Chapter 5: The Dinner
The restaurant Chloe's father chose was the kind of place where the menus had no prices.
I had been to restaurants like this before — my parents had taken me to a few over the years for birthdays, graduations, the occasional celebration.
But I had never mentioned that to Chloe.
As far as she knew, I was looking around at the white tablecloths and the low lighting with wide eyes.
I kept them wide.
Chloe's father, Richard, ordered a bottle of wine before anyone had opened a menu.
He was the kind of man who filled a room without raising his voice — broad shoulders, a good watch, the easy confidence of someone who had never once worried about a bill.
He asked my dad what he did.
Dad said, "A bit of this and that.
Small business stuff."
Richard nodded slowly, the way people do when they've already lost interest.
Chloe's mother, Diane, asked my mom about her work.
Mom said, "Oh, I keep busy."
Diane smiled her tight smile and turned to Chloe to ask about her classes.
I watched my parents from across the table.
They were doing it again — the same performance from move-in day, but more refined.
Dad ordered the second-cheapest thing on the menu.
Mom asked the waiter to explain what *confit* meant.
They were pleasant, warm, slightly out of their depth.
Perfectly ordinary.
Richard watched my dad for most of the first course.
Then, between the salad and the main, he leaned forward slightly.
"So — honestly — how are you managing the tuition?
This school isn't cheap."
The table went quiet.
My mom set down her fork.
Dad looked at Richard for a moment without answering.
"We manage," he said.
"Loans?"
"Richard," Diane said softly.
"I'm just asking.
It's a practical question." He leaned back.
"I only bring it up because Chloe mentioned your daughter might need some support navigating certain opportunities here.
Internships, networks, that kind of thing.
We're happy to help connect her.
We know a lot of people."
I looked at Chloe.
She was looking at her plate.
"That's very generous," Dad said.
"What kind of connections did you have in mind?"
Richard smiled.
It was the first real smile I'd seen from him all evening.
"Well, that depends on how things develop.
We like to invest in relationships that make sense for everyone."
The phrase hung over the table.
*Invest in relationships.*
Mom picked up her fork again.
Her expression hadn't changed.
But under the table, I felt her foot press lightly against mine.
I pressed back.
Dad took a sip of water.
Set the glass down.
"That's a generous offer," he said again.
"We'll think about it."
Richard nodded, satisfied.
He refilled his own wine glass and moved on to talking about his golf handicap.
Chloe finally looked up.
Our eyes met across the table.
She smiled at me.
Warm.
Familiar.
The same smile she'd been giving me for six weeks.
I smiled back.
On the drive home, Dad called me from the parking garage.
"You did well," he said.
"What did he mean?
*Invest in relationships?*"
There was a pause.
"It means he thinks your friendship with Chloe is a transaction.
He's been doing this for years — finding the right people for her to attach to.
Kids from families he can use later.
Connections he can call in."
I leaned against the cold concrete wall of the stairwell.
"So Chloe is doing this because her father told her to?"
Another pause.
May you like
Longer this time.
"That," Dad said carefully, "is the question we don't have the answer to yet."
