sick. of. talking. Styx: hear that. C4Buzz: Silence is golden but duct tape is silver. JustC: lol I expect fake cacti and piñatas at a Mexican grill, neither of which The Cantina has. This place is white tablecloths and valet parking nice—far too nice for just a middle-of-the-day lunch with Dad. Even Ysabel’s looking around with interest, checking out the painted floor tiles, pottery, and lantern-looking metal light fixtures, probably so she can steal the designs and make them for her next art project. The waitress leaves each of us a leather folder containing the menu and points out the specials with a smile. Dad nods to her and absorbs himself in choosing a meal. Guitar music underscores the quiet conversation around us. Everything is so classy and understated, from the lighting to the menu to the chime of forks on plates, that all the mature-sounding conversation I’d planned gets stuck in my throat. When Ysabel sits forward and breaks the silence, I’m relieved. “Did you bring us someplace this fancy so we won’t actually say anything?”
