Not an expensive store-bought arrangement.
Not a box from a luxury bakery.
A simple peach cobbler she’d made herself.
She placed it on the counter.
“I hope this is all right.”
I smiled.
“It looks wonderful.”
Derek set the table.
I finished the vegetables.
Patricia watched him carry plates from the cupboard.
Then she smiled faintly.
“I never thought I’d see my son cooking dinner.”
Derek laughed.
“Neither did I.”
She looked at me.
Then back at him.
For once, she didn’t make a joke about wives serving husbands.
Instead, she said, “You two seem happier.”
I considered that.
“We’re doing better.”
She nodded.
During dinner, Derek told her about a work project.
I discussed a consulting assignment.
Patricia asked genuine questions.
Nobody competed over who was more important.
Nobody expected someone else to pay for everything.
When dessert arrived, Derek served it.
Then Patricia surprised me.
“Lauren, I owe you an apology.”