When I read it, I imagined my grandmother sitting at the kitchen table, lifting one eyebrow the way she always did when she heard an excuse that did not make sense.

“Paper matters,” she used to say.

“Especially when someone says you agreed to something you don’t remember agreeing to.”

I called Andrew to tell him.

“Are we celebrating?” he asked.

“Not yet.

There are still things to sort out.”

“Then can we celebrate one thing being sorted out?”