being present without really being included.
After dessert, Brenda carried her wine into the living room.
David followed.
Rachel began stacking plates.
For one hopeful second, I thought she might wash them.
Instead, she walked straight toward me.
“Could you finish these up, Patricia?”
The stack landed in my hands.
“My mother prefers her wine chilled, and I need to entertain.”
Then she turned away.
I listened to her heels cross the hardwood.
The sink was already filled with cloudy water from pots I’d washed earlier. Grease floated beneath the
