He was carrying a tray with three cups and one of those French press coffeepots where you have to lower a screened plunger through the hot water and squeeze the coffee grounds at the bottom of the pot. I prefer Mr. Coffee any day. “Oh, no,” he said. “Not Planning and Zoning again. It’s a very long story. You’re not going to tell them that whole thing, are you?” “My house, my rules,” Mama Rose said. “Whatever you say,” Tommy said with a certain amount of resignation. He finished pressing the coffee. He poured a cup for Mel and handed it her, then turned to me. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind?” “Why not?” I said. “The night is young.” And so, knowing I’d live to regret it later, I took the cup of that very strong coffee and sat back to listen. Tommy turned to Mama Rose. “What about you, my dear? Would you care for anything at all?” “No, thanks,” she said. “I’m fine.” Her next comment was addressed to Mel. “So I take it you know nothing of my history?”
