Table Fourteen Seat #1 let his wife do the talking at the host stand. It wasn’t like she had any more experience with this kind of thing—fine dining—than he did, but she was more outgoing of the two and she was the one that had called for the reservation, though she put it under his name.
They were seated at a table located next to a window that faced directly into a ratty winterberry shrub and beyond that, out across the parking lot.
Seat #2 ran her hand over the white tablecloth and gazed through the dining room then at the square brass votive in the center of the table. She had put her short hair in curlers for the first time in many years, and the small gray coils glowed around her face.
Seat #1 was thirsty but afraid to lift his water glass, which was goblet shaped and so full that the slightest tremor would result in a spill.
Seat #2 said, “Gail told me that the one time they came, she ordered a drink that had cayenne pepper floating in it.”
Seat #1 said, “You want something like that?”
Seat #2 shook her head. “I thought I’d do a glass of white. I was just saying.”
“I wasn’t saying you shouldn’t.” Seat #1 pulled his reading glasses from his breast pocket and put them on then took them off. “I’m just gonna do the soup of the day as long as it’s nothing weird, and a steak, like I saw on the website.”
Seat #2 said, “You don’t even want to think about something else, or hear the specials?”
Seat #1 said, “I know what I like. But you do whatever you want, dear. I’m not trying to be a grump.” He shifted in his seat and stared at the artwork hanging nearest to their table: an abstract work of a horselike form emerging from red and gold splatter. “It’s hard for me to relax, a place like this. Did you see the vehicles parked in the lot?”
“Nope,” Seat #2 said cheerfully. She hummed and tipped her head back and forth as she examined the menu. She had read it in advance on the website, too, so Seat #1 didn’t know what she was looking for.
Their server introduced herself as Kenzie. Blonde with perfect teeth and dimples, she was uncannily pretty. Seat #1 thought girls who looked like this belonged only to TV.
Kenzie took their drink order and asked if they had any questions about the menu.
Seat #2 said, “Kenzie, that’s a beautiful name. It suits you.” Seat #1 said, “What’s the soup?”
Seat #2 said, “And I’d love to hear all your specials.”
Kenzie opened her little black bifold book and read: “Soup of the day is a butternut squash. The only special is an appetizer, a stuffed portobello mushroom with sausage, peppers, and Gruyère.”
Seat #1 knew that Seat #2 wouldn’t touch a mushroom but he watched as she licked her lips and said, “Sounds yummy.”
When Kenzie brought their beer and wine, they made their order: two soups and two steaks, both medium-well.
Once Kenzie had left the table, Seat #1 took a few big swallows of beer and felt better. He forgot how numb his toes had gone in the narrow dress shoes Seat #2 had encouraged him to wear.
He reached across the table for his wife’s fingers and squeezed them.
She said, “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“I’m trying.”
“Good,” she said. “That’s the point. Remember?” She let go of his hands and took a sip of wine. “Remember?”
“I remember.”
She lifted her napkin to her lips and dabbed them then returned the napkin to her lap. “I really think this time it’s gonna stick. I have such a good feeling about it.”
“Okay,” said Seat #1.
“We went to a place sort of like this that one time with my brother, in New Jersey, remember?”
“I remember.”
“I think we both had chicken, didn’t we? And lots of bread. But mostly what I remember is how good the piano player was. That Italian man. What about you?”
Seat #1 said, “Mostly I remember how good you thought the Italian piano player was.”
Seat #2 laughed. “Silly.”
Seat #1 burned his tongue on the soup. Once it cooled down, he could appreciate the flavor, but it didn’t strike him as anything special, and the color was like throw-up.
Seat #2 claimed it was the best soup she’d ever had. Seat #1 said, “I like your chili better.”
“You’re a crazy man.”
He insisted, “You could make this.”
“Maybe. But I don’t guess I’m allowed to ask for a recipe in a place like this.”
Seat #1 said, “I bet if we look on the computer, we can find some recipes that’ll taste like it, or close. You can find anything you want on there.”
They watched as a couple was seated nearby, the woman very round with pregnancy. The man helped with her chair and kissed the crown of her head.
