My stepdaughter invited me to a restaurantI was speechless when the bill arrived
I hadnt heard from my stepdaughter, Poppy, in what felt like forever. So when she asked me to dinner, I thought maybe it was finally time to mend our strained relationship. But nothing could have prepared me for the shock waiting for me at that restaurant.
My name is Edward, Im 52, and over the years, Ive learned to live with a lot. My life is steadyperhaps even dull. I work in a quiet office, live in a modest house, and spend most evenings with a book or watching the news. Nothing thrilling, but it suits me. The one thing Ive never managed to handle properly is my relationship with Poppy.
It had been a year, maybe more, since wed last spoken. Wed never really got along, not since I married her mother, Eleanor, when Poppy was still a teenager. Shed always kept her distance, and over time, Id stopped trying too hard. But I was taken aback when out of nowhere, she called, her voice oddly bright.
“Hello, Edward,” she said, far too cheerfully. “Fancy dinner? Theres this new place Ive been dying to try.”
At first, I didnt know what to say. Poppy hadnt reached out in ages. Was this her way of making peace? Trying to bridge the gap between us? If so, I was ready. Id waited years for something like this. I wanted to believe we were still family.
“Of course,” I replied, hopeful. “Just tell me when and where.”
The restaurant was poshfar more upmarket than I was used to. Dark wooden tables, soft lighting, waiters in crisp white shirts. When I arrived, Poppy was already there, and she looked different. She smiled, but it didnt quite reach her eyes.
“Edward! You came!” she greeted me with forced enthusiasm, as if she was trying too hard to seem relaxed. I sat across from her, trying to read the room.
“So, how have you been?” I asked, hoping for a real conversation.
“Fine, fine,” she answered quickly, flicking through the menu. “You? All good?” Her tone was polite but distant.
“Same old routine,” I replied, though she wasnt really listening. Before I could say more, she signalled the waiter.
“Well have the lobster,” she said with a quick glance at me, “and the ribeye steak. Sound good?”
I blinked, surprised. I hadnt even looked at the menu, and she was already ordering the most expensive dishes. I shrugged, pushing the thought aside. “Yeah, if you like.”
But something felt off. She was fidgety, shifting in her seat, checking her phone too often, barely engaging.
As we ate, I tried steering the conversation deeper. “Its been a while since we last talked, hasnt it? Ive missed catching up.”
“Yeah,” she muttered, not looking up from her plate. “Been busy.”
“Busy enough to vanish for a year?” I half-laughed, though there was an edge to my voice.
She glanced at me briefly, then went back to eating. “You know how it is work, life”
Her eyes kept darting around the room, like she was waiting for something. I pressed on, asking about her job, her friends, anythingbut her answers were short, hollow. The longer the meal dragged, the more I felt like an outsider in a scene I didnt belong in.
Then the bill came. I reached for it automatically, pulling out my carduntil Poppy leaned in and whispered something to the waiter I couldnt catch.
Before I could ask, she flashed me a tight smile. “Be right back,” she said, standing abruptly. “Just need the loo.”
I watched her walk away, stomach twisting. Something wasnt right. The waiter handed me the bill, and my heart stuttered at the amount. Far more than Id expected.
I glanced toward the restroom. Waited. But she didnt return.
Minutes ticked by. The waiter hovered, expectant. With a sigh, I handed over my card, swallowing the bitterness. Had she really just left me with the bill?
I paid, feeling hollow. As I headed for the exit, frustration and disappointment crashed over me. All Id wanted was a chance to reconnectto talk like we never had before. Instead, I felt used for a free meal.
Then, just before I reached the door, I heard a noise behind me.
I turned slowly, unsure what to expect. My stomach clenchedbut then I saw Poppy standing there, and my breath caught.
In her arms was a massive cake, her grin wide like a child whod pulled off the perfect prank. In her other hand, colourful balloons bobbed above her head. I blinked, trying to make sense of it.
Before I could speak, she stepped closer, beaming. “Youre going to be a grandad!”
For a moment, I just stood there, stunned. “A grandad?” I repeated, as if Id missed a step.
She laughed, her eyes shining with the same nervous energy from dinnerbut now it all made sense. “Yes! I wanted it to be a surprise,” she said, holding up the cake. It was vanilla, with blue and pink icing, and in bold letters: *Congrats, Grandad!*
I blinked again, struggling to process it. “Wait you planned this?”
She nodded, the balloons swaying. “Yes! I set it up with the waiter. I wanted it to be special. Thats why I disappearedI wasnt ditching you, I swear. I just wanted to give you the shock of your life.”
Something inside me loosened. Not disappointment. Not anger. Something warmer.
I looked at the cake, then at Poppy, and it all clicked. “You did all this for me?” I asked softly.
“Of course, Edward,” she said gently. “I know weve had our ups and downs, but I wanted you to be part of this. Youre going to be a grandad.”
