I almost stayed home, but instead I dressed up and took myself to a restaurant downtown. “Reservation for one,” I said, claiming a table by the window. Bread, wine, salad, halibut—it felt like a ceremony.
When asked to move for a larger party, I surprised myself: “I’d like to stay here.” Later, the family’s mother approached. She didn’t scold me—she thanked me. “A party of one is still a party,” she said, wanting her kids to see it.
I ate slower after that, savoring each bite, noticing the room’s hum. A child drew me into her picture, a stranger saluted me with espresso. I went home lighter, knowing I hadn’t just eaten dinner—I had kept my place.