When Kenzie returned for their soup bowls, Seat #2 said to her, “Did you get to taste it before your shift? It’s incredible.” She added conspiratorially, “You should sneak a bite if you haven’t already.”
Kenzie said, “I don’t really like soup, like, in general.”
Seat #1 and Seat #2 both ordered a second drink. After delivering them, Kenzie disappeared for a long spell while they awaited their steaks.
They talked about the new neighbor who shaved one whole side of her head, clean down to the skin, and wore the other half in a blue braid. Seat #2 said, “She really does do such a nice job with her nasturtiums, though. I’d trust her with our watering if we ever leave town long enough to need it.” She sipped her wine. “She reminds me of that Sarah girl Jimmy brought around for a while. Do you remember her?”
“Haven’t thought about that one in ages,” Seat #1 said.
“I wonder if he’ll start dating again soon, now that—”
“Who knows.”
They talked about the incumbent mayor’s new campaign ad which featured some footage of his terrier running through the park, with the mayor’s wife doing voice-over. They liked the guy but agreed the ad was off-putting. They talked about how their fortieth anniversary was next summer already somehow and agreed they ought to figure out soon how to celebrate. Seat #1 was glad Seat #2 didn’t suggest a repeat meal at this place, though that didn’t mean it wouldn’t come up at some point down the road.
They talked about the great horned owl they heard high up in the ash tree to the west of their house every single night around eight o’clock. Seat #2 had read recently that a great horned owl could live to be fifty years old. They talked about the current challenges of the food pantry operation, which Seat #2 oversaw at church.
Still their food had not arrived.
Seat #2 said hopefully, “We did order medium-well.”
“True.”
“And I bet they’re really thick cuts. Sixteen ounces. Golly.” She leaned back and rubbed her belly.
They waited and waited.
Kenzie and several other waitstaff rushed through the dining room looking harried although only half of the available tables in this section of the dining room were seated. Seat #1 noticed some other guests looking around, too, waiting and wondering.
When the busboy stopped by with water, Seat #2 said pleasantly, “Busy night?”
The busboy was sweating. “Twenty-top on the patio,” he said. “Their entrees just came up. I’m sure yours will be next.”
Seat #2 assured him that she wasn’t worried. “We’re enjoying ourselves so much.” She added, “It’s our first time.”
The busboy said, “Celebrating something?”
Seat #2 said, “Well, yes!” at the exact same moment that Seat #1 said, “Not really.”
They looked at one another and laughed.
The busboy removed their empty glasses and said, “Would you like another round? I can let Kenzie know if I catch her before you do.”
Seat #2 said, “Should we?”
“If you like.”
“I do.”
“I’ll have one, too, then.”
Seat #1 looked around once again and observed that they were the oldest people in the place by quite a ways. They were also dressed the most formally; Seat #2 in her blue dress and blazer and that huge necklace, Seat #1 in a tie. Plenty of other guests wore jeans, and some even T-shirts.
The busboy returned shortly with their entree plates, one in each hand, a white napkin draped over his left forearm.
The steaks were fatty and incomprehensibly large. “My word,” said Seat #2, staring at the thing.
Kenzie showed up momentarily with their fresh drinks.
“I’m sorry about the wait,” she said. “A big table had their entrees come out right before yours. And there was an injury in the kitchen.”
“Oh dear,” Seat #2 said. “Is everyone alright?”
Kenzie said, “Who knows. Anything else I can get you right now?”
Seat #1 and #2 clinked their glasses together after Kenzie left the table.
Seat #2 said, “If we’re toasting to anything, it ought to be to Jimmy, right? For all of this.” She swept her hand out over the table of food.
Seat #1 grunted and sipped his beer. He knew he should be grateful. He knew he should be enjoying himself. He knew he should have hope. For Seat #2’s sake, he tried.
They both picked around and ate a few ounces, but the sheer volume of meat on the plate was too much to really appreciate. Seat #2 poked with her knife. “The soup was just so rich. The steak is absolutely perfect, but I’m so full.” Seat #1 thought his wife was so determined to have a perfect time she wouldn’t say a bad word about this meal if they brought out a bowl of hair.
“Me too,” said Seat #1.
When Kenzie returned to check in a while later, Seat #1 asked for to-go bags. He planned to give his meat to the dog.
