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<\/a><\/p>\n<\/div>\n
\u201cSeat 13,\u201d I said. \u201cI remember.\u201d<\/p>\n
We sat down. Uncle Robert, booming and jovial, turned to me immediately.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell now, Evelyn! Good to see you. What do you do these days? Still tinkering with those food trucks?\u201d<\/p>\n
The table went quiet. Michael looked at his plate. Ashley winced. Mom looked like she wanted to disappear.<\/p>\n
\u201cSomething like that,\u201d I smiled.<\/p>\n
Dinner began. The food was flawless. Robert raved about the wine pairings. He kept asking me questions, trying to be polite, but every question was a landmine for my mother.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo, Evelyn, your mother said you helped get this reservation back? You must have friends in high places.\u201d<\/p>\n
I saw Mom stiffen.<\/p>\n
\u201cI do,\u201d I said. \u201cBut not in the way you think.\u201d<\/p>\n
Michael chuckled. \u201cCome on, Evelyn. Who do you know? A ma\u00eetre d\u2019? A supplier?\u201d<\/p>\n
I set my glass down. \u201cI know the owner.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mom laughed, a high, nervous sound. \u201cYes, yes, she knows the owner.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d I said, my voice projecting clearly to the end of the table. \u201cI am the owner.<\/b>\u201c<\/p>\n
Forks froze. The air left the room.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou?\u201d Robert asked, incredulous. \u201cYou own Bella\u2019s?\u201d<\/p>\n