My friend Lily was the one who suggested the fancy steakhouse. The kind with dim lighting, white tablecloths, and menu prices that made my bank account flinch. Before we went, I was honest with her.
“I’d love to see you, but I really can’t afford an expensive dinner right now.
I’ll just order something light, okay?”
She replied with a laughing emoji and, “Don’t worry, it’ll be fun!”
That should’ve been my first red flag.
When we arrived, the place was beautiful.
Soft jazz in the background. The smell of grilled steak in the air.
Waiters gliding between tables like they were floating.
Lily opened the menu and her eyes lit up. “Oh my gosh, they have the 200-dollar ribeye!
I’ve always wanted to try this.”
I smiled and closed my menu after finding the cheapest salad I could.
“I’ll just have this,” I told the waiter.
“House salad and water, please.”
Lily didn’t hold back. She ordered the $200 steak,
three different sides,
and a cocktail.
Then dessert. I watched the plates arrive, one after another, like a parade dedicated entirely to her appetite.
I didn’t say anything.
I didn’t judge.
But I remembered the conversation we had before coming. When the meal was over, the waiter quietly placed the check on the table.
Without even looking at it, Lily said:
“We’ll just split it.”
Just like that.
Half of a $200 steak. Half of three sides.
Half of dessert.
Half of her cocktail.
What happened next changed everything…
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