Chapter 10 - The Table by the Window
Three months later, on a crisp Saturday afternoon in September, the four of us walked through the glass doors of The Grand View Bistro—the exact same upscale steakhouse where, eighteen months earlier, my children had been relegated to a plastic table beside the coat rack.
The hostess, a young woman in a sharp navy blazer, looked up from her reservation book as we approached the podium.
“Good afternoon,” she smiled brightly. “Do you have a reservation?”
“Yes,” I said, pulling a confirmation card from my pocket. “Thorn party of four.”
The hostess scanned her digital screen, her eyes widening slightly as she checked the VIP seating tier attached to the reservation number. She looked up from the screen, her professional smile instantly warming into genuine hospitality.
“Ah, yes, Ms. Thorn. Right this way. We have your table prepared by the main bay windows overlooking the garden.”
She led us past the service corridors, past the coat rack where a few autumn coats were already hanging, and out into the heart of the main dining room.
The afternoon sun was streaming through the floor-to-ceiling glass, catching the crystal water goblets and bathing the white linen tablecloths in a warm, golden glow.
We weren't seated at the edge of the room. We weren't tucked behind a service station or hidden from view.
The hostess pulled out four heavy, velvet-upholstered chairs right at the center of the window tier, framing a panoramic view of the courtyard fountains outside.
Faye slid gracefully into her seat, smoothing her new denim skirt with a quiet, confident smile. Della immediately reached into her small canvas handbag and pulled out a fresh sketchbook and a brand-new box of sixty-four Crayola crayons, arranging them neatly beside her water glass. And Beckett hopped onto his chair, his legs dangling slightly over the edge, before looking up at me with a grin that reached all the way to his eyes.
“Mommy?” he asked loudly enough for the tables around us to hear. “Can we get whatever we want today?”
May you like
I opened my leather menu, letting the rich scent of roasted garlic and aged beef drift up around us. I looked at my three children—bright, safe, unburdened, and entirely self-contained—before looking out through the clean glass at the world outside.
“Anything you want, sweetie,” I said, resting my hand over his small fingers on the table. “Everything is paid for.”
