All This Could Be Different

by Sarah Thankam Mathews

When we were about to be seated, Tig added, Can you get me? All the cash I have left till payday is five dollars. Sure, I said, beads of sweat beginning to gather at my hairline. I asked the server for the soup. With a luxuriant smile Tig ordered a Duvel and a chicken piccata. I glanced at the menu. A Duvel was the most expensive beer Trocadero even carried. Nine dollars. The chicken piccata was eighteen. And no doubt Tig would tip generously. With my money. What’s wrong, Tig asked, as my face reddened. Nothing, I said. We ate in near silence. You have to tell me what’s up with you. You’re making me anxious. I love you, but sometimes I think you think I’m comprised of cold cash, I said.