She barely glanced at it.
“We’re fully booked.”
I looked toward the empty tables.
“What about those?”
“Reserved.”
“All of them?”
She sighed.
“Sir, there’s a fast-food place a few blocks away.”
I stood there feeling strangely invisible.
I had built this restaurant.
My mother’s photograph hung just a few feet away.
Yet the employee standing in front of me treated me as though I didn’t deserve to enter.
I was about to leave when someone called out.
“Excuse me, sir. Wait.”
A young waitress approached from the kitchen.
She had dark hair and wore a black apron that seemed slightly too large for her.
Her name tag read AMBER.
She looked at my face rather than my clothes.
“Are you hungry?” she asked gently.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Come with me.”
Madison immediately objected.
“Amber, those tables are reserved.”
“Which one?” Amber asked. “Can you show me the reservation?”
Madison said nothing.
Amber guided me to a small table beside the front window.
