There Was No Seat for Me at the Luxury Restaurant. By Dessert, They Regretted It

could see the glow of it through the rain, the chandeliers, the shapes of women gathered near the glass.

“Subtle,” I said.

James pulled out a chair at the center of the table — not the head, not the edge — and said: “Your seat.”

I sat, and my fingers found the small folded card in front of my plate.

My name. In clean script.

Just Wanda. Not a family name.continue reading …