“Even if you thought the man who sent it had spent five years making you feel foolish?”

She stirred the soup, then put down the spoon.

“I would open it so I could decide whether he was still doing that.”

It was a better answer than I was ready to act on.

We ate without opening it.

She told me her children had begun negotiating over homework as though the spelling list were a labor dispute.

I laughed harder than the story deserved.

Some of the laughter was relief that an evening could still contain something other than Gregory.