The smiling woman presented a tray.
My mother, 96, fresh from the beauty shop and wearing pearls, waved it away. “I’ll have a bourbon and water, please.”
“Bourbon and water. First the ice, then bourbon, then water.”
“I know what bourbon and water is, sweetie.”
My mother turned to me and raised her right eyebrow. Any of her children will tell you this meant trouble. Only my father called her sweetie.
“Please tell that cocktail waitress what I want and order yourself something.”
I dreaded disobeying Mom, but our cocktail waitress was her caregiver and her tray held meds.