I should have trusted the tiny knot in my stomach when she sent me the restaurant’s name. It was one of those steakhouses where the menu doesn’t list prices online. The kind with velvet booths, dim lighting, and waiters who glide instead of walk. “Come on,” Vanessa had said over the phone. “You deserve a night out.” “I’m happy to go,” I told her carefully. “But I can’t spend $400 on dinner. I’m serious. I’ll go light.” She laughed. “Don’t be dramatic. It’ll be fine.” It wasn’t fine. For illustrative purposes onlyThe hostess led us past glass cases of dry-aged...
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