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There's a restaurant on the corner of the block, and it’s the kind of place that people assume is a front because it's always empty. But it's not a front for anything untoward; the owner is just bad at business. Because the restaurant only has one table, and no one is allowed to sit there.
It’s a small place, but well-maintained. There’s a counter with a cash register and a kitchen in the back. But most of the space is taken up by a permanently set table, small and square, with a chair on either end. There’s a nice but plain navy tablecloth draped over it, with two empty plates and neatly set utensils opposite each other. Two empty glasses sit next to a small pitcher of water, routinely refreshed but never poured. Unlit candles frame an embossed place card reading “reserved” in fine, cursive letters.
The restaurant's reservation policy is abysmal. There are no late fees or automatic cancellations for no-shows. So the table sits, unattended but ready. Because the table has been reserved for years, and no one has come to clear it for a new patron.
It's not like the place has never had customers. Sometimes, a person will wander in off the street and head towards the sole table. The sole waiter always intervenes, politely informing them that the seat is taken. If the customer asks where that patron is, the waiter will simply respond with a resigned smile and change the topic by letting the customer know that they can do takeout. He knows the steps to this dance by now and leads the customer away from the table.
There was a short while when it became a fairly popular takeaway spot. Some customers simply picked up their order and slipped right back out the door. Others would linger, eyes flitting to the open chair, but they all left when they inevitably realized they couldn't stay and their food was getting cold. Still, no one ever saw the patron with the reservation coming or going, but the waiter diligently maintained the table setting, day in and day out.
Business had been slower recently, though. The occasional pedestrian will still peek in the window or lean in to check their hours, but rarely do they stay long enough to ask for a menu. No, it's become common knowledge in the neighbourhood that this restaurant does not allow for loitering. That even if one were to beg on their knees for a seat at the table, the waiter would not budge.
There have been a couple of times where the waiter almost gave in, almost cleared off the place card and wiped down the table to make room for one of his regulars.
But any time he got close to breaking company policy, even let the thought pass through his mind, the phone would ring. Sometimes it was the owner, reminding the waiter that they are to honour reservations, no exceptions. Other times it would be the mysterious patron on the other end of the line, the one who has become a mythic figure in the neighbourhood. The patron would confirm that his table was still held, and make a vague comment about stopping by to try the menu soon.
Whenever the later phone call happened, no one knew how the business would change, just that it would. Sometimes it would shut down for an undisclosed period of time, turning away anyone who dared try to order. Other times, the chef would cook too much food, and the waiter would stand at the front, handing out takeout boxes to anyone hungry walking by.
Once, one customer got close to convincing the waiter to let him take a seat. The customer was a regular, and lately had begun to spend longer and longer at the pickup counter, until one day he commented on his aching feet, saying how nice it would feel to take a seat. The waiter had looked conflicted, like he wanted to help the customer but didn't know how. He said as much, and the customer said that was fine. He would come back for another meal the next day, and the next, and the next, each visit stretching longer and longer until the waiter took a step towards the table. He knew it was against policy, that no one but the patron with the reservation was permitted to dine in. But the waiter was bored and lonely after years of performing the same menial tasks each day. He was tired of waiting for a man who would never arrive. His hand hovered over the place card, trembling as he fought against years of training.
Just as his hand brushed the “reserved” sign, something miraculous happened. The front doorbell jingled, and when the waiter looked up, hand frozen mid-removal, he couldn't believe his eyes. There, with windswept hair and a crazy look in his eyes, stood the patron. The regular customer spoke first, tried to tell the patron that the restaurant was busy, but the patron responded with a glare so deadly it sent the customer rushing out the door, his food left forgotten on the counter.
The waiter didn't dare move. He feared scaring the patron off, but at the same time, he was furious. Ever since the restaurant opened, he had turned away swaths of customers, all while making sure the table was set and clean. The waiter felt righteous indignation wash over him as he stared at one he’d been waiting for all this time.
He stepped towards the patron with clenched fists and a fire in his eyes. Honestly, the waiter expected the patron to turn and run at the sight of him. He was sure he had dark circles under his eyes from being awake at the pick-up counter each night, scanning the sidewalk for any sight of the man standing in front of him. The waiter was positive that the patron would take one look at his tired form and the resentment in his gaze and finally cancel his reservation. Maybe then he could clear the table. The waiter’s voice shook when he raised it to the patron.
But the patron stood strong. He accepted the waiter’s furious lecture with grace, allowing him to berate him for abusing their reservation policy. Once the waiter was finished, energy spent, the patron took his turn to speak.
He apologized for being late. He apologized for his poor scheduling, for always putting other plans above his dinner reservation. He explained that he got lost on the way to the restaurant, and by the time he rounded the corner and spotted it, he saw how business was booming, thriving without his patronage. He explained that he assumed his table was given to someone else, that he didn't realize how strictly the restaurant maintained its policies. The patron told the waiter that he had only just realized that he hadn’t lost his reservation. How he overheard a former customer complain about not being able to dine in and proceeded to rush over. He said that he doesn't even know for sure if the reservation is his, or if it's been given to someone else, but he dropped to his knees and begged for a spot at the table anyway.
The patron cried, and he pleaded with the waiter, prostrating himself and vowing to atone for his negligence. His eyes were too filled with tears to notice that the waiter had already stepped back and pulled out a chair for the patron. The waiter cleared his throat, and the patron looked up with a start. When the patron finally processed what he was seeing, he stood up slowly and took a hesitant step towards the table, like he expected the whole scene to disappear like a mirage. It didn't, and the patron took a deep breath before turning and lowering himself into the seat. His seat.
It was the most comfortable seat he'd ever sat in, and the patron knew in that moment he would never eat anywhere else. He perused the menu with reverence, not knowing what he should order first. He asked the waiter for his recommendations, and the waiter sheepishly admitted that he'd never actually eaten the food here before. That he'd served it plenty but never had a taste.
The patron proceeded to order every item on the menu, even the ones no one had been willing to try before, and asked the waiter to join him at the table. The waiter sat across from the patron, and when their food was ready, they fetched it together, feasting as one.
After their dinner, the patron stood up and walked towards the door. At first, the waiter thought that he was leaving, that he'd gotten his meal and decided he didn't like the taste. But the waiter was proven wrong when the patron lifted his hand to the sign on the glass door, flipping it so that anyone walking by would see the restaurant was closed.
The patron returned to the table, reaching across to take hold of the waiter's hand. The waiter smiled and asked if the patron would like to see the dessert menu.
The patron answered with a resounding yes.