The Real Housewife of the Taco Bell Parking Lot

Lindy Somerset is at it again.

Photo by Ferdinand Studio from Pexels

Taco Bell, an hour’s ride away in traffic, is the rendezvous point for my pick-up. One anonymous account on Snapchat (along with a flirty stock photo I’d snagged) and a few messages later, I became the proud recipient of homegrown cannabis, to be picked up in this seedy parking lot in some low-income suburb.

But sitting idle in the car did something to my nerves. My eyes dart from the drive-thru to the various gaggles of twenty-something guys going in and out the door with bags of pseudo-Mexican food. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel as five minutes pass, then ten, my paranoia skyrocketing with every spare moment.

I’m going to get arrested. This is an undercover sting, and I’m going to be in the news tomorrow for all the wrong reasons. I don’t even have my hair done for my mug shot —

But then a gray Porsche — in this neighborhood? — drops off a familiar-looking boy in black gym shorts and a red Nike T-shirt. I see curly black hair and rectangular glasses, and my heart starts to hammer in my chest.

Then my stepson Stephen Somerset meets my eyes across the parking lot, and his face becomes an open book of horror.