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

Not a footnote. Just the name I’d been given and had spent years trying to make mean something.

I swallowed and looked at James.

“Who’s coming?” I asked.

He set a folder on the table and flipped it open. “Margaret Reynolds. David Chen. Patricia Aldridge.” He said the names matter-of-factly, as though they were people he’d simply called and who had simply continue reading …