“Is he here yet?”
James jumped a little, ignoring his mother’s knowing smirk and his own embarrassment at being caught. “Nope. Josh sent me a text message about fifteen minutes ago. Or maybe twenty minutes. I’m not sure now. I’ve been busy showing the guests where they’re supposed to be seated. The older generation can’t occupy the same tables as the younger one. They don’t have anything much in common, and they will end up acting awkward and weird throughout dinner.”
His mother nodded. “I know. I’m thankful you remember to put our older or closer relatives nearer to the table where your father and I will be seated. They may take offence if they have to sit far away from us. You know what the old people in our family are like. They’re traditional and obstinate.”
“You aren’t exactly a spring chicken yourself, Mom,” James teased. “Your seventieth birthday will be coming up soon.”