When Judge Elden Marwick looked down at my coffee-stained apron, asking if my ‘genius brain’ could count beyond ten, and let my parents laugh as if they were already burying me, he didn’t know that the woman they were mocking had a tape recorder in her pocket, a Harvard law degree in her briefcase, and a grandmother who had prepared a final trap specifically for rooms like this.

It requires sophistication. Frankly, I am not convinced a genius waitress brain is equipped for anything more complicated than a lunch order.”

The room erupted. Not polite laughter.

Not discomfort masked as humor. Real laughter. The kind that starts in the belly and rolls out without restraint because the people making it believe there will be no consequences.

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I stood still at the defendant’s table, my hands folded in front of me. The cheap wood chair dug into the back of my legs. I could still feel the heat from the breakfast shift in my skin.

I had come straight from Juniper and Rye, changing in the employee restroom while the dishwasher sprayed steaming water on the other side of the stall. Coffee had soaked into my sleeves. Orange juice had dried sticky at the cuff.