Ann comes in for breakfast with her baby, Michael, and her younger sister, Liz. Ann's about thirty but looks older, too thin, wearing the kind of sweatsuit you can only find for under ten bucks. Michael, in her arms, is chunky, red-faced and bored, in a diaper and t-shirt with a cartoon logo. Liz looks much younger than Ann, is chunky like the baby, and dresses, for any occasion, like she's going to watch a local speed-metal band.
As she is ordering breakfast for the three of them, Ann discovers that her husband has cleaned out her pocket book again. She asks if Liz can heat up a bottle for Michael while she runs to the ATM. Vy, the waitress on duty, says sure, why not. She asks me to go with them. I carry one of the creaky wooden high-chairs back for Michael.
It's dead right now. The cook, a Navy dropout called Ellis, has gone out back to sigh.
Ann starts the bottle in a dented steel pot, then leaves without a word. Kathy lights a cigarette and leans against the counter by the stove. Michael is across the room with me. He is redder-faced and glassy-eyed, staring at me, tugging at his shirt and diaper, like he's about to strip down and attack me Celtic Warrior-style.
Liz laughs, drawing his attention.
MICHAEL: Ba-ba.
LIZ: It's almost ready, Mike.
MICHAEL: Mikey ba-ba.
Ann comes back. She kisses her son, musses his sweaty hair.
ANN: What's a matter, baby?
MICHAEL: Ba-ba.
LIZ: He's hungry, like the rest of us. I thought you were going to the ATM?
Ann goes to check on the bottle--it's dancing in the pot.
ANN: I am. I had to go to the bathroom first. (She points at the bottle.) What are you doing?
LIZ: I'm fixing Mike's bottle. What does it look like I'm doing?
ANN: You're supposed to warm it up, not melt it.
LIZ: Excuse me...Why don't you just use your tits, like Mom did?
ANN: Lizzie.
LIZ (laughing): Look how healthy we turned out.
ANN: Don't talk like that in front of the baby.
LIZ: God...
Ann shrugs at me. I shrug back. She switches off the burner.
ANN: Alright, I'm going. Take that out and let it cool off for a couple minutes. Try it yourself before you give it to him.
LIZ: What!?
ANN: For crissake, Liz. On your arm. Squirt a little bit on your arm first. Just make sure it doesn't burn him, okay?
MICHAEL: Ba-ba.
ANN: I know, Michael. Auntie Liz is gonna get it for you.
Ann leaves again.
Liz puts the cigarette in her mouth, tries to pick up the bottle and scalds her fingers.
