The waiter’s pen is still poised above his notepad. “Perhaps the tasting menu, then, sir?”
“Sounds great,” Teddy says good-naturedly, and when the waiter is gone he turns back to me. “I’m starving.”
“Teddy,” I say in a low voice, leaning forward so that my breath makes the candle between us gutter. “Did you see how much it cost?”
“The tasting menu?”
“It’s two hundred dollars a person. Plus tip.”
His face pales just slightly. “That’s okay. I’m pretty sure I have enough to…” He leans forward and pulls a thick stack of credit cards from his back pocket, which he fans out in front of him. The couple at the next table look over with raised eyebrows. But Teddy doesn’t notice. “I think this one has a three-hundred-dollar limit, but I can’t remember how much is left,” he says, holding up a blue card. “And this one is at least two hundred, but I think I’ve already spent some of it, so—”
He stops abruptly when the manager—a short man with a shiny bald head and thick glasses—appears at our table.
“Good evening to you both,” he says in an English accent. His eyes fall on the credit cards arranged like game pieces on the table. “I just wanted to stop by this evening to make sure—”
“We can pay,” Teddy interrupts, sweeping the cards back into his hands. “If that’s what you were going to ask. We have enough.”
The manager looks startled. “Of course not, sir. I would never presume—”
“I just won the lottery, actually, but the money hasn’t come through yet, and we wanted to celebrate, which is why all the cards,” Teddy explains, talking much too fast. “But I’ve got it covered.”
I can’t help cringing at this, all of it: the defensive tone and the way he’s broken out in a sweat, the embarrassment on the manager’s face and the quiet that’s fallen across nearby tables as the other diners crane their necks in our direction.
Suddenly I can see how it looks to everyone around us: two teenagers woefully out of place in such a lavish restaurant, grandly ordering one of everything while rambling about a lottery win.
But the worst part is watching Teddy notice it too. He snaps his mouth shut, glancing at me with a slightly deflated look. Then he musters a weak smile for the manager. “Sorry, I just didn’t want you to think…I wanted you to know it’ll be fine.”
The manager gives a curt nod. “Certainly, sir. And if there’s anything we can do to make your meal more enjoyable, please do let me know.”
As soon as he’s gone, I lift my eyes to meet Teddy’s. “Don’t worry about it,” I say quickly. “It doesn’t matter.”
His gaze shifts to the nearby tables, where—except for a few sidelong glances—people have resumed eating. “Yeah, but—”
“They’re just jealous.”
He frowns. “Of what?”
“Of how many credit cards you have,” I say with a grin, and in spite of himself Teddy laughs. But a second later his smile falters.
“I shouldn’t have said all that. I got rattled.”
“You’ll get used to this sort of thing,” I say, but it occurs to me that maybe I don’t want him to get used to restaurants like these, a life like this, full of extravagant meals and regular indulgences and extreme privilege, all of it so vastly different from anything we’ve ever known.
“I guess I should’ve just waited till I had the money. This will all be so much easier when the news is public and my name is out there, and I don’t feel like I have anything to prove.” He shuffles the credit cards in his hand. “Did I tell you my mom wanted me to stay anonymous?”
“I thought you couldn’t do that.”
“You can in some states. That’s what the winner from Oregon is doing.”
“But not here?”
“Not here,” he says. “She was trying to convince me to hold the check over my face at the press conference so nobody would know who I am. I told her it wouldn’t work. People would figure it out anyway. Plus, where’s the fun in that?”
“It’s not the worst idea,” I tell him. “You’d still have all the money, but then you wouldn’t have to deal with—”
“I know, I know. All the vultures who are going to be coming out of the woodwork asking for donations and investments and handouts. I’ve already gotten this speech from my mom. And your aunt. It doesn’t matter. There’s no way I’m gonna hide behind a giant piece of cardboard and miss out on everything.”
Our waiter appears with a small plate, which he sets down without quite looking at us. “Toasted brioche with crème fraîche and caviar.”
