Malcolm tried a tentative bite of the soup. He'd have to give it a minute to know. He set his spoon down.

"Mother, have you had any interesting calls to your tip line this week?"

She looked up, looking for his spoon and visibly noted it laying down beside his bowl.

"Nothing promising," she said with a sigh. "Are you eating?"

"I'm working up to it."

She directed a new sigh at him and signaled the waiter for another glass of wine. "I hope you're not intending to nurse one bowl of soup through four courses."

"No," he deadpanned. "People might look at us oddly."