On Friday evening, I came home from work with groceries for Nate’s backyard party. The weather had finally cleared, but it was still cold enough that the guests needed the patio heaters.
Barbara had brought a stack of her grandmother’s china plates because she thought disposable dishes looked cheap.
She glanced at my grocery bags. “Good. At least we won’t run out of food.”
Outside, Nate was telling his regional director about a big contract he’d just closed with a hospital system in Indianapolis. He talked as if every decision on the deal had been his. I knew how many hours he’d put into it. I also knew how often I’d covered the bills while he worked late. Neither fact mattered when he told the story.
