We’re shown to a small table for two near the back, where the napkins are folded in the shape of swans and the plates are trimmed with gold. Most of the diners are gray-haired, and they smile indulgently at us as we walk past in our jeans and sneakers.
“It’s always so hard to choose between the bone marrow and the caviar,” I say when we open our menus, trying to keep a straight face. “I can never decide.”
Teddy strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Well, as you know, I’m partial to truffles.”
“Of course,” I say. “I’ve heard they’re marvelous here.”
“Ooh, and there’s escargot. Have I ever told you the one about the snail?” he asks, not bothering to wait for an answer. “This snail gets mugged by a tortoise. But when the police ask him to describe the suspect, he says, ‘I don’t know. It happened so fast.’ ”
I want to groan or roll my eyes at him, but I’m having way too much fun for that and I find myself laughing instead. “Nailed it.”
“Always,” he says with a grin.
When the tuxedoed waiter arrives to take our orders, Teddy closes his menu and leans back in his seat. “We’ll have one of everything.”
“Pardon me, sir?” the man says, his mustache twitching.
Teddy winks at me. “We want to try it all. Especially the squab.”
The waiter’s pen is still poised above his notepad. “Perhaps the tasting menu, then, sir?”
“Sounds great,” Teddy says good-naturedly, and when the waiter is gone he turns back to me. “I’m starving.”
“Teddy,” I say in a low voice, leaning forward so that my breath makes the candle between us gutter. “Did you see how much it cost?”
“The tasting menu?”
“It’s two hundred dollars a person. Plus tip.”
His face pales just slightly. “That’s okay. I’m pretty sure I have enough to…” He leans forward and pulls a thick stack of credit cards from his back pocket, which he fans out in front of him. The couple at the next table look over with raised eyebrows. But Teddy doesn’t notice. “I think this one has a three-hundred-dollar limit, but I can’t remember how much is left,” he says, holding up a blue card. “And this one is at least two hundred, but I think I’ve already spent some of it, so—”
He stops abruptly when the manager—a short man with a shiny bald head and thick glasses—appears at our table.
“Good evening to you both,” he says in an English accent. His eyes fall on the credit cards arranged like game pieces on the table. “I just wanted to stop by this evening to make sure—”
“We can pay,” Teddy interrupts, sweeping the cards back into his hands. “If that’s what you were going to ask. We have enough.”
The manager looks startled. “Of course not, sir. I would never presume—”
“I just won the lottery, actually, but the money hasn’t come through yet, and we wanted to celebrate, which is why all the cards,” Teddy explains, talking much too fast. “But I’ve got it covered.”
I can’t help cringing at this, all of it: the defensive tone and the way he’s broken out in a sweat, the embarrassment on the manager’s face and the quiet that’s fallen across nearby tables as the other diners crane their necks in our direction.
Suddenly I can see how it looks to everyone around us: two teenagers woefully out of place in such a lavish restaurant, grandly ordering one of everything while rambling about a lottery win.
But the worst part is watching Teddy notice it too. He snaps his mouth shut, glancing at me with a slightly deflated look. Then he musters a weak smile for the manager. “Sorry, I just didn’t want you to think…I wanted you to know it’ll be fine.”
The manager gives a curt nod. “Certainly, sir. And if there’s anything we can do to make your meal more enjoyable, please do let me know.”
As soon as he’s gone, I lift my eyes to meet Teddy’s. “Don’t worry about it,” I say quickly. “It doesn’t matter.”
His gaze shifts to the nearby tables, where—except for a few sidelong glances—people have resumed eating. “Yeah, but—”
“They’re just jealous.”
He frowns. “Of what?”
“Of how many credit cards you have,” I say with a grin, and in spite of himself Teddy laughs. But a second later his smile falters.
“I shouldn’t have said all that. I got rattled.”
“You’ll get used to this sort of thing,” I say, but it occurs to me that maybe I don’t want him to get used to restaurants like these, a life like this, full of extravagant meals and regular indulgences and extreme privilege, all of it so vastly different from anything we’ve ever known.
