Page 124 of Broken Grump

“Right.” For right now, she doesn’t need to know that that isn’t the case anymore.

When she stalls a little longer and just looks up at me, I try to scramble to think of something else to say. And something that isn’t aboutyou know who.

“What about the beach? After breakfast, we can go to the beach. Would you like that?”

A smile spreads across her face. “Yeah!”

Whew.“Great. Come on!”

***

We’re sat outside in the sunshine at Pasadena.

“What looks good, Loones?”

Both of our menus are open, and I have to put mine down to see her.

“Well, I really wanted pancakes this morning.”

Clearly.She requested them specifically, but then I had to go and royally mess them up.

“But now, I’m thinking a Belgian waffle might be good. That’s the big one, right?” She puts her menu down and demonstrates his approximate size with her hands.

“Yeah. They have the square pockets in them.”

She grins and nods. “All the better for the butter and syrup.”

“Exactly!” I swear, this kid can never fail to brighten my day.

When our server initially approaches us, I ask for coffee, and Luna opts for freshly squeezed orange juice instead.

“You know, Paige’s mom makes orange juice by hand every day,” she explains after we’re left alone again.

“Does she?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“Uh-huh. It’s so good. Paige didn’t even know what Tang was!”

I do my best to fake a laugh. “She doesn’t? How funny.” But of course, I wouldn’t expect some uppity kid to know the diluted, sugary taste of Tang, which I often made for Luna when she was little as I couldn’t afford much else.

Finally, our drinks are delivered, and we order our meals.

I’m not usually big on pancakes, waffles, or anything super heavy like that for breakfast. But my daughter really sold me on them today, so I went for the same thing as her.

“Two Belgian waffles coming right up,” our server in a long, red apron says with a wink before doodling on his little notepad.

“Thank you!”

But after he jaunts away, Luna looks angry, and she even crosses her arms.

“What’s wrong, baby?” I ask after sipping my coffee.

She scoots her chair a little closer and whispers, “Mama, I think that man has a crush on you.”

My jaw drops. “What?” I have no idea who she’s talking about. So, I look around.

“No, no. The waiter.”

“Oh.” My vision focuses on her again. “Don’t be silly, baby. They have to act that way. It’s how they ensure that they are going to get a tip.”

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