“Two thousand.”
“Gran, we’d do it for free.”
“Know your worth!”
“I can’t go by myself,” Kathy cries.
“I volunteer as tribute.” Gran raises a hand.
The guy with the potbelly blanches.
“Don’t knock older women until you’ve tried it. Haven’t you ever seenThe Graduate? This old broad can teach a young thing like you a thing or two.”
“I see where you get it from.” Carolina nudges me.
“Or you can hire my other granddaughter and my bonus granddaughter.”
“I’m not for hire,” I tell them.
“I need you.” Kathy grabs my arm.
“I have a VP that has been summoned too. Just got divorced.” Balding guy looks me and Carolina up and down. “You don’t look like escorts, which is probably good. He doesn’t want to mess up his custody hearing—his ex is a dog—but you don’t want to show up empty-handed to these mandatory dinners. My VP needs a promotion, poor SOB.”
Skinny jeans smiles. “So, is there a group discount?”
“It’s not a potluck, Mom.”
“You can’t show up empty-handed.”
“I don’t think you can show up to a fancy Seattle party with a bowl of pasta salad.”
“Everyone likes my pasta salad recipe.”
“She’s right. You serve it at your café, Winnie.” Carolina spears a few noodles.
“Fine, Mom, I’ll take the pasta.”
“Don’t drink too much, girls!”
I would have tossedthe pasta salad bowl in the trash can on the street outside of the restaurant, except the bowl doesn’t fit. Also, it’s my nice bowl.
Our dates are waiting in the lobby for us. It’s that kind of restaurant.
“I bet they don’t have prices on the menu,” Carolina whispers.
“You all better be paying,” I tell the men.
“Ignore her.” Carolina introduces us. “She’s not used to being around human beings.”
“Our boss is paying,” the balding guy tells me, mopping his forehead.
“Good. I need to see if I can coat check this pasta salad.”
The lady in the coat check looks offended when I try to hand over the bowl. “You brought food here?”
“Look, you can dump out the food or donate it to the rats that live in the alley, but I need the bowl back.”
“We can’t take that.” Her lip curls up.
