I could see Celeste’s face through the gap in the greenery.
She closed her eyes before blowing out the candles, performing gratitude for the room.
I wondered whether she had made a wish.
Then I wondered why I still cared.
When I finished eating, I asked my server for my own check.
She looked confused.
A few minutes later, she returned without it and spoke briefly to the bartender.
The bartender glanced toward the private room, then toward me.
That was when the black leather folder appeared.
Now it sat beneath my hands with the total printed at the bottom.
The bartender waited.
I could tell he expected anger, tears, or at least a request to divide the bill.
Any of those responses would have been reasonable.
Instead, I looked across the room at the people who had eaten a meal charged to the woman they had just agreed was not family.
