The girl looks at her in disbelief. They know what’s on it, she says, gesturing toward some men in a corner booth, But you don’t take menus away from them.

You gonna order, Becky, or what?

Oh, did you forget? You already know what I want. I always get the same thing.

The waitress sighs. With a hand on her hip, she just looks at the girl. The girl seems to feel her stare.

What? she says.

So you gonna pay for it?

The girl rolls her eyes. It’s your money. If you want to throw it away, fine.

The woman glances around, as if embarrassed the girl would talk so disrespectfully in front of others. It’s just that you seem to want to be treated exactly like any paying customer, you’re so grown up.

Fuck you.

The waitress reaches over and slaps the girl’s water glass on its side, sending ice sliding across the counter. She throws a rag on the puddle and walks into the kitchen.

The girl swears to herself, then under her breath adds the word bitch.

We all sit quietly. So far the girl hasn’t paid me much attention. With the waitress gone, I tense, just waiting for her to look over at me. It is always young people more than grown-ups who notice there is something about me. The girl does not touch the rag, and water runs along the table in a spreading puddle. The tow truck guy reaches for the rag and mops the mess up, although it gets soaked before he can sop up all the water. Some drips onto my lap and I have no napkin and am too embarrassed to ask for one, so I stop the cold liquid and sliding cubes with a finger, then roll my wrist sideways to sop it discreetly with a sleeve. Perhaps this will not draw the girl’s attention. But as I sense her glance my way, my hand stops. The tow truck guy seems embarrassed and pretends not to notice. It is obvious, though, that we are both aware of this girl sitting there.

Finally the waitress comes back. She sets down our plates with a distracted plastic smile and then snaps up her rag. Mist sprays across my face. She disappears again.

Bitch, the girl says.

The man’s left cheek twitches violently, followed by a slight shudder of his shoulders. He doesn’t say anything though.

We eat quietly, then the waitress returns. She seems slightly aloof and embarrassed now, even while she tries to make small talk with us. She wipes up the counter as she tries to trade words with the tow truck guy, pointedly ignoring the girl. If only she would not mention where I am from in front of the daughter. But finally she does, saying something about teenagers being no better here than in LA.