Soon every table had them.
“What you’re describing sounds like…”
I stopped.
Diane smiled.
“Accommodation?”
“Yes.”
“It was Mason’s idea.”
I thought of the countless laminated social scripts I had created for him at home.
All those years I had been teaching Mason how to behave in restaurants.
Meanwhile, Mason had been teaching a restaurant how to behave around people like him.
The realization hurt in a place I didn’t know existed.
“Why didn’t Hannah tell me?”
The question came out harsher than I intended.
Diane’s expression changed.
“That’s something you need to ask Hannah.”
“She made you promise.”
“Yes.”
“For ten years?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
Diane hesitated.
“The first promise was Hannah’s.”
“And later?”
She looked toward the office door.
“Later it was Mason’s.”
That hurt more.
I stood.
“My son asked you not to tell me?”
Diane nodded reluctantly.
