Damon sat at the kitchen table, running his finger along the edge of a printed menu he’d opened on his laptop. He straightened his collar, even though he was wearing only a gray T-shirt.
“Thirty-four dollars for a fried chicken,” Damon said, shaking his head. “In Oak Creek, Ohio. I guess they think people don’t know how much a chicken costs at the grocery store.”
“The kids chose it because of the patio,” I said, staring at the neck of the shirt. “They wanted something pretty for my fiftieth birthday.”
“They wanted something expensive,” he said. He tapped the screen. “And their father needs to get out his wallet. Jake is twenty-four, he should understand how a budget works by now.”
“Jake pays his share, Damon,” I said.
He didn’t look up from the screen. “He says yes. We’ll see who actually pays when the bill arrives.”
