Ruth was setting out plates while Wendell corrected the distance between each fork and knife.

The other guests watched in varying stages of discomfort.

I texted: I am.

Unsure about Mom.

Across the room, Rhodes stood to help Ruth carry a serving dish.

Wendell waved him away.

“She can handle it, Colonel.

Builds character.”

Rhodes said something I couldn’t hear.

Wendell’s laugh grew artificially loud.

Another message appeared.

You do not owe this man a performance.

Want me to make an excuse and clear everyone out?

I almost said yes.