Erin is patient, as ever, waiting, but the second Dodger realizes what's taking so long she's already talking, of course. Of course.

"A twenty percent tip is going to be seven seventy six, Rodger, and if you want to do thirty percent it'll be eleven sixty four, just round up."

Rodger isn't affronted or upset by this, the slow easy smile he wears a little more real in this moment. He puts down the bills, keeps his words in his back pocket, almost conservative with them these days. He knows, now.

"I'm finishing my food," Erin says, stolid and calm, as if she can pretend to be at a remove from the electric back and forth in front of her.