She looked around.
“Pasta?”
“You, apparently, are determined to make this difficult.”
“I’m enjoying it.”
“I want what we have now.”
Her teasing faded.
“I want the kids. Saturday mornings. Preschool concerts. Your terrible coffee.”
“My coffee is fine.”
“It’s not.”
“Continue.”
“I want you disagreeing with me in meetings. I want Luke asking impossible questions. I want Violet putting stickers on my laptop.”
“She did apologize.”
“She did not.”
“She’s four.”
“She showed no remorse.”
Cassandra laughed.
Then her eyes filled.
I reached across the table.
“I don’t want
