“I procured these cuts from the butcher downtown,” he said.

“Did you make all of this?” I asked.

“You cooked dinner for us?”

“I decided we needed to pivot our evening routine,” he said.

“Take a seat at the table, Nora.

The transition between work and home needs to be more deliberate.”

I walked into the dining room.

The long mahogany table was set with our good china, the white plates with the silver trim we usually saved for Thanksgiving.