Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 161

“Grandma? Emma?” Theodore stared at them in surprise.

The moment she saw him, his grandmother assumed Emma had invited him and beamed. “Oh, Theodore, you’re here! Come, have a seat. Emma and I already started looking at the menu, but we weren’t sure what you’d like. Feel free to order whatever catches your eye.”

But Theodore hadn’t come to join them for dinner.

Emma kept quiet, a faint, ambiguous smile on her lips. She tore off a piece of the warm bread from the basket, dipped it into the house-made sauce, and savored the rich flavors.

Theodore hesitated for a second, then took the empty seat beside Emma. “It’s fine, Grandma. I’m always busy and hardly ever get the chance to join you for a meal. Whatever you two pick is fine with me—I’ll eat anything.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. Since when did he start talking like such a people-pleaser? Was it contagious, spending too much time around manipulative types?

Theodore flagged down the waiter and ordered a steak.

The appetizers hadn’t even arrived when Theodore’s phone began to ring.

Grandma couldn’t see the screen from her angle, but Emma could: the caller ID flashed “Dear Cici.”

Surprisingly, Theodore didn’t answer. He simply declined the call.

Well, that was a first.

But Cecilia wasn’t the type to give up so quickly. Within seconds, a message popped up: Where are you? Theo? We’re all here.

“I’m going to the restroom,” he said, standing up.

The restroom?

Emma let out a small, amused laugh.

Theodore paused, glancing at Emma.

She arched her brows, making it clear she wasn’t about to call him out. Today was meant to be a happy day for her and her grandmother—she wasn’t going to let anyone ruin it.

Grandma smiled warmly. “Go ahead, sweetheart.”

Theodore headed off toward the back of the restaurant.

The restrooms were that way, of course, but so were the private dining rooms.

“Grandma, I’ll be right back too. You can start eating if the food comes,” Emma said.

When Emma returned to the table, the appetizers had arrived.

Grandma didn’t like anything raw, so Emma had ordered her eggs Benedict. But now Grandma was staring at the dish, uncertain how to begin.

As Emma sat down, Grandma asked, “This thing’s so wobbly. If I stab it with my fork, won’t the yolk run everywhere? Am I supposed to pick it up with my hands?”

“Why not? Just pick it up—who cares?” Theodore’s voice floated over as he returned.

The moment Grandma saw him, her hand, halfway to the plate, quickly retreated, and she looked even more flustered.

Theodore sat down beside Emma again and smiled at Grandma. “Grandma, we can eat however we like.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to make a fool of myself and embarrass you two.”

“Don’t worry about that, Grandma. Eating’s supposed to be enjoyable, not about following all those silly rules. No one’s going to judge us,” Theodore reassured her.

Grandma still hesitated, so Theodore called a waiter and asked for a pair of chopsticks.

Only then did Grandma relax and start eating the eggs—with the chopsticks. But she still managed to break the yolk, and it ran everywhere: down her chin, onto her clothes, even her wrist.