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didn’t listen because sometimes your inner voice is an idiot. I finished my coffee and paid the check and sat back in the booth and made a couple of moves in Words With Friends . Mother came out of the bathroom just as I was playing VICTOR on a triple-word score to take the lead.
    “Are you ready to go?” she asked. “You didn’t pay for dinner, did you?”
    “I did indeed,” I said.
    “How much was it?”
    “If I tell you, you’ll try to give me cash for it, which I’m absolutely not going to take, and then we’re going to just go round and round all over again. I am tired and I would like us to stop arguing and go home.”
    She slipped into the booth across from me. “I just want to say one thing before we go.”
    “I’m not in a hurry,” I said. “Would you like some coffee or something?” I had won this round, but I didn’t see the point in pressing my advantage further than that.
    “It is getting late, and coffee is the last thing I need right now. I’ve had a little time to think about how I’ve behaved tonight, and I wanted to tell you that I’m not proud of myself.”
    “It’s all right,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”
    “I should have leveled with you right from the start. I’ve had a very distressing day, and I thought I could count on your sister to take me down for the funeral, and when she backed out on me, I didn’t know what else to do.”
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “The what?”
    “The funeral. Friday morning, in Cape May.”
    My back stiffened against the booth. “What are you talking about? What funeral? Who died?”
    “Nobody you know, of course, or I would have told you about it already. But that’s why I need to go down there, is to go to the funeral.”
    “Um,” I said. “Er. Um.” I was frustrated by my sudden inability to master the basics of the English language. I knew it , I thought. Every time she calls me, it means somebody’s in the hospital, or somebody’s dead.
    “Are you all right, sweetheart?” Mother asked.
    “You could have told me that,” I said.
    “I should have,” she said. “And I apologize. It’s just that I remembered that you aren’t really much of a funeral-goer. I thought it would be best not to bring the subject up over dinner.”
    “I do fine at funerals,” I said. It came out sounding a little more tense than I wanted it to.
    “I just thought you might not be comfortable with the idea right away.”
    “That happened one time. I was twelve.”
    “I know, dear,” she said. “I remember it very clearly.”
    “Mother, is it so much to ask to be treated like an adult? Just one time?”
    “Of course not, Wendy. I would be happy to oblige you.”
    “That would be nice,” I said. I drank the last couple of drops of coffee in my cup.
    “Well, here goes. I have a funeral to go to in Cape May on Friday morning, and it would help me if you could drive me down there Thursday night. Would you be available?”
    It took a moment for me to realize what she was doing. This was manipulation under another name. This was giving me the illusion of a victory without the substance. And the worst part of it all was that it was working. I’d been waiting for my mother to treat me like an adult all my life, and now she was doing it, and now it was working against me. The problem with being treated like an adult, it turns out, is that then you have to act like an adult.
    “Yes,” I said. “I will drive you down there. I will go with you to this funeral, for whoever it is, because it seems to be important to you. I can take a day off without too much trouble, and I wouldn’t mind taking a nice drive down the Shore.”
    “Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate it. I know this is difficult for you.”
    “It’s fine,” I said.
    “I know this won’t be fun for you,” she said. “But when you get to be my age, half your social life revolves around going to funerals.”
    “Something to look forward to,” I said. “Come on.