My father used to sit outside on the steps and peel potatoes into a newspaper because there was no counter space.

“He never complained,” she said.

“Well, not about that.

He complained plenty about the landlord.”

We laughed, and I found myself imagining a younger version of my parents learning how to share their limited space.

They had not possessed a guest room, a finished basement, or a huge television.

But they had found ways to make sure a tired person could sit down and a hungry person could eat.

Halfway through dinner, Marian set down her fork and looked at Lucas.