Eloise
Elliott takes me for brunch the next morning. My nervousness must be contagious because Elliott seems to get more nervous, just like I do, as the minutes pass. We don't talk much throughout breakfast, hovering quietly over our steaming coffees as it gets close for us to leave. I imagine it's nerve-wracking for Elliott because he doesn't even know the Marino's and here he is getting invited to a family meeting. At least we are on neutral ground here: I don't know the Marino's either, and I haven't been to one of these family meetings yet myself. I can't coach him through this because I'm still equally a novice.
Elliott pays the tab but allows me to cover the tip. I leave a $100 bill under my empty coffee mug, asking Elliott if we can wait by the door to make sure the waitress gets
