I Let Them Use My Money Until They Fed My Son a Hotdog

in white jackets. The kind of place that charges fourteen dollars for potatoes because they put them in a copper pan.

Eric booked the private room six weeks ahead and sent out one of those smug group texts with all the details.

“Doing this right for Dad.”

I should’ve heard the warning bell in that sentence.

Doing it right, according to Eric, always meant continue reading …