Page 39 of Not Your Basic Love Story

We ate quickly, my mom sitting across from us with clasped hands. As soon as Dev and I were finished, we asked for the check. Dad jumped up and handed the server his bank card.

“Dad, please, let us pay!” I urged.

“It’s the least we can do for your hospitality,” Dev agreed.

“No, it’s my treat!” he said.

We backed down, the polite thing to do.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Mom said, producing a coupon from her purse. She handed it to the server once she’d returned with the check.

The server eyed it, and then handed it back, apologetic. “I’m sorry, ma’am. This coupon expired last month.”

“What?” Mom took it back, squinting without the glasses she refused to wear. I glanced from my mom to the poor waitress, cringing, knowing what was about to happen.

“Oh, honey, it’s only a week past,” she said, showing the server.

The server nodded slowly. “Yes. It’s expired.”

“Well,barely. Really, can’t you do something?”

“No, I’m sorry,” the server apologized, glancing around the table in obvious discomfort.

I gritted my teeth. “Mom, it’s fine.”

“No, Becky, it’s not. Where is your manager?”

I wanted to disappear.

“Karen, it’s alright. I’ll pay,” Dad said, reaching for the handheld debit machine.

My mom snatched it away. “That’s not good service, and I know the manager would want us to have good service. I’d like to speak to the manager.”

The poor girl looked like she was going to cry. She walked away from the table, leaving us in an awkward silence. A moment later, an older man approached, the girl hiding behind him. “Can I help you with something, ma’am?”

“Yes, you can,” Mom replied, nose in the air. “I told the girl my coupon only expired a week ago. This is our first time here, and we were waiting to use it to take the kids out to eat.”

The manager took the coupon and inspected it, speaking in another language to his employee.

I leaned over to Dev and whispered, “What are they saying?”

He leaned towards me and whispered back, “I don’t speak Hindi."

My face flushed. I shouldn’t have assumed.

The manager looked back to my mom and forced a smile. “I’ll get this taken care of right away, ma’am. My apologies.”

I was so uncomfortable that I got up with the excuse of using the washroom. Instead, I found the server on the way to the kitchen.

“I’m so sorry,” I began. “My mom can be difficult. You gave us really good service and the food was great. Here—” I fished a ten-dollar bill out of my purse and handed it to her, knowing my dad was a shitty tipper even when everything went smoothly.

The girl nodded without saying anything, tears looking like they could spill over at any minute. I remembered my early twenties, working as a server and busting my ass to fund my travel addiction. The forced smiles, the miles worn into my heels, rushing after ungrateful people almost every evening and weekend, and envying the time they got to spend with their families and friends while I worked. Knowing what it was like, I always went out of my way to tip well and be grateful for decent service.

I returned to find my parents and Dev waiting for me at the front doors. We exited the little restaurant, spirits diminished. I knew it would happen. I should have listened to my instincts and let one good day be enough of a visit. My mom always found some way to spoil everything.

When we walked outside, my mom said, “Whew! Fresh air!”

If looks could kill, she’d be dead. How did she think that would make my boyfriend feel?

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