I Queued Three Hours for Her, But They Didn't Wait Three Minutes for Me novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Check

At Thanksgiving dinner Bianca pays for her own plate only; Gabe grabs her arm in front of strangers, Dani rubs her white stick under her eyes and collapses, and Eli texts that her pulse was normal and her eyes smelled of menthol.

Thanksgiving dinner was at a steakhouse on the main street, in a dining room full of couples in good sweaters.

Tony had made the reservation for five, and he ordered the holiday dinner for all of us before the waiter finished saying hello.

He ordered two bottles of wine and a tower of shrimp.

Dani asked for the lobster, and no one blinked.

I ordered the roast chicken and a glass of water.

My heels were bandaged and I was wearing flip-flops, and I didn't mind who looked.

Gabe sat between me and Dani and gave her the better half of the bread.

All through the meal, they told stories about the drive.

It was the funniest part of the trip, apparently, the part where I walked.

"You should have seen her," Marty said. "Limping along the shoulder in those white shoes."

"Squeaking the whole way," Tony said, and Dani laughed so hard she wiped her eyes.

I cut my chicken and said nothing.

When the check came, it was a little black folder, and the waiter set it down in front of me.

I knew why.

Over the last two years I had paid for Tony's birthday dinner, Marty's concert tickets and most of Gabe's gym fees, and the restaurants had learned to hand the folder to the quiet one.

Tony slid it across the cloth.

"Bee's got this," he said. "It's family."

I opened it.

It was $612.

I looked up at the four of them.

"I'll pay for my chicken and my water," I said.

I took two twenties from my wallet and put them on the table.

Tony laughed.

"That's not funny."

"I'm not joking. I paid the villa, the gas, and the groceries. I stood three hours in a line for Dani. I'm done paying for people who couldn't wait three minutes for me."

Dani put a hand to her chest.

"Bee, I said I was sorry about the line," she said, in her tiny voice. "I felt so sick."

"You ate tacos," I said.

Nobody spoke.

Gabe's smile didn't move.

"What tacos?" he said.

"The ones at 1:41. I saw the picture."

He sighed.

"Babe. Let's not do this here."

I stood up, and he stood up with me, and his hand closed on my arm above the elbow.

"Sit down," he said quietly. "You're embarrassing everybody."

"Let go."

"Bee."

"Let go of me, Gabe."

His grip tightened, and my arm started to ache.

At the next table, a woman put down her fork.

"Sir," she said, loud enough for the room to hear, "take your hand off her."

Three other tables had their phones up.

Gabe looked around and let go of me at once.

He raised both palms, smiling, and said to the room: "She's had a hard trip. We're just worried about her."

I rubbed my arm.

Dani had been watching me with no expression at all.

Now she reached into her purse, and I saw a short white stick in her hand.

She dragged it under one eye, then the other, with her face turned toward the wall.

When she turned back, her eyes were red and streaming.

"I can't breathe," she whispered. "Gabe, I can't."

She slid out of her chair and onto the carpet.

"Dani!" Tony knocked over his wine and dropped to his knees.

"Call 911!" Gabe shouted. "Somebody call 911!"

Every head in the restaurant turned toward me.

"What did you do to her?" Tony said.

"Nothing. I didn't touch her."

"You've been bullying her all day!"

"She's got a condition," Marty told the woman at the next table. "She has anxiety. You can't say things like that to her."

The woman looked at him, and then at me.

"I've seen the whole thing," she said. "Nobody said a word to that girl."

Nobody listened to her either.

The paramedics came quickly with a stretcher, and they carried Dani out with Gabe holding her hand and Tony right behind.

Marty followed them.

I was the only one left at the table, with two twenties, a plate of bones, and a folder that said $612.

The waiter came over very carefully.

"I can split it for you, miss," he said. "Only what you ordered."

"Thank you."

I paid for my own dinner, and left a tip bigger than the dinner deserved.

Outside, the street was lit with white lights, and I stood still under them.

My phone buzzed, and I thought it would be my mother.

It was a message from the number on the back of a discharge sheet.

Eli: Saw an ambulance call come in from a steakhouse. I think it's your cousin. I can't tell you anything about a patient.

A second message came while I was reading.

Eli: I also can't tell you that her pulse and oxygen were perfectly normal, or that her eyes smelled like menthol. Not my business. Have you eaten?

I looked back through the window at the empty table.

I typed: A little.

He wrote back: Go eat a real thing.

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