“Toby says you like lemon chicken.

Daniel made a version that always turned out too salty, so I fixed it.”

We cooked together while Tobias assembled a bookshelf I’d been promising myself to repair for months.

He refused to let me lift anything heavier than a pepper mill.

Newton the dog slept beneath the table, occasionally opening one eye to see whether food had fallen.

After dinner I showed Ruth the knitted baby sweaters.

“Would you like one?” I asked.