Chapter 14 - THE FIRST DINNER
One year after the trash-bin incident, Evelyn invited Joseph to dinner at her condo.
She cooked too much.
Roast chicken.
Potatoes.
Green beans.
Apple pie from a bakery because she hated baking.
Joseph arrived early.
He looked in the refrigerator.
Food.
Ordinary amounts.
Nothing locked.
Evelyn caught him staring.
“You checking inventory?”
He laughed.
“No.”
She handed him a knife.
“Cut bread.”
He did.
Then she opened the pantry.
It was full.
Crackers.
Soup.
Cereal.
Peanut butter.
Protein bars.
She reached for a cookie before dinner.
Joseph smiled.
Evelyn narrowed her eyes.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Good.”
Then they ate.
Halfway through, Joseph asked:
“Are you hungry enough?”
Evelyn stared.
He regretted it instantly.
Then she laughed.
“Stop monitoring me.”
“Sorry.”
“Ask me normal questions.”
He thought.
“How’s bridge club?”
“Terrible.”
“Why?”
“Barbara cheats.”
There.
Normal.
Then Evelyn said:
“You know what I hated most?”
Joseph waited.
“Everyone deciding what my behavior meant.”
If she slept:
decline.
If she forgot:
confusion.
If she complained:
difficult.
If she ate:
noncompliant.
If she did not eat:
refusal.
Every action became evidence for someone else’s story.
Joseph nodded.
Then Evelyn said:
“I’m old.”
Pause.
May you like
“I’m not a mystery.”
That became the line Joseph carried into every future decision involving her.
