I Asked the Waiter to Split the Check

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

Dinner, For Real

We drove to a diner off Route 14 because it was the closest place still open where I knew the booths were cracked and the coffee came fast and nobody cared if kids wore restaurant wristbands from somewhere nicer.

My mother insisted on paying.

I argued once. Not hard.

The waitress, a woman with silver bangs and a continue reading …