicably, catching each other up on our lives. Kathy was a teacher at an elite private school, Kim an executive at a logistics company. I wasn't sure what logistics were exactly but nodded sympathetically as Kimberly talked. Then it was my turn. This part was easy. I knew what my mom had been doing for the past few years. It was when the conversation turned to reminiscing about the past that I grew nervous again, but it turned out relatively easy to get through. Plus, I was able to convince them to indulge in a mimosa to loosen everyone up.

Kathy and Kimberly would tell their stories and all I had do was chime in with agreement every now and then and, laugh at every punchline. when the topics turned to what my mom had done, I just feigned forgetfulness of details.

“Do you remember that time you got so stoned you thought the cashier at that grocery store was Tom Hanks?” Kathy asked, turning to me.

“Oh, wow, I wouldn't say I really remembered it!” I laughed, which just encouraged Kathy to tell the story.

I wasn't aware of just how much of a hippie my mom used to be. With all the grief she gave me when she caught me smoking one joint it was a total surprise when Kathy and Kimberly related the adventures of an Abigail completely stoned out of her mind.

The waiter broke in a few times to ask for our orders or to refill our glasses, coming up to the table with a polite, “Ladies?” which, was a thrill for me and made me crack a small smile. No one suspected I was an impostor and gradually the tension in my shoulders eased and I was truly laughing at the ridiculousness of my mom's youth with her old friends. I crossed my legs at the knee, sliding my hand along my thigh every now and then, hardly believing how perfect it felt to slip into my mom's skin for a day.

My lunch consisted of delicate pillows of ravioli in a rose sauce, and a small garden salad, which I found insanely delicious. Though I didn't know whether it was because the food was that good or whether I was tasting it through my mom's more refined palate and picked up flavours that would otherwise be lost on me, or some combination of the two. It certainly filled me up and I sat back and let out a small belch. I quickly covered my mouth and blushed as if I just got busted as an imposter. However, it only sent Kathy and Kimberly into fits of laughter, I guess that was more in line with the image of the Abigail that they knew.

When lunch ended, we all sad our goodbyes on the sidewalk just outside the restaurant, hugging and promising to catch up again. We even made plans to talk to each other at least once a week going forward. Somehow this get together with complete strangers felt like we had always been friends, and nothing had changed from the years of not talking. When I turned to walk away, I slung my purse over my shoulder and returned to my car, stopping halfway through the parking lot to gaze into the windows of a clothing shop.