Open My Eyes

Eight: Jerk Tendencies

When a waiter in a tuxedo walked by with a tray of champagne, I reached out to take a flute. But I caught my mother's glaring look and waved the waiter on instead. I pouted at my mom, but her expression said it all: "You are not twenty-one; therefore, no alcohol. And no arguing." So I let it go with a sigh.

"There goes my plan to look old and sophisticated with the rest of them," I muttered to myself as I made my way over to the table of hors d'oeuvres.

"Ms. Valentin!" a voice exclaimed in disbelief. "I didn't think I'd see you here."

Strawberry halfway in my mouth, I turned wide-eyed towards my unexpected visitor. When I recognized Edward Manner, I popped the strawberry from my mouth and hid it behind my back. I put my hand up to cover my mouth as I murmured, "Mr. Manner, what a pleasant surprise."

He chuckled shortly and gestured to the snack I was hiding. With a smile, he told me, "Go ahead and finish eating. I sprang up on you so I'll give you time to eat that. I won't even watch." He turned away from me, looking out at the crowd as he sipped his champagne.

With his eyes averted, I faced the table and stuffed the strawberry in my mouth. I scarfed it down as quickly as possible, chewing swiftly. I glanced at the leafy top in my hand and wondered what to do with it. As I swallowed the last of the strawberry, I grabbed a napkin and folded it around the leafy remnants. I sucked my teeth just to make sure there weren't any strawberry remnants on my pearly whites, and turned back to Ed.

He noticed I had finished, so he looked to me once more, plastering his practiced smile onto his face. He lifted his glass to the crowd as he asked, "What are you doing here? I never took you as an art fan."

Chuckling nervously, I informed him, "This is actually my mother's exhibit. She asked me to come tonight."

"Ah," he stated, as if it all made sense now. "I thought the last name was familiar. Meredith Valentin is very talented. I was surprised to hear she was a welder, though. I hardly expected it from a woman like her."

My eyes peered into his, an eyebrow quirked. My hand inched towards the bowl of cashews but I refrained, asking, "How do you know my mother?" Once the question was out, I stuffed some assorted nuts into my mouth—why was I so hungry?

Ed took another sip from the flute, and I couldn't help thinking how mature and sophisticated he looked while doing so.

My assumption was champagne was served at parties like these because it made people look expensive, erudite, and established. Plus, it added just the right amount of fun to make it more of a party.

Ever since I came up with the theory, I wanted to attend a party and drink bubbling champagne in a glass flute so I could look affluent, cultured, and mature. Now I had the perfect opportunity, but Mom had to say no.

He explained, "I keep an eye on art. I'm quite the fan. When your mother entered the scene, I expected feminine paintings or at least sculpting, but not welding. It was quite a surprise for me. Has she always pursued this art form?"

With a nod, I answered, "She told me once that she got into it in high school. Her teacher called her a prodigy essentially, and she's stuck to it ever since."

"Clearly she's flourished quite well, especially to get such a grand showing at the museum," he noted, eyeing the other admirers. "And an exhibit in the front room, no doubt. Quite an accomplishment."

I found my mother in her shining golden gown, surrounded by potential buyers, the museum curator, and some of her friends. They were laughing and having a wonderful time.