Seat #2 said, “It was incredible, we’re just stuffed to the gills. I can’t wait to finish this later at home.”
“No dessert menus, then?” Kenzie asked.
Seat #2 said, “Maybe just to look.”
After Kenzie dropped dessert menus, Seat #2 said to Seat #1, “I think we ought to treat ourselves. Besides, I think we’re only at eighty-five or so.”
Seat #1 hadn’t been doing math but trusted hers.
Seat #2 said, “Would you split a crème brûlée with me?”
“Whatever you want, honey,” he said. He had zero interest in dessert but was pleased that his wife was keen to spend the full gift card balance on this visit, meaning there would be no reason to return.
“Goodie,” she said.
Seat #2 gobbled up the brûlée. She set her spoon down and said, “Now I’m truly about to burst.”
Seat #1 caught Kenzie’s eye. He made a “check” motion with his hand.
Before Kenzie had returned with it, Seat #2 pulled her purse from the shoulder of her chair and withdrew her pocketbook.
The gift certificate was neatly folded; Seat #2 pressed it on the top of the table.
Kenzie approached with a black bifold which she rested on their table half opened and said, “When you’re ready.”
Seat #2 handed her the paper and announced, “We’ve got this.”
Kenzie gazed at the paper and gave it a funny look. “Um . . .” she said. “They don’t look like this.”
Seat #2 said, “Oh, what now?”
Kenzie said, “Our gift cards are always a physical card. That we can, like, actually run through our machine.”
Seat #2 said, “Oh, but . . . Well, we did think this looked a little strange when we received it, but everything’s digital nowadays . . . We just thought . . .”
Kenzie said neutrally, “I’ll go ask my manager to make sure. But to me, I’ve never seen . . . This isn’t . . . Well, anyhow, I will show it to my manager just to make sure.”
She reached for the paper.
A ferocious shame and familiar rage was rising inside of Seat #1.
It was a sheet of normal computer paper with the restaurant’s logo in black and white and the words: “Gift Card for the value of $100” followed by a very long number. No expiration date, no bar code. Seat #1 had commented back upon receiving it, once it was just the two of them of course, that it looked kind of strange and unprofessional. Seat #2 had pointed out, “But everything is done electronic like this nowadays. It’s got their actual logo on it, see? I’m sure this big, long number is the important part.” Seat #1 said, “I guess you’re right.”
*
Confusion crumpling her face, Seat #2 was somehow still talking to Kenzie: “I just don’t understand . . . See, we received it as a gift from . . .” her voice trailed off. She said, “And he’s had his problems, but we thought . . .” But Kenzie had already spun away from the table with the paper in hand.
Seat #1 leaned over to one side to pull out his wallet and said flatly, “I guess we learned our lesson. Again.” He counted six twenties and put them on the table. “Here. Let’s just leave this cash and go. It’s enough to cover the meal and the tip. There’s no way she’s coming back with good news, and I’d rather not have to talk about it again. Or sit and wait while she runs a credit card.”
Seat #2 stared at him. “You never carry that much cash,” she said.
Seat #1 exhaled. “I just figured, better to be prepared for anything.”
“You just figured, did you?” Seat #2 drummed her fingertips on the top of her to-go box and gazed out the window for a moment, looking like she would cry. Sometimes she still needed to cry over things like this, sometimes she didn’t.
Seat #1 said, “I’m sorry. I love you.” He had no idea what else to say. He was so full of love and pain that he could have thrown his old fist through the window.
Seat #2 did not cry. Instead, she said, “Oh, well. Oh, well then.” She pulled the napkin from her lap onto the table and folded it neatly. She sighed. “Let’s go home,” she said. She looked at her watch. “The owl will be coming out soon.”
Seat #1 said, “Don’t want to miss that.”
He followed his wife out of the dining room. He noticed that her hose had a little run at the left ankle.
To Seat #1’s relief, they did not pass either Kenzie or a manager on the way, but in the lobby the hostess called to them, “How was everything tonight, folks?”
Seat #2 lifted her head to say, “We loved it. Everything was perfect.”
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From The Reservation by Rebecca Kauffman. Used with permission of the publisher, Counterpoint. Copyright © 2026 by Rebecca Kauffman.
