“Really? A salad? Ain’t nothin’ else?” Ron asked after the waitress taking your orders had walked away. He had a raised eyebrow and an unamused expression.

“Don’t tell me this is ‘cause of Tom’s new girl. She said a whole bunch of nothin’ durin’ move night, promise. Her and Tom’s gym talk was all nonsense.” He huffed, staring at you from across the cushioned booth.

“You should’ve gotten like, chicken tenders, or something. That would’a been a better meal than a salad. You look perfectly fine.”