When he invited me to dinner the following spring, he gave me the date two weeks in advance.
He told me exactly who would be there.
He asked what I liked to eat.
I wore my navy dress again.
This time, I put on Arthur’s pearls because I wanted to.
And when I arrived, Wesley opened the door himself.
There was no townhouse brochure, no staged promise, and no invisible bill waiting beneath the table.
Only my son, standing aside to make room for me.
I entered without paying for the privilege.
