When Logan and I finally made it to their table, we, and my mother, sat down.
“So what is this all about?” I asked before even looking at the menu.
“We’re making amends,” Mom said, “But there’s no need to rush. Order something. Let’s eat. We have all lunch.”
As if on cue, the waiter saddled up to our table. “Can I start you folks off with something to drink?”
“We’re ready to order our meals,” Dad said.
Scrambling, I grabbed the menu. Logan openly frowned at Dad.
Regulars here, Mom and Dad of course knew what they wanted right away. For Logan and me, it took longer to decide. I pointed to the first thing on the menu, not wanting to take up too much of the waiter’s time. Logan ordered what my Dad was having.
I wasn’t even hungry; I’m far too nervous for that. But I panicked under pre
