“I wanted to say thank you. It’s not enough. It’s nothing compared to what you’ve done for me, but it’s something. I wanted to take care of you for once.”
“I don’t know what to say,” she said.
“Say you’re hungry so we can eat,” I said. She laughed and let me lead her to the table. I pulled her chair out for her and sat across the table. The waiter came in quickly to take our orders. I ended up ordering for Abby, getting us the same thing because she had tried to get herself the cheapest thing on the menu. Wasn’t happening tonight.
“When did you plan all this?” Abby asked.
“When you had left this the morning. They were closed, but they let me talk to the manager.”
“Why did you book the whole space?”
“Because I wanted to,” I said nonchalantly.
“One table would have been more than sufficient,” she teased.
“Next time we’ll go to the McDonald’s drive through, how about that?” I asked. She smiled and looked down at her place setting.
“I’m sorry. I love it. I’ve just never done anything this grand before.”
“I’m kicking myself for not doing this with you earlier,” I said.
“You do this sort of thing often?” she asked.
“Only with people I care about.”
“Must be nice to live like this sometimes,” she said lightly.
“It’s not everything.”
She raised her eyebrows. “No?”
“You know how they say money can’t buy you happiness?” I asked. She nodded. “It’s not quite true. It can give you stability, luxuries, and pay for experiences that could give you a lot of joy. It can even get you a wife and buy you friends, but if it does, then they’ll be gone as soon as the money is.
“It can be really isolating and turn you into a
different person. My father almost doubled his net worth when I was a kid, but the last time he was truly happy was when my mother was still alive.”
“Can I ask when she died?”
“A long time ago. I was just a kid. He stopped getting stuff when she died. He’d get stuff for me, but never really for himself. It was like he only cared about owning and having things when she had been there to share them with him,” I said. My phone, which I had placed on the table, lit up, ringing. I ignored the call.
“It must have been hard growing up without her.”
“Yeah. It didn’t matter that my dad paid for me to go to private schools and expensive vacations; I was still the kid without a mom.” My phone rang again. I ignored it.
“Are you and he close?” she asked. My phone rang again. I turned the sound off and put it in my pocket.
“We are. He’s great,” I said, distractedly.
"You should take the call," she said.
"No, not during dinner."
"If they're calling you like that, it must be important."
"No. It's not a big deal. I'm turning it off."
"Really," she said. "Take it. I can wait." I sighed, getting up.