Free Seth Baumgartner's Love Manifesto by Eric Luper Page B

I’m not really familiar with it. It’s a larger button off to the right. I depress the largest bump I can find and hold it in. The phone plays a little tune as it powers down.
    Mom perks up. “Did you hear that?”
    I ignore her and make my way to the refrigerator. “You want an Arnold Palmer?”
    â€œThat’d be great.” She goes back to digging through the junk baskets lined up on the counter near her charger.
    Crisis averted.
    I grab the lemonade and iced tea pitchers from the fridge and place them on the counter. I get two tall glasses and fill them with ice. The four secrets to a perfect Arnold Palmer are to (1) mix it fresh, (2) add a little more iced tea than lemonade, (3) shake it into oblivion, and (4) pour it over tons of ice. I take the stainless steel shaker from the liquor cabinet and press it into the ice maker. The refrigerator hums and lets a few cubes drop.
    My mother lowers the dog to the floor. He begins sniffing around the cereal cabinet. He must like Lucky Charms as much as I do. Maybe we’ll get along after all. Mom slides into one of the barstools at the center island. She stares out the sliding glass door. “Hot one out there today, huh?”
    â€œSure is.”
    I pour the iced tea and lemonade and jam the cap onto the shaker. When I begin to shake, the steel gets chilly and begins to sweat. I pop off the top and pour the two drinks.
    â€œDimitri and I were down at Poindexter’s,” I say, “but it’s too hot. I figured I’d come home and work on my podcasting.”
    â€œHow’s that shaping up?”
    â€œGoing okay, I guess.”
    â€œYou mind if I take a listen one of these days?”
    I sip my drink. “I’m still working out the kinks,” I say. “Soon, though. I promise.”
    â€œWhenever you’re ready. I do have the—”
    â€œNumber one rated show in the Capital District,” I say. “I know.”
    My mother slouches in her stool. “Any thoughts on a job? It’ll be the first thing your dad asks when he gets home.”
    â€œYou mean the first thing he asks after he calms down about you getting a dog?”
    â€œOh, come on, Seth. How can you not love that little snookums? Within a week, your dad will be head over heels for him.” She watches the puppy stumble around near the sliding glass door. “I asked at the studio—you know, about a summer job—but they only have unpaid internships left.”
    â€œI’m thinking about working at the club,” I say.
    Mom smiles. “I always thought you should work downthere. You love golf. It’s a perfect match.” She slides her glass in front of herself. “That’s all you used to talk about. Begging for this club or that. Wanting some special ball because you read an article that said it would improve your drive or give you better spin.”
    I take a sip of my drink. “So what’s been up with Dad lately?”
    She looks puzzled. “What do you mean?”
    â€œI don’t know.” I slide into the barstool next to her. “He’s been riding me harder than he usually does.”
    My mother wraps her hands around her glass like she’s trying to absorb every bit of cold she can. “He’s under a lot of stress lately. There’s a lot going on.”
    More than you know is what I want to say, but all that comes out is “What kind of stuff?”
    She gets a faraway look, and her lips press together like there’s no way lemonade or iced tea should even think about getting past. She brushes her fingertips across the countertop. “It seems so long ago your father and I picked out these tiles. I remember it like it was yesterday.” Her hand lingers over one with a crude design of a cobalt blue, yellow, and orange flower on it. “We brought home a few dozen—all the hand-painted ones—from our honeymoon. Mexico. Cabo San Lucas.”