As she led them toward a table near the window, where the city lights stretched out like a living painting, Marjorie glanced back at Elise, her expression sharpening just slightly.
“You’ll take this table,” she said under her breath. “And be careful. No mistakes.”
Elise nodded, already moving.
She approached the table with practiced ease, the kind that came from years of repetition, of learning how to exist in these interactions without intruding.
“Good evening,” she said gently. “My name is Elise, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.”
Julian nodded, barely glancing at her. “Whiskey. Neat.”
Then he turned slightly toward his mother. “And for you, Mom? The usual?”
Lillian didn’t respond.
She was looking out the window, her attention fixed somewhere beyond the glass, beyond the room.
Julian’s jaw tightened just slightly. “Mom?” he repeated, reaching out to touch her arm.
