My mom gives us strict instructions, "I want you back by 11." That's when she wants to leave for the 45-minute trip to Hyannis. My plane is scheduled to takeoff from there at 1:38. When I protest, she counters with, "So you'll read if we're early. What's the difference between reading there or at the beach?" I have no good answer.
We drive downtown to arguably the best little French bakery on the eastern seaboard, Maison Villatte.
We end up with a little time after our quick coffee and, in my case, a raisin twirl thing that's amazing.
I expect to find nothing, and walk out with a $29.99 last minute purchase. A gorgeous bathing suit that fits perfectly. But now we are going to be late.
I call my mom and am surprised at how calm she is. We arrive home to a very relaxed Phyllis.
We leave the house around 11:30. Then my plane is delayed almost an hour. By the time I make it to my very hot apartment, it's after four.
I like being home. Sleeping in my own bed. Watching TV and reading the newspaper (things I avoid on the Cape). Catching up with emails and missed phone calls. And walking out the door to Agata's.
But the novelty wears off quickly. Almost anywhere is better to be than 93-degree Manhattan.
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