“I guess I should’ve just waited till I had the money. This will all be so much easier when the news is public and my name is out there, and I don’t feel like I have anything to prove.” He shuffles the credit cards in his hand. “Did I tell you my mom wanted me to stay anonymous?”
“I thought you couldn’t do that.”
“You can in some states. That’s what the winner from Oregon is doing.”
“But not here?”
“Not here,” he says. “She was trying to convince me to hold the check over my face at the press conference so nobody would know who I am. I told her it wouldn’t work. People would figure it out anyway. Plus, where’s the fun in that?”
“It’s not the worst idea,” I tell him. “You’d still have all the money, but then you wouldn’t have to deal with—”
“I know, I know. All the vultures who are going to be coming out of the woodwork asking for donations and investments and handouts. I’ve already gotten this speech from my mom. And your aunt. It doesn’t matter. There’s no way I’m gonna hide behind a giant piece of cardboard and miss out on everything.”
Our waiter appears with a small plate, which he sets down without quite looking at us. “Toasted brioche with crème fraîche and caviar.”
When he leaves, Teddy smiles, his spirits lifted by the sight of the food. “Now we’re talking.”
The room around us seems to grow dimmer and the candles brighter as we pick at the caviar. There’s classical music playing softly in the background, and nearby the maître d’ pops open a bottle of champagne. Across the table Teddy is smiling at me, and there’s something so romantic about the whole scene that when he leans forward and says, “So I have a proposal for you,” my heart stops for a second.
“What?”
He laughs at my expression. “Not that kind of proposal.”
“Of course not,” I say, my voice a little shaky. “So what, then?”
“Well,” he says, “I wanted to see if you’d reconsider about the money.”
“Right,” I say, but there’s a heavy feeling in my chest because I understand now he didn’t bring me here as a thank-you at all. He brought me here because he still feels like he owes me. “I already told you—”
“I know,” he says. “And I heard you. But what about at least part of it? Even just, like, a million dollars? That would be enough to—”
“Teddy.”
“What?” he asks, his eyes wide. “I don’t get it. What’s so wrong with trying to make sure you’re taken care of? Why shouldn’t you get something out of this too?”
I lower my gaze, thinking again of Aunt Sofia and Uncle Jake, knowing they might also want to get something out of this. It’s selfish, not asking them. I realize that. But what if all this time they’ve been taking care of me, it turns out they’ve just been hoping the universe would figure out a way to pay them back? I’m not sure I could bear it.
I draw in a shaky breath and force myself to look up at Teddy. “It’s really nice of you,” I tell him. “And I know how much you mean it. But I meant what I said the other day too. I just don’t want it.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t understand. How could you not?”
Because, I want to tell him, this money is going to turn our lives into a snow globe, tipping the whole world upside down. It’s going to change everything. And to me there’s nothing scarier.
But I can’t say that to him. Not when he’s been floating a foot off the ground ever since we found that ticket. I don’t want to be the one who brings him back down to earth.
“I just don’t,” I say, more firmly this time, and there’s a finality in my voice that makes him sit back hard in his chair with a sigh.
“Fine,” he says, reaching for the last circle of brioche. “But fair warning: if you don’t change your mind soon, I might spend your half on caviar.”
“It’s not my half,” I say with a little smile. “And you can do better than caviar.”
He glances up at me, his eyebrows raised. “How do you figure?”
“Squab,” I say. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” he says, grinning. “Maybe I’ll open up a whole squab restaurant. Or better yet: a chain. I’ll bring squab to the masses.”
“Just what they want, I’m sure.”
“We’ll call it McSquab’s. It’ll be a surefire hit. And then I’ll be this giant restaurant tycoon, and I’ll open up a big office in New York or L.A., and I’ll travel around on my private jet to places like Tokyo and Sydney and Beijing, and…” When he sees my expression, he trails off. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. I know he’s joking. Of course he is. But still, it feels like he’s already preparing to fly away from this place.
“Hey,” he says, reaching for my hand across the table. “It’s gonna be okay, you know.”
My answer is automatic: “I know.”
“Nothing’s going to change,” he promises. “Not really.”
And like an idiot I believe him.