Postcards of People I Don't Know, III

Two-Pound Lobster

At some point, as a child, I might have eaten in a restaurant like this. We, my family and I, are lovers of lobster. My father ignores waiters, unless they are women, and thinks travel to the sea is healthful. He prefers to be alone but would not eat in an empty restaurant unless he was very hungry. Lobsters were brought out one hour late once, at a seaside restaurant and my father said, "You know what you can do with your lobsters?" and walked out, even though he was very hungry. We were always subject to his bad temper. Inevitably my father embarrassed us in restaurants. Both of my parents drink wine regularly and always encouraged me and my brother, as kids, to drink wine. Once, from a restaurant my mother called me. "I'm too drunk to drive home. I stopped and am now sitting at Mezzaluna. Will you talk to me for a minute?" My mother laughs at almost anything. She also ignores waiters. I have never worn a red beret. My mother often forced me to wear clothes in navy, yellow and green. My father force fed me because I was too skinny. But he knew I would always eat lobster. If the option was there, my brother ordered lobster at restaurants. He became inured to it, and liked to assert his prowess by the size of lobster he could eat. He ordered it once when he was out with a family friend, the one whose frosted lipstick and black leather pants I coveted. Probably, it was a two-pound lobster, my father said, because the family friend had said, "You know what your son ordered?" Still, my parents talk about the time my brother went out with the family friend, who is no longer a family friend, and ordered the two-pound lobster.