Rachel returned the menu unopened, ordered a $150 steak and called our waiter by name. I might have ignored that if Graham hadn’t gone silent when the black check folder arrived. Then I separated the bill, Rachel screamed another woman’s name, and the waiter looked toward someone standing behind me.
Rachel handed her menu back without opening it.
“I’ll have the dry-aged wagyu ribeye, medium rare. Lobster mac and cheese. And a glass of the Barolo.”
The waiter nodded as if none of that surprised him.
What surprised me was what happened next.
“I’ll have the dry-aged wagyu ribeye, medium rare.”
“Thanks, Daniel,” Rachel said.
The waiter smiled politely and walked away.
I looked at Graham.
He was staring at his water.
Rachel noticed me watching.
“What?”
“You know him?”
“I’ve been here before, Sally.”
Rachel noticed me watching.
The way she said my name made it sound like I’d asked whether restaurants had forks.
That was Rachel.
For two years, I’d listened to comments about my clothes, our apartment, and the neighborhood where I’d grown up.
Nothing vicious enough to justify a family war.
Just little cuts.
For two years, I’d listened to comments about my clothes, our apartment, and the neighborhood where I’d grown up.
When Graham and I told her we were saving for a house, she asked whether we’d considered “somewhere more realistic.”
***
Then yesterday, she invited us to one of the most expensive steakhouses downtown.
Graham had warned her before we came.
“We’re on a budget, Rachel. Nothing crazy.”
Then yesterday, she invited us to one of the most expensive steakhouses downtown.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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