The server took the card and returned ten minutes later, placing a slice of untouched New York cheesecake in the center of our table with five clean forks. He slipped the receipt under the edge of my purse.
Melissa folded her napkin into an even smaller square, the fabric now thick and solid as a block of wood. “The garden looks nice this year, Diane.”
“It is dying,” Diane said, staring across the plate at me. “The oak trees shade everything now, and nobody comes to help me prune them.”
“I was there last weekend,” George said.
“You did the lawn, George, not the trees,” Diane said. “And you left the clippings by the garage.”
“I left them where the city collects them,” George said.
Diane ignored him, her focus staying on me. “You look tired, Emily. You always look tired these days.”
“I am managing three offices now,” I said.
“Your brother has five hundred clients,” Diane said, her voice sharp. “And he still finds time to visit his mother without making it feel like an ordeal.”
