“We had to,” Wyatt said.

“You and Elaine both insist on serving at four.”

I called Elaine and suggested moving my meal to lunchtime and saving the evening for her family’s traditions.

She countered by inviting me for dessert.

Before I knew it, we were negotiating sweet potatoes rather than competing over a son.

At noon Wyatt came in carrying a pie tilted dangerously sideways.

Austin followed with rolls he’d forgotten to take out of the oven until the last minute.