“…laws…refused to obey…tied up…” I mumbled random words on the page until I got to the part where Tristan held his grubby pointer finger. “You want me to read this out loud, don’t you. Remind me later to show you how to clean under your fingernails. They’re disgusting.”

“Oh, please read on, I want to see if your reading skills are still lacking or if you’ve managed to improve them in some way with all those doodling classes you’re taking. And of all people, I think you really would be among the least qualified to give me lessons in hygiene.”

I ignored the bait, but seethed inside. He would die. Soon. And I had bought another pair of tweezers. So I read aloud his old-fashioned vocabulary and handwriting: “The above named perpetrator of the aforementioned crimes against specific members of humanity, in accordance with the previously stated statutes passed in overwhelming unaniminity, and in conjunction with— This is ridiculous. Don’t you get to the point?”

“Ah, you want to get to the point. How appropriate. You were always rather pointed, weren’t you. Or don’t you think that this is occasion poignant enough to merit your patience.”

“Oh stop punishing me. Please. And yes, my pun was intended. Now, please, would you kindly show me, or better yet, tell me what this sentence is that I must serve.” I’m sure my exasperation was written in bold, block letters across my face. I wished I wasn’t so readable, because Tristan thrived on flustering and frustrating me.

“Oh, dear child. Must I chide your impatience? Well then, I’ll tell you what we, as the Committee of the House decided. Melvin’s and your votes aren’t in, yet, but we’ve already got the majority, so your resistance would be futile.”

I stood up, ready to leave my room. He took the hint and carried on.

“Fine. In plain and boring words, then. ‘Here’s the deal,’ as you would say. You are going to take me out to dinner and pay for it. We are going to talk and be civil. That seems almost too painless for you. I did protest a little because it seemed as though the punishment was being unjustly inflicted on me as well. I can’t argue with a free meal, though, and we can just return and tell them we behaved civilly. Alright?”

“Sure. You ready?” I had the perfect place in mind. He looked surprised.

“Uh OK. Are you going like that?” What an ass. I’m sure he had thought I was going to take him to a fancy restaurant, dress in a sexy black dress complete with fishnets and stilleto heels (though he wouldn’t know what they are called) and humiliate myself by being seen with him. I bet he would’ve worn the outfit he wore to Melvin’s “funeral.”

I nodded and gave him the look that confirmed any self-doubt he had ever experienced in his life.

“You’re not driving, though. It’s my car and I don’t want you to—”

“Grow up, Tristan. Let’s go, OK.” I grabbed my keys from his hand, threw them in my purse, and hefted my backpack onto my shoulder. He tried to keep up with me when I sprinted down the stairs and outside to his car. I wanted to get the pain over with as quickly as possible.

I directed him to my restaurant of choice, never letting him know more than one turn ahead of time where we were going. I knew it would drive him nuts.

“Will you just tell me where we’re going. I’m sure I know a more efficient route that the one you’re taking.”

“Nope. You just have to deal with not knowing every detail ahead of time.”

We arrived at Denny’s, the twenty-four hour All American restaurant of greasy and overpriced food. This one was complete with vinyl seats patterned to look like expensive, embroidered cloth. I’m sure Tristan was impressed. But food’s food, so he didn’t put up too much of a complaint.

“Smoking or non?” The hostess asked, looking at Tristan.

“Smoking, please.” I cringed at the her nasal, husky voice and answered before Tristan had the chance to clear his throat to reply. He protested my choice, but the waitress had already walked away with our menus. She was probably in her mid-thirties but must have thought she was still in highschool; she sported the out-of-date, stringy, spiral perm that could resemble a wig made of limp slinkys. Her bangs were like alfalfa sprouts: short, haphazard, and standing on end. I walked behind her, imitating her hips that jutted right and left with each step she took.

“Can I get you two anything to drink?”

“No, thank you. We’ll just have water.” I was still too quick for Tristan. We settled into the booth and I admired the pastel pastoral on the wall. “You know, that painting looks exactly like the one I saw at the Denny’s on the other side of town." I said, with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Come to think of it, it looks exactly like the paintings at the Denny’s where I grew up, too. Isn’t it just amazing that they can have the same paintings in all of their stores? Tristan, don’t you think that’s great? And such quality. Mmm I just want to stand back and appreciate the talent and vision of the artist who created this.”

Tristan did not look amused. He took out his book and began to read. I wasn’t going to let him get away with our fake date without talking to me, though. I didn’t regularly smoke, but I fished out a pack of clove cigarettes from my bag, dramatically drew one out of its silver box, and let it hang from my lower lip while I fumbled for a lighter.

“You are filthy.”

“Gasp. He speaks!” I opened my eyes wide and daintily held three fingers over my mouth. I knew that smoking, another of his pet peeves, was the only way to get him to talk. “Now, Tristan, what kind of civil conversation is that? You called me ‘filthy.’ I don’t know if I can stand your insults. This is getting to be too much.” I finally found my lighter, lit the cigarette, and blew a thin line of smoke straight at his face. He tried to supress his cough, but to no avail. He wheezed pitifully and I almost felt bad. I had forgotten he had asthma.

“Haley, can you please put that out. If not for me, then for your own lungs, at least.”

“Oh, I don’t inhale. But if you insist, I’ll do as you ask.” I set the burning cigarette in the glass ashtray already full of the souveniers from the chain-smoker who occupied the booth before we did. Then I pushed the ashtray over to the side of the table nearest him, content to let the cigarette simply burn itself out.

A frequent customer to Denny’s, I already knew what I wanted: the Grand Slam Pancake Platter with scrambled eggs, lightly toasted english muffin, and bottomless glass of Coca-Cola. The waitress was taking her time to get back to our table, so I pulled out my sketchbook. The other customers had inspired many of my cartoon characters in the past, and this was no exception. A family sat behind us and decided that the public arena of a smokey restaurant was the most convenient time to display the skeletons in each others’ closets, so to speak. Ma told Papa how she knew he was sleeping around. Little Timmy asked why it was bad to sleep and Ma shushed him. Papa yelled at Little Timmy and Grandmama’ to stop crying. I saw their reflections in the window and quickly sketched their caricatures, dramatizing the scene of course. Giggling at my genius and wit, and beaming at my unparalleled talent, I glanced up at Tristan to see if he was interested in viewing my latest masterpiece. He still engrossed himself in his history book, talking to himself at intervals and arguing with the long-dead author.

The waitress finally returned, took our order, and speedily brought our warmed-up entrées to us. “Scrumptious” I said. “Dig in, Tristan.”