I Asked the Waiter to Split the Check

my glass of water and took a slow sip.

“I understand,” I said.

That was all.

No one at the table heard the crack hidden inside those words.

But I did.

We were at an Italian restaurant just outside Chicago, where my dad loved hosting his “family dinners” whenever he wanted a bigger audience than he had company. Ever since my divorce two years earlier, those continue reading …