I should’ve known something was up when my stepdaughter invited me to a restaurant way above my pay grade.
Hyacinth and I had a complicated history. We weren’t enemies, but we weren’t exactly close either. So when she called after a year of silence and suggested dinner, I was cautiously optimistic.
Then she ordered lobster.
And steak.
And wine that cost more than my electric bill.
The whole meal was strange. She barely spoke, just picked at her food and checked her phone. I tried to make conversation, but she gave me nothing.
When the bill came, she vanished—leaving me to foot the outrageous tab.
I was furious. Had she really just scammed me?
Then I heard a voice: “Got you.”
Hyacinth was standing there, holding a cake and balloons.
“You’re going to be a grandpa,” she said, smiling for real this time.
My anger melted away. The awkward dinner, the expensive meal, the fake disappearing act—it had all been part of her grand plan to surprise me.
I pulled her into a hug, my eyes stinging.
Turns out, the most expensive dinner of my life was also the best investment I’d ever made.
