The restaurant was at the top of a hill and it felt like we were driving through a mountain of trees to get there. For a second, I wondered if maybe she had actually picked a place I might like—but then I got a better look. It was a steak house with its name burned in big black letters across the entrance. It was supposed to look like a log cabin, but instead of real wood, the logs were plastic. Inside, strands of white Christmas lights weaved around two fake Ficus trees, the leaves of which were covered in dust. All it did was remind me of the stars in the sky and how much I would have rather been outside and alone. We were seated at a table beside the only redeeming aspect of the restaurant—a working fireplace crackling and spitting orange sparks that drowned out the country music seeping from the speakers embedded in the wooden paneled walls. She looked over the menu, nodding her head every few minutes.

The waitress came over. She wore a light brown suede skirt with beaded fringe that dangled above her knee and clinked together every time she moved. Pinned to her chest was a big cowboy hat that read DEBI.

“What can I get you ladies?”

“I’ll have the Pioneer Prime Rib and a large Bug Juice.”

She scribbled in her note pad and I wondered if she thought the names of the meals were as stupid as I did. They both turned to me.

“I’ll just have a burger, thanks,” I said and flipped closed the menu.

“One Pioneer Prime and one Bronco Billy coming right up.” She took our menus and walked away, tugging down her skirt and waving to the bartender as she passed.

“I know things have been hard for you, Matilda, but let’s try and have a nice night, okay?”

I was about to tell her how hard things had been for me. I was about to tell her that I hated what she had done and I hated where we lived and I hated steak houses. I felt it all well up inside me, but then suddenly we were interrupted.

“Terrrryyyy!” a male voice crooned. He walked to our table and put his hand on my mother’s shoulder. The other he kept in his pocket to jingle his keys.

She smiled warmly. “Hello, Professor Royal.”

“Terry, I had no idea that you would be here tonight.”

So now she was Terry. Never in my memory had anyone called my mother Terry.

“Yes, I remembered your recommendation and thought I would bring my daughter.” She motioned across the table to me.

A woman suddenly materialized beside him and extended her hand. “Let me introduce myself. Mrs. Dorothy Royal. Nice to meet you.” The spidery veins looked terribly familiar.