Now she was staring directly at my mother.
Not casually glancing.
Staring.
Her eyes traveled from Mom’s face to the plate of tiramisu and back again.
I immediately recognized the expression.
Mom hadn’t noticed.
I prayed she wouldn’t.
Then the woman leaned slightly toward us and spoke loudly enough for several tables to hear.
“Maybe skip dessert this time.”
The entire room seemed to stop.
A fork froze halfway to someone’s mouth.
A nearby waiter went still.
My mother’s smile disappeared.
That was the part that hurt the most.
Seconds earlier, she had been laughing.
Now she suddenly looked like the woman who had spent months avoiding restaurants.
She reached for her purse.
“I think we should leave.”
My hands started shaking with anger.
This was exactly what she had been afraid of.
Exactly why convincing her to come had taken an entire week.
Before I could respond, the woman laughed.
