She laughed, tension dissolving. “Deal. Tacos it is.”

We stayed longer than expected, talking more honestly than we had in a while. She admitted she sometimes assumes everyone can “just split it” the way she can. I admitted I sometimes struggle to restate my boundaries when I feel brushed aside.

It wasn’t a fight.

It was a correction.

As we walked out of the restaurant, she hugged me.

“Thank you,” she said. “For being patient. And for not making it weird.”

I hugged her back. “That’s what friends are for. We learn.”

That night didn’t end with resentment or guilt.

It ended with understanding.

And yes — the salad was good.

But the real satisfaction came from something else entirely.

It came from honoring myself — calmly, respectfully, and without apology.

And that? That tasted even better.