I threw on the old TV charm and told her how good it was to see her and how beautiful she looked and what a spitting image she was of her mother, and she just stared at my wound and asked if it was infected. “How did you get that, anyway? Wait, don’t tell me. I don’t think I want to know.” The server took our orders and pleasantly memorized every change Abby made, which was also like her mother. There wasn’t a menu on the planet that couldn’t be improved upon by a substitution here or a deletion of a certain ingredient there. Making the meal your own, I guess, but sometimes it got to me. Especially when she didn’t want croutons on the salad we were going to share. I decided not to let that bother me and we continued. “So your mother sent you to rescue me?” I said after the breadsticks arrived. “She didn’t send me for anything. She needs her car back. She has a life, you know. Or at least part of one. It puts a serious damper on a person’s lifestyle when you take away her mode of transportation.”
