Marcus and I resumed the gentle routines we’d built before the ceremony: Tuesday dinners with Frank and Helen, Thursday evening walks, Sunday mornings when one of us made pancakes while the other read the news aloud.

At the start of November, I received a request from a local school to teach a short workshop on growing flowers in containers.

I accepted immediately.

The class would meet on the same Saturday as a large family dinner Mom was planning.

I told her I couldn’t attend.

“Can’t you change it?” she asked.

“The school has already sent invitations.”

“It’s only a flower class.”