“Because she uninvited me,” I said. “She said it was for ‘family only.’”

Marcus went silent. “Understood.”

Thirty minutes later, my phone rang. It was my mother. She was hysterical.

“Evelyn! Something terrible happened! Bella’s canceled our reservation! Two days before Thanksgiving! Can you believe it?”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “Oh no. That’s awful.”

“It’s ruined! Your Uncle Robert is flying in. Your cousin Mary is driving down. We wanted to take them somewhere impressive. You know how Robert brags. We wanted to show him we’re doing well. Do you know anyone? You work in… food. Can you find us a place?”

Impressive. Show him we’re doing well. That was it. She didn’t want me there because my “food truck” job didn’t fit the narrative of success she wanted to sell to Uncle Robert.

“I might know some people,” I said carefully. “Let me see what I can do.”

I let her sweat for a few hours. I let my siblings text me with their weak, enabling excuses (“Mom’s just stressed,” “Don’t take it personally”).

Then I called her back.

“Mom, I pulled some strings. I know someone with influence. I can get the reservation back.”

“Oh, thank God! Evelyn, you’re a lifesaver! Who is it? The manager?”

“There’s one condition,” I cut her off.