I carried a tray of food outside. Barbara appeared beside me with a stack of used plates.
“Take these inside and wash them. They’re too delicate for the dishwasher.”
People were still eating. Nate was standing by the grill with a beer, laughing at something his director said. I’d been working all day too.
For years, I would have taken the plates without thinking, telling myself it was easier than arguing.
This time, I set the tray down.
“Barbara, I’m not going inside to wash dishes while everyone else enjoys dinner.”
Her eyebrows went up. “I was only asking you to help.”
“Then ask Nate.”
She glanced at him as if I’d said something embarrassing.
Nate turned from the grill. “What’s going on?”
“Your mother keeps telling people you provide everything in this house,” I said. “I’d appreciate it if you corrected her.”
