So we’re at dinner tonight, in a restaurant, and Beth tells Jake to sit down. A common request. Probably not the first time he’d heard it tonight, either. Instead of complying, he tries out a new phrase:
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
Without saying a word, Beth turns and stares at Jake. She doesn’t just look at him. She stares at him. That Mom death stare. You know the one.
She holds it. Five seconds go by. Ten.
Jake breaks first. “Why the madness?” he asks.
Beth says, “Because you can’t talk to your Mom that way.”
Another, much shorter, pause.
“Gabriel did it.” Jake replies. “Gabriel said ‘you can’t tell me what to do.'”
She called him on his fib, and he replies, “I’m sorry mama, can you ever forgive me?”
They exchange a quick peck, and the meal resumes.