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This is going amazingly well.
Sebastian’s hand tightens around mine, his whole body stiff. I open my mouth, but before I can say a word, he slowly turns around, presumably to face the man.
“And why is that?” Sebastian asks, his voice deadly calm. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him like this, so cold and detached. The complete opposite of the playful man that was sitting with me in the car just moments ago.
The man lets out a startled noise as if he’s not used to being questioned.
The last thing I want is to make a scene in a place like this.
“It’s fine, Sebastian, I can g—”
“No,” he says, his clipped voice leaving no room for argument. He must feel me jerk back at his harsh tone because his hand reaches for my face, cradling my cheek. “You did nothing wrong,” he whispers gently, so only I can hear him. “If he’s kicking us out, he better say it loud enough so there’s no confusion about the meaning.”
My throat bobs as I swallow, but I don’t bother contradicting him.
He is right. I know that better than anyone. I also knew this wasn’t the first, nor would it be, the last time I’ll have to face discrimination like this. But some days, I wished that wasn’t the case because I’m tired of fighting the same battle over and over again.
With one last swipe of his thumb over my cheekbone, he pulls back to face the man. “So, Mr. Chandler? Why are you kicking us out exactly?”
“Mr. Black!” the man gasps. “I’d never, b-but… this is a restaurant! A very reputable one at that. We can’t accept animals here, or we’d get in trouble with the health inspection.”
“Youwillget in trouble, just not with the inspection you’re thinking of. This animal isn’t a pet. It’s a guide dog. Are you familiar with those, Mr. Chandler?”
“A g-guide dog?” the man stutters, and I can feel his probing gaze shift on me. Judging me.
People think I don’t know, but I can feel it. I can feel the weight of their prejudice as they look at me, take me in, trying to figure out if what I’m saying is the truth, thinking it’s not because of the way I look.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, feeling exposed under his scrutinizing glare.
I should have never come here. I don’t belong in this world.
The moment the words pop into my mind, I shove them back. I might not belong to this world, but Sebastian wanted me in it. He wanted me here, and I wasn’t going to hide.
“Yes, a guide dog because my girlfriend is blind. Maybe you should brush up on your ADA regulations because, as far as I know, you can’t be discriminatory against people with disabilities or the service animals that accompany them.”
“O-of course. We’d never. I just didn’t realize…” His words trail off, and I can hear his audible swallow. “Your mother is inside, Mr. Black.”
“Of course she is,” Sebastian mutters, his grip on my hand tightening. “Let’s go, Birdy.”
With a knot still in my throat, I let him take the lead inside the restaurant. Classical music is softly playing in the background, the space filled with the chatter of people around us.
“She’s sitting at the corner table, just like always. It’s the table that’s furthest away from everybody else,” Sebastian explains quietly.
“Sebastian, nice of you to finally join me.” The reproach is evident in the tone of his mother’s voice.
“I’m sorry. That might be my fault,” I say regretfully, hoping to ease some of the tension between the two.
That sharp gaze turns to me. “I hardly doubt that. Sebastian was always bad at keeping track of time, a habit that he picked up from his father, I’m afraid.”
“Mother,” Sebastian warns as the chair scrapes against the floor. His hand falls on my lower back, the press of his warm palm sending a shiver through me as I take my seat and usher Henry under the table so he doesn’t get in the way.
“Don’t you mother-me, Sebastian. Were you the one causing all that ruckus up front?”
“It wasn’t a ruckus.” Sebastian takes a seat next to me, his leg brushing against mine under the table. “I was just kindly informing our host that guide dogs have rights too, and he should know them in case he didn’t want to risk a lawsuit, that’s all.” With that, he clasps his hands together loud enough for me to hear. “Now, what are we eating? I’m starving.”
I give him a pointed look. “You’re always starving.”
“That’s because I had a good workout this morning.”
