The waiter picks up his order pad and looks off into the middle distance. “What’ll you have?” he intones, in a voice that says he plainly doesn’t care and wishes he were anywhere but here, waiting on our table.

“Not gin,” Alex mutters, and grimaces. “Or vodka. Or rum.”

“He’s a little hungover,” I explain. “Just bring him a steak, medium well, please, and steamed broccoli and garlic mashed potatoes-”

“I can order for myself,” Alex snaps, “thank you very much.”

The waiter taps his pen against his pad. “Okay. So…what can I bring you? Not one of our new Tijuana Tequila shooters, I take it.”

“No.  I want a steak. Medium well. And steamed carrots and a baked potato.”  He glowers.  “And lose the side of sarcasm, or you can kiss your tip goodbye.”

“That’s what I just told him to bring you!” I hiss as the waiter – and his sarcasm – depart.

“No, it isn’t, Dana. You ordered the garlic mashed potatoes. And steamed broccoli. Both of which I despise, and you know that.”

“Alex,” I warn him, “don’t take your misery out on me. You’ve no one to blame for your hangover – and your bad life choices – but yourself.”

“I appreciate your sympathy, as always.”

“Look,” I add before our daughter, Becky, returns, “you’re the one who promised Becs we’d all go out for a nice New Year’s lunch together. So here we are.” I lean forward with the look of combat in my eye. “And we’re going to have fun.”

He grunts but makes no reply.

Becky returns from the restroom and resumes her seat across from me. She glances at her father, red-eyed and still a little green around the edges. “So where’d you go last night, dad? You really tied one on, didn’t you?”

“It was New Year’s Eve,” he retorts.  “And don’t think just because you’re at NYU now you can get smart with me.”

“Just making an observation.” Becky shrugs and picks up her cell phone; soon her thumbs are flying over the keys, texting. We’ve been shut out.

“How’s school?” I ask in an attempt to smooth the waters, and shoot Alex a warning glance. “Have you met anyone interesting?”

“If you mean have I started dating anyone and are we picking out our wedding china at Bloomingdale’s, then no.”

“Rebecca,” Alex fires back, “don’t get smart with your mother.”

“Im not ‘getting smart.’ I’m simply telling her what she wants to know. As a matter of fact,” she adds casually, “I think I may be gay.”

I nearly choke on my iced tea, no sugar, lemon only. “What?”

“I just don’t feel an attraction to guys my age.”

“I’m sure the feeling’s mutual,” Alex says. “After all, all you ever wear is black. Is that a New York thing? Or a vegan thing? I know you don’t eat meat, or eggs, or anything that swims or walks or flies. Or maybe it’s a ‘do-everything-you-can-to-piss-off-your-parents’ thing.” When Becky glares at him, he adds, “Just making an observation.”

“Here come our entrees,” I say, and smile at Becky as our steak (Alex), grilled chicken (me), and salad, plain, dressing on the side (Becky) arrive. “Don’t they look good!” I add as the waitress turns from the set-up tray with our plates in hand.

“Okay, who had the steak?” she asks brightly, her lips turned up in a perky smile. “Medium well, with steamed carrots and a baked…” her voice trails off.

“Alex?” She lowers the plates and glances over at Becky in confusion. “Becks?”

“Hello, Taylor.” Becky’s words are cool. “I see you’ve already met my dad.”

Alex is staring at Taylor. Taylor is staring at him. His eyes, I can’t help but notice, are locked on hers, silently imploring her not to say another word as he takes the plate she holds out. “That’s mine. Thanks. Wow, it’s nice to get such personalized service.”

“Your… dad?” The waitress’s smile falters. Silently she sets down the remaining plates and hovers awkwardly by the table. The glance she shoots me is wary and puzzled and terrified all at once. “Well…if there’s nothing else…”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s lots else dad would like,” Becky mutters. “But I doubt if it’s on the menu.”

Alex flings aside his napkin. “That’s enough out of you, young lady. How dare you talk to me like that-”

“No! How dare you! How dare you treat mom like this.” Becky is red-faced with sudden fury. “When did you hook up with Taylor? When she used to come over to study with me? God, you’re so incredibly skeevy! And mom – why do you let him do this shit to you, again and again? Why?”

I’m silent, tears forming. My throat is constricted with emotion and I don’t trust myself to speak.

“I’m sorry, Becs,” Taylor whispers, obviously distraught. “God, I didn’t know he was your dad…”

“No, you didn’t. But he knew you were my friend. With ‘were’ being the operative word.” Becky thrust back her chair and threw her napkin down. “I’m outta here.”

“Where are you going?” I call out as I rise to go after her.

I shake off Alex’s restraining hand and grab my purse, desperate to get away from the staring faces and hushed whispers. I brush past Taylor and follow my daughter, my lips set in a grim line as I catch up to her outside.

She turns to me, and the anger and disgust on her face crumples as she flings herself into my arms. “I’m sorry, mom. Why does he always do this stuff? Why?”

“I don’t know, honey,” I say. “I don’t know.” After a moment I let her go, and we stand on the sidewalk, two women with tear-stained faces. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Where? I don’t want to go back. I can’t face him right now.”

“He’s still your father,” I say automatically.

“Biologically speaking. God, I hate him.”

“You don’t. You hate what he does, not who he is.”

“He treats you like crap, mom. He always has.”

“That’s why we’re divorced, Becs,” I point out patiently. “Let’s go. It’s cold out here.”

“Where are we going?” she asks again as she loops her arm through mine.

I shrug. “Oh, I don’t know. Ice cream, maybe? Bergdorf’s?  Bloomingdales?”

Becky grins. “Yeah. Good idea. We can shop for wedding china – for Taylor and dad.” For some reason we both find this idea hilarious, and we laugh until our sides hurt and our eyes water and people are glancing at us like we’re crazy.

“I  don’t care where we go,” I say firmly as we make our way up Fifth Avenue, our arms entwined. “As long as it’s anywhere but here.”