The Tuesday Morning Litigatory Revelation

Nobody likes getting rudely awakened by phone calls, but unfortunately, that’s not something you have any control over. So that’s you this fine Tuesday morning, the annoying buzz of your phone forcing you up. Great. You roll over your bed and snatch up your phone and stare at the screen. Dad’s calling. You pick up.

“Wuzzup dad,” you say, your throat not fully operational yet.

“Alex. Did you really just wake up?” your dad asks, the familiar gruffness in his voice just slightly irritating.

“Yeah. So what?” you ask.

“You should be getting up earlier,” he says. He pauses and you stare out your window, wondering what he called for. “Anyways. Your mom and I have come to a decision,” he continues. “We’re going to sue Crawford’s Crazy Crawfish.”

“What??” you sputter, caught off guard. “Oh… because of the food poisoning. Shouldn’t this be the kind of thing where we talk about it first, as a family? I don’t even know if they’re at fault… look I haven’t really put much thought into this.”

“We assumed you would go along with it, given how you ignored the text we sent you,” your dad says drily.

“I was busy with school. You know I’ve had a ton of work, trying to catch up with all my classes after missing that week,” you say. Plus, I did tell Lucille that I’d try to stop this from happening…

“All the more reason for us to sue,” your dad says. “We’ve already found legal counsel for the case. She says that it should be an easy one to win, good for twenty or thirty grand. What they’ve done is criminal. They’re lucky we’re not pressing charges with the police.”

“What, so you’ve already decided? I don’t get a say in this?” you ask. Sometimes, it can be a pain to deal with your parents.

“It hasn’t been decided yet,” your dad says. “But the lawyer approached us and offered to take the case pro bono.”

“Why would she do that?” you ask, frowning.

“I don’t really understand it either. I wanted to discuss this with you,” your dad says. “In the email, she mentioned that her daughter also goes to Stonewall. ‘A gift to a classmate’ was how she phrased it.”

“So the lawyer’s daughter is someone I know,” you say, trying to think of who you know that would fit the bill. Imogen? But she’s the one going to law school. Not her parents. Unless her parents are lawyers too? “Or, this is just someone with way too much school pride.”

“Her name is Mrs. Walker,” your dad says. “Does that ring a bell?”

You pause, racking through the list of names that you know. One rises to the surface. Oh shit. Charmaine Walker.

“There’s this girl in my Seminar class, her name’s Charmaine Walker,” you say.

“And is she black?” your dad asks.

You’re so busy trying to figure out why Charmaine’s mom would do this that all you manage is a half-hearted: “Yeah. She’s nice.”

“That settles it then,” your dad says. “I’ll tell her that we’re bringing the case to court.”

“Wait, wait, I need some time to think this through,” you say, rushing to get your words in before he can hang up. “This is more complicated than you think it is. There’s another girl in my class—Lucille, her mom runs the restaurant, and she swears that this was an accident—”

“Why should I care?” he asks, and you can tell that he’s growing impatient.

“I just… need some time to talk to them. Figure out what more information we can get,” you say, knowing that the excuse sounds weak, but unable to come up with anything better yourself.

“We’ve tarried long enough. Give me your answer by Friday morning, at the latest, or I’m giving Mrs. Walker the go,” your dad says.

With that, he hangs up, leaving you to stew in your thoughts.