Page 27 of Cold, Cold Bones

“Mm.” I wasn’t. Wondered which bimbo of the month would be diving with him. Really didn’t care. “Got the kitchen in order?”

“That’s why I’m calling. Want to come for dinner and help organize?”

“Sure,” I said, not really wanting to do the second part. “What time?”

“Whenever.”

“I’ll catch a quick shower and feed Birdie, then swing by. Say, thirty minutes?”

“OK. And can you bring dinner?”

“Make that forty-five.”

The shower was great, the cat indignant. The wait at Maharani took half an hour. By the time I got to Katy’s house it was after seven.

“What did you get?”

“Chicken tikka and lamb korma. Naan. Raita.”

“Hot damn.” Practically ripping the bag from my hand.

Katy had a bottle of Decoy Pinot Noir going. She refilled her glass. I got a soda from the fridge.

We split the entrees, each of us grabbing a piece of naan. After adding the cucumber and yogurt sauce to our paper plates, we tore the cellophane from the plastic knives and forks and dived in.

As we ate, I looked around the kitchen. Saw little progress since moving day.

“I assume you focused your efforts elsewhere?” Jocular tone.

“I needed a place to sleep, Mom.” Defensive.

“Exactly where I’d have started.”

The bedroom took three days? I didn’t say it.

“Where shall we launch our mission, boss?”

Katy pointed at two cartons stacked beside the Sub-Zero. “I think that’s kitchen stuff.”

While I cleared the dinner debris, she got out a box cutter and sliced through tape.

Good call. The top box held a jumble of pots and pans, Tupperware, and cheap cooking utensils. Very few in any category. Apparently, the culinary arts held no appeal for my daughter.

The bottom box contained dish rags and towels, plastic tumblers, and an incomplete set of melamine dinnerware. Pottery Barn, I guessed. The bottom layer was composed of an odd assortment of mugs.

As we placed items in cabinets and drawers, I took a stab at conversation.

Easy, Brennan. Keep it light.

“I imagine you’ll be relieved when all these boxes are gone.”

“Fuckin-A.”

“Have you contacted any of your old Charlotte friends?”

“Not yet. I’ve been balls to the wall with this move.”

As we began on the mugs, I asked, “Any plans for what’s next?”