I made dinner.Not because it was my turn or because Dee had asked. Because I needed something to do with my hands while I thought about what I was going to say and how I was going to say it, cooking was the one thing that had always made the thinking easier.Dee came home at seven and stood in the kitchen doorway and looked at the stove and then at me and said nothing for a moment."You are cooking," he said."I am trying," I said."You never cook.""I cook sometimes," I said.He came and looked over my shoulder at the pan. "That smells good.""Do not sound so surprised," I said.He smiled and went to change, and came back in a dark shirt with his sleeves rolled up, poured two glasses of wine, sat at the table, and watched me finish without asking questions.We ate.The food was good. Not as good as his lamb dish, but good enough that he told me so and meant it, and I accepted it, and we talked about small things, something Nadia had said, something Theo had found amusing, the way Ra
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