Michael raised his brows in amusement. "No way!" At the bit about her brother, he breathed out a puff of breath like he couldn't believe it, while they walked to their table.<br/><br/>The waiter left once they got there. Michael had to laugh at Florence's turn of speech and pulled her chair out before taking his own. "Well my Mom was ecstatic when I got accepted, threw a little party. Once reality hit though," he swept his hand across the air in front of him, "<em>completely</em>different story. Almost like she'd never see me again, and saying sadly how it'd be the first Thanksgiving without both her boys." Michael quieted the briefest moment, his smile lessening just that much as he saw the moment playing out as though it were a fresh scene projected onto his mind. "It's funny, it almost seems parents never think of that happening, even though they work with you to get there," his disposition was still light and into the making fun, but there was a thoughtful outline to it. Like he was feeling his Mom's side of the situation a little while he recounted it.<br/><br/>Their waiter returned, introducing himself as Paul: "Can I get you two anything to drink?"<br/><br/>Michael let Florence go first, then: "I'll have a screwdriver, sans the alcohol."<br/><br/>The waiter hesitated.<br/><br/>"Just an orange juice," Michael clarified. "Guess I need to work on my material," he added in an undertone when the waiter left again; taking up his menu.<em>I was sure I saw blood orange advertised back there!..</em>he thought. Lowering the menu, Michael looked to the centre of the table where those little specific menus -dessert, alcohol- stood, seeing if more gelato was advertised as a limited time only kind of thing.