When the bottle arrived, the sommelier uncorked it with great ceremony, pouring the dark liquid into the crystal glasses around the table.
As he reached my spot, I simply placed my hand flat over my water glass.
“Relax a little, Mom,” Sarah sighed, rolling her eyes. “You’re always so tense. You should loosen up now that you have all that extra liquidity.”
Another direct reference to my bank account.
I didn’t take the bait.
I held her gaze steadily across the table until she shifted in her seat and looked away.
Eventually, the dessert menus were passed around.
They ordered flourless chocolate cakes, crème brûlée, espresso shots, and expensive digestives.
The table transformed into a battlefield of smeared plates, crumpled napkins, and empty wine glasses.
David leaned back heavily in his chair, patting his stomach, while his father wiped his mouth with satisfaction.
Then the inevitable moment arrived.
The waiter approached our table carrying a slim black leather folder.
Everyone suddenly became deeply fascinated by the ceiling, their fingernails, or the ice left in their glasses.
The waiter placed the folder perfectly in the center of the table.
Total silence fell over the group.
David coughed into his hand.
Sarah reached out, pulling the folder toward her with rehearsed nonchalance.
She opened it, her eyes widening slightly at the total before a sly smirk crept onto her face.
She slid the black folder across the polished mahogany until it rested right next to my empty salad bowl.
“You’re getting this, right, Mom?” Sarah asked, her voice loud enough for neighboring tables to hear. “Think of it as a gesture of goodwill for the years we missed.”
I looked down at the receipt sticking out of the folder.
The total boldly printed at the bottom was $3,215.
The silence at the table was thick, heavy with expectation.
Seven pairs of eyes locked onto me, waiting for the older, lonely widow to sigh, pull out a platinum card, and fund the extravagant feast they had just devoured.