Mateo exhales slowly, jaw still tight. "You're right," he grumbles, though I can tell he's still fuming.
A moment later, the waiter returns, this time with a plump woman in her late forties trailing behind him. Her expression is a mix of concern and barely restrained irritation, though I can tell it's aimed at him, not us.
"So," she begins, addressing us with a polite tilt of her head, "I hear you've requested a new server. Has Matthew done something to offend you?"
Mateo doesn't hesitate. "No, not at all. Matthew here just insulted our sexualities and asked us not to act, " his glare flicks toward the waiter ", like the F-slur."
The woman's lips part in shock. "Oh, my dears, I am so, so sorry." Her voice is warm and earnest, but there's steel underneath it. She whirls on the waiter. "Matthew, go to the kitchen. Now. I'll deal with you later."
The man mutters something under his breath again but retreats quickly enough.
