Rallyburger opens at eleven on Saturdays. They don’t do breakfast. I’m on the sidewalk at 10:55, waiting.
I text Dad to pick me up here at eleven thirty, saying Alex has to be somewhere, but we’re going to eat first. It’s a realistic time and a believable reason to need a ride.
It’s both my parents who arrive to get me, together, after a bit of Christmas shopping, I gather, from the mounds of store bags in the hatchback.
They don’t ask questions, which is a relief, since I have no answers.