“Right. Just like I’m sure it was a joke that Colin’s grandmother called me after that date I set Dahlia up on and told me that she left him high and dry at the bar, running off with some,” she holds her hands out to make air quotes, “‘big, tattooed, motorcycle club member.’” She puffs. “I asked her what bar he took you to, and oddly enough, it happened to be Emilio’s. The bar owned by one of my son’s friends.” She flicks her wrist, referencing me. “My big, tattooed, motorcycle-riding child.”
