“Got those,” I told her, pulling the cookies from the bottom of the bag.
“Also martinis,” Eva said.
“Can you have martinis with ice cream?” Allie asked.
“Of course, darling. martinis go with anything.”
I pulled Oreos from the sleeve and passed one to Eva. “You’re back early.”
“It’s over,” she said. “You’ve timed your pity party perfectly.”
Eva made martinis and I got spoons, one for each flavor.
“Tell the truth,” Eva asked, handing me a drink, “Has he always been a bore or did he get zapped by the quotidian fairy while I wasn’t watching?”
“Honest truth?” I asked, sipping the near-overflow from the wide-rimmed glass. I glanced at Allie, who looked up from sampling Cherry Garcia and shrugged. I didn’t want to say anything I’d regret.
“Boring, right?” Eva said into the silence. “I knew it. I knew it when he said he hated the shoe idea.”
“He said that he hated it?” Allie asked.
“He didn’t say hated, exactly. I outlined it for him, all the stuff your mother and Mitch and I talked about. Five thousand shoes, five thousand flowers. Which, by the by, is a great slogan. He pursed
his lips and said it was an interesting idea.”
“Interesting idea, hah!” Allie said.
"It’s a really dumb idea,” I said
“It’s a brilliant idea, Mom.”
“She’s right, India. The man can’t tell a brilliant idea from a lost boy. All he ever talks about is the Battle of the Bulge. And the Spanish-American War. And the invasion of Granada.”
“He was pretty awful,” I said, burying my spoon into New York Super Fudge Chunk. “The quotidian fairy conked him on the head long before you came along.”
“Why did you go out with him?” Allie asked.
“I don’t know,” Eva said. “He was available. He owned his own car. He knows how to read.”
“You need to up your standards,” Allie said.
“Yes, well. I’m not the one hosting this ice cream social.”