She turned back to the table and said, “Before anybody leaves, I’d like separate checks for every couple here.”
Nobody moved.
My mother-in-law gave this little confused laugh. “Oh Linda, honey, that’s not how we usually do it.”
“I know,” Aunt Linda said. “That’s why I asked before the waiter walked away.”
The waiter actually stopped and looked relieved.
Dana’s husband slowly sat back down. “It’ll take forever to split all that up.”
Aunt Linda smiled politely. “Then I guess it’s good we’re not in a rush.”
That hit harder than if she’d yelled.
My mother-in-law tried again. “Linda’s always been generous.”
Aunt Linda nodded once. “Generous means offering. Not getting cornered after everyone suddenly remembers they left their wallets at home.”
Nobody could even fake being offended because it was too accurate.
Then the waiter came back with the itemized receipts.
You could actually watch people’s faces change reading their totals. Dana stared down at hers and muttered, “How is ours over two hundred dollars?”
Aunt Linda adjusted her glasses. “Probably the extra wine bottle nobody finished.”
I nearly choked on my coffee.
My cousin started arguing that maybe we should “just divide it evenly,” but now nobody wanted that anymore. Funny how fairness suddenly mattered once the numbers were attached to their own names.
One by one, cards came out.
Nobody forgot a wallet after all.
And Aunt Linda? She paid for exactly what she ordered: grilled chicken, iced tea, and one slice of pumpkin pie she took half home in a little cardboard box.
As we walked out, my mother-in-law quietly said, “Well that was uncomfortable.”
Aunt Linda tucked the pie box under her arm and said, “No. Uncomfortable was watching you people do this to somebody every Thanksgiving.”