“You can prepay,” I say. I nod to the waitress. I already gave her my order.
My father chuckles. “I’ll have what she’s having as well as a bottle of your finest red.”
The waitress’s eyes light up. “Right away, sir,” she says.
Poor girl thinks she’s going to get a hell of a tip, but my father doesn’t pay well at all, and certainly not before service has been rendered. He won’t know if he likes the wine, if the food is good or not, so she’ll be lucky to get a few bucks through her way.
The bottle is brought out along with the check, and my father hands her his card. Only then do I feel a bit easier because I really can’t afford this place.
“So, what are we here to discuss? Are you ready to tell me where your mother is?”
“She’s in hell,” I say calmly.
Which isn’t exactly a lie. Having to sleep with one eye open and live constantly looking over your shoulder is hell.
“Katie—”
“How did you get onto my laptop?” I demand. “Snooping around? Couldn’t find anything, could you?”
“Katie—”
“I don’t have anything about my mom on there, so, what, you got pissed off and fucked up my paper?”
“Exactly so,” he says, “but here’s the thing. I have ways of gaining access to records on your phone. Your calls, your texts, all of it.”
“No, you don’t. I’m not on your cell phone plan, and I’m not a minor,” I say, calling his bluff. I lift my chin.
Father calmly pours himself more wine. He hasn’t even had a sip yet, but he picks up the glass, gently swirls the liquid inside, then sniffs it before taking a sip.
“How is the wine, sir?” the waitress asks. She hands him back the checkbook and then gives us our salads.
“I’ve had better,” my father says, “but not too bad.”
“I’m sorry, sir. If there is anything else I can get you—”
“That is all.” He drinks some more and then signs the paper or the bill. “Where were we?”
“I was just about to tell you that I don’t appreciate your trying to manipulate me into doing what you want.”
My father snorts. “As if you aren’t manipulating me right now. Forcing me to buy you a fancy dinner.”
“Yes, well, I deserve it after all of the emotional distress you put me through.”
“Poor girl.” My father smirks. “Do you want me to write you a check? Will that help you with your… emotional distress?”
“No. I want nothing from you.”
He gestures toward the table, and his smirk only grows that much wider as the waitress returns with the three appetizers I ordered.
Yes, I ordered a shit ton of food. I hope this place gives out boxes.
“Clearly, you want something.”
“Nope,” I say. “I just want to have one final meal on your tap before you stay the fuck out of my life for good. This is the last time I want to see you. Do I make myself clear?”
“If you want me to stay away from you, there’s only one thing I need from you, and then, yes, fine. I will stay away.”
“I’m not telling you where Mom is,” I say evenly.