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late for that?”
    Mom bites her lip. “Look, Franklin. You and I need to, well, start over. Find our way back to each other.”
    â€œAre you talking about you and me, or you and Dad?” I don’t realize I’ve raised my voice until two women sitting at a nearby table turn to look. I glare at them, and they go back to their own conversation.
    â€œNo,” Mom says, “I’m talking about us, Franklin. You and me. It’s my fault entirely. I’ve been, well, I guess you could say, distracted.”
    That makes me laugh. “Distracted? That’s the understatement of the year.”
    That’s when Mom starts tearing up. I refuse to feel sorry for her. If she wants to cry right here in the Acropolis, let her. What do I care?
    Mom dabs her eyes with her napkin. I don’t need to look at the two ladies next to us to know they are lapping this up like it’s some reality show. Your Mother’s a Dummy. And Your Dad’s No Better. No Wonder You Start Fires.
    Just when I think things can’t get any worse, I notice this guy walking into the Acropolis. His hair (shoulder-length, blond) reminds me of the guys on the covers of Mom’s romance books. Only this guy’s wearing a shirt. The heroes on the covers of Mom’s books are always bare-chested and built like Schwarzenegger. Why is this guy coming over to our table? And why is Mom blushing like a girl in grade two?
    I relax when I realize I know the guy. It’s James. Mom’s hairdresser. He’s been doing her hair since forever. When I was a kid, she’d make me go to the salon with her. Man, was that boring.
    â€œJames? What are you doing here?” Mom’s smile doesn’t look small or sad or forced. I guess over the years, she and James have gotten friendly. Does that mean he knows about her and Dad?
    James reeks of hairspray. When he smiles, you can see all his teeth. “Well, you mentioned you’d be having dinner here with Franklin tonight and so…” James lets his voice trail off. “You two mind if I pull up a chair?”
    â€œI don’t mind,” Mom says. “Is it okay with you, Franklin? I know we were having mother-son time.”
    â€œI don’t mind.” Actually, I’m relieved. Now Mom will have someone else to talk to.
    The waitress comes with the Greek salad and our souvlakis. I take a giant bite out of mine. I can feel the tzatziki dripping down my chin.
    James brings a chair over to Mom’s side of the table. “You smell nice,” he tells her. Then he looks up at me. “You’re looking good, Franklin. Is that your skateboard out on the porch?”
    â€œYeah. I got it for my birthday. From Mom and Dad.”
    â€œIt’s pretty cool. Maybe one of these days you can show me some skateboard moves. I’ve always wanted to try.”
    Something about the way Mom looks at James when he says that makes me look at James in a different way. I’d always figured James was gay. I mean, aren’t all male hairdressers gay? Especially the ones who dress fancy? I lean in closer to the table. Mom and James’s knees are touching. I can feel my heart starting to race inside my chest.
    My mom’s been getting it on with her hairdresser. I suddenly remember what Terry said the other day—that he couldn’t understand why my mom was hanging out so much at the beauty salon. So Terry must have figured it out before I did.
    Now I’m starting to think something else too. James didn’t happen to drop by the Acropolis. I’ll bet the two of them had this planned.
    Even though I haven’t finished my souvlaki, I get up from the table. “I gotta go,” I tell Mom. I make a point of not looking at James.
    â€œIs something wrong?” Mom asks.
    That’s when I lose it. “He’s Honey, isn’t he?”
    James is standing up now too. “It isn’t what you think. Your mom and I