“I want a hot-fudge sundae,” said Angel.
“Real food first,” I said. “You need fuel.”
“Okay,” Angel said agreeably, then blinked and looked up at Jason. “We’re not spoiled rich brats,” she said. “We’re just hungry.”
Jason started, then his face flushed and he shifted his feet.
“I want this prime rib thing,” Angel said, looking at the adult side of the menu. “And all this stuff that goes with it. And a soda. And lemonade.”
“The prime rib is sixteen ounces,” our waiter said. “It’s a pound of meat.”
“Uh-huh,” Angel said, wondering what he was getting at.
“She can handle it,” I said. “She’s a big eater. Nudge? What do you want?”
“This lasagna primavera,” Nudge decided. “I might need two. It comes with salad, right? And bread? Some milk. Okay?” She looked at me, and I nodded.
Jason just stood there—he thought we were pulling his leg. “Two lasagnas?”
“You might want to start writing this stuff down,” I suggested. I waited till he had noted their orders, then said, “I’ll start with the shrimp cocktail. Then the maple-glazed roast pork loin, with the cabbage and potatoes and everything. The house salad with bleu cheese dressing. And a lemonade and an iced tea.”
Jason wrote it all down, as if he were enduring an hour-long eye-poke.
“The lobster bisque,” Fang said. “Then the prime rib. A big bottle of water.”
“The spaghetti and meatballs,” Iggy said.
“That’s on the children’s menu,” our waiter said, sounding tense. “For our patrons twelve and under.”
Iggy looked ticked off.
“How about the rack of lamb?” I said quickly. “It comes with potatoes and spinach, and a merlot-rosemary sauce.”
“Fine, okay,” Iggy said, irritated. “Plus a couple glasses of milk and some bread.”
Jason lowered his pad and looked at us. “This is a great deal of food for just the six of you,” he said. “Maybe you’ve overordered.”
“I understand your concern,” I said, my tension starting to get the better of me. “But it’s okay. Just bring it, please.”
“You’ll have to pay for all of it, whether you eat it or not.”
“Yeah, that’s usually how a restaurant works,” I said slowly, with exaggerated patience.
“This is going to really add up,” he persisted unwisely.
“I get it,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to keep my cool. “I get the concept. Food costs money. Lots of food costs lots of money. Just bring us what we ordered. Please.”
Jason looked at me stiffly and stalked away toward the kitchen.
“I love this place,” Fang said with a straight face.
“Did we order too much?” Angel asked.
“No,” I said. “It’s fine. I guess they’re not used to hearty eaters.”
An underling brought us two baskets of bread and set out small dishes of olive oil. Even she seemed skeptical.
My fingers curled into claws on the white tablecloth. And it all kind of went downhill from there.