Damon was starting to notice that his parents were acting pretty strange, even stranger than they normally did. It was bordering on creepy.

"How was school?" his mother asked.

He cocked his eyebrow, idly fingering the little silver stud below his bottom lip. Was she for real? "Enlightening."

Blake tapped his fingers on the table. He didn't want to be here. Honestly, he wanted to throw up. Before Miss Lila Savoy had left, with his seven thousand dollar check in her hand, she had pushed several papers in front of them. Most had been standard things about being able to seek medical attention for Damon should he need it, and speaking to him about God and Christianity. But the last one, that had left a sour taste in his mouth. It had been a paper relinquishing their parental rights. Temporarily, Lila had assured them.

"Hey, Rita," Damon called to the old waitress who's personality was as faded as her uniform.

She looked at him over the rim of her glasses.

"Can I get some more coke?" He shook his plastic cup letting the ice rattle loudly. Odd that he called her by her name, seeing as how he assured his parents that he'd never been there before. But of course, Damon wasn't above lying.

Rita came over, lugging a pitcher of sweet tea. She poured some into Donna's glass then took Damon's glass and walked back behind the counter. When she returned she looked at Damon a second longer she did at Blake and Donna. She started to walk away but stopped and turned around. "This your kid?"

Donna nodded, smiling as she waited for a rare compliment she thought might be coming.

"Got quite a mouth on him," Rita said. Her tone was flat and it was apparent she had dealt with him on a number of occasions.

Blake waited until Rita walked away. "What the hell did she mean?"

A smart-ass smile covered Damon's face. "How should I know?" He picked up the salt shaker and turned it over letting a small pile collect on the table top.

"Stop it, Damon," Donna said, snatching it from his hand.

"Christ, I'm not hurting anything."

Blake shook his head. "She's going to have to clean it up."

"It's her job."

"She gets three dollars an hour. Her job is to serve food, it is not her job to have to clean up after you."

Damon shrugged, casually reaching over to where his mother had set the salt shaker down. He picked it up, twirling it gently in his hand. While his parents talked he unscrewed the cap and let the white crystals pour out on the table. "Oops."

"Dammit, Damon, why did you do that?"

"Maybe I'm just not challenged enough." He smiled, reminding them of the time in ninth grade when a teacher had called them in for a conference. She had a list of infractions and rules he had broken. He knew this time he was going to get grounded at the very least. His father had looked the teacher in the eye and said those very words.

It was the first in many outs his parents had bestowed on him. It was like a get out of jail free card, and he used it as often as possible.

"Honestly, Damon, we don't know what to do with you anymore," his mother whispered. She was either going to start crying and boo hooing about how much she worried about him or she was about to go full pms on him. Either way, it would be entertaining.

"Two more years and I'm out of here," Damon said.

Blake's jaw squared with tension. He watched with disgust as his son liked the end of his finger and dabbed it in the pile of salt. He sucked the salt off and locked eyes with Blake. "Want some?"

"What are you going to do when you move out in two years?" Blake said. It was the same question he asked weekly. Day after day, father and son picked at the same wound, never letting it heal. "You think it's easy to live on your own. Nobody around to clean up after you. No pocketbooks to swipe a twenty from."

"Beats listening to this crap all the time."

They were starting to piss him off now. Why he thought they could have a regular dinner he didn't know. It was always the same.

"No one will hire you. I wouldn't. "

"I wouldn't work for you. "

Blake pushed his plate away and turned to his wife. "Honey, will you pay while I go to the restroom?" He handed Donna a fifty. As he slid out of the booth, he motioned to the waitress. "Tell her to keep the change."

In his head, Damon did the math. Rita would be getting a twenty dollar tip. Guess it was Blake's way of easing his conscience. Damon blew at the pile of salt sending to scattering across the table. "I'll wait outside," he said and left his mother. As he passed the counter he nodded at the waitress. "Later, Rita."

Without missing a beat, the old woman smirked. "Can't hardly wait."