My mother’s eyes scanned the room the way a real estate agent studies a new property.
Julia immediately lifted her phone, angling it toward the plates arriving at nearby tables.
My father leaned back in his chair, glancing around as though measuring the room’s value.
They had not yet noticed me.
Service continued smoothly.
The first course they ordered from the tasting menu arrived at their table twenty minutes later—smoked trout with pickled fennel and lemon oil.
Julia photographed it.
My mother examined it carefully before taking a bite.
My father chewed thoughtfully and nodded, clearly impressed despite himself.
Course followed course.
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