My daughter-in-law shoved greasy plates at me and said, “Could you finish these? My mother prefers her wine chilled.” My son poured Brenda a glass while I stood by the sink like hired help. I quietly dried my hands, put on my coat, and left without washing a single dish.
The clink of wine glasses drifted from the dining room as Rachel pressed a stack of warm, greasy plates toward me. She was already turning toward the living room before she finished speaking, as though refusing wasn’t an option.
“Could
