The Silver Linings Playbook - By Matthew Quick Page 0,21

retrieves her purse from the kitchen table. "Where are you taking her?"

"The Crystal Lake Diner."

"You shouldn't need more than forty dollars then, right?"

"I guess."

"It'll be on the counter when you come down."

I shower, apply underarm deodorant, use my father's cologne, and put on my khakis and the dark green button-down shirt Mom bought me at the Gap just yesterday. For some reason, my mother is systematically buying an entire wardrobe for me - and every piece is from the Gap. When I go downstairs, my mom tells me I need to tuck in my shirt and wear a belt.

"Why?" I ask, because I do not really care if I look respectable or not. I only want to get rid of Tiffany once and for all.

But when Mom says, "Please," I remember that I am trying to be kind instead of right - and I also owe Mom because she rescued me from the bad place - so I go upstairs and put on the brown leather belt she purchased for me earlier in the week.

Mom comes into my room with a shoe box and says, "Put on some dress socks and try these on." I open the box, and these swanky-looking brown leather loafers are inside. "Jake said these are what men your age wear casually," Mom says. When I slip the loafers on and look in the mirror, I see how thin my waistline appears, and I think I look almost as swanky as my little brother.

With forty bucks in my pocket, I walk across Knight's Park to Tiffany's parents' house. She is outside, waiting for me on the sidewalk, but I see her mother peeking out the window. Mrs. Webster ducks behind the blinds when we make eye contact. Tiffany does not say hello, but begins walking before I can stop. She is wearing a pink knee-length skirt and a black summer sweater. Her platform sandals make her look taller, and her hair is sort of puffed out around the ears, hanging down to her shoulders. Her eyeliner is a little heavy, and her lips are so pink, but I have to admit she looks great, which I tell her, saying, "Wow, you look really nice tonight."

"I like your shoes," she says in response, and then we walk for thirty minutes without saying another word.

We get a booth at the diner, and the server gives us glasses of water. Tiffany orders tea, and I say that water is fine for me. As I read the menu, I worry that I won't have enough money, which is silly, I know, because I have two twenties on me and most of the entrees are under ten bucks, but I do not know what Tiffany will order, and maybe she will want dessert, and then there's the tip.

Nikki taught me to overtip; she says waitresses work too hard for such a little bit of money. Nikki knows this because she was a waitress all through college - when we were at La Salle - so I always overtip when I go out to eat now, just to make up for the times in the past when I fought with Nikki over a few dollars, saying fifteen percent was more than enough, because no one tipped me regardless of whether I did my job well or not. Now I am a believer in overtipping, because I am practicing being kind rather than right - and as I am reading the diner menu, I think, What if I do not have enough money left over for a generous tip?

I am worrying about all of this so much that I must have missed Tiffany's order, because suddenly the waitress is saying, "Sir?"

When I put my menu down, both Tiffany and the waitress are staring at me, as if they are concerned. So I say, "Raisin bran," because I remember reading that cereal is only $2.25.

"Milk?"

"How much is milk?"

"Seventy-five cents."

I figure I can afford it, so I say, "Please," and then hand my menu back to the waitress.

"That's it?"

I nod, and the waitress sighs audibly before leaving us alone.

"What did you order? I didn't catch it," I say to Tiffany, trying to sound polite but secretly worrying that I will not have enough money left over for a good tip.

"Just tea," she says, and then we both look out the window at the cars in the parking lot.

When the raisin bran comes, I open the little single-serving box and pour the cereal into the bowl