"How was everything today?" asks the waitress.
"Just fine," I say, my tone blandly polite.
Paul looks at the waitress, then nods in my direction. "He's not my dad."
"Oh?" She smiles.
"No. He's my mom's ex-boyfriend."
"Ex-boyfriend? And he still takes you out? He must be nice."
"He is. He's very nice, but my mom just didn't want to be with him." He shrugs.
"I, uh, um--heh," I interject.
"He won't tell me if he still loves her," Paul continues, "but we're going to a movie later."
"Oh, that sounds like fun."
"That doesn't even...Why are...I...um...What?"
"You know what else, though? He has a really bad apartment!"
She nods sympathetically. "My apartment's pretty bad, too."
I tap my face with both hands and my mouth flaps, though no words seem to be forming.
"It can't be as bad as his. There's cat hair everywhere. He really likes cats."
"I...I'm sure you need to know all this," I stammer in apology, then turn to Paul. "She doesn't care about any of this."
"First of all, you don't know that..."
"I do! Nobody needs to know this."
"Oh, I need to know all kinds of things." She looks at Paul with a conspiratorial smile, grabs our empty plates, then is gone.
"See? I was right. You should always listen to me." He shrugs. "Which cookie should I eat first?"
