But here is what they forgot, or maybe what they never thought to consider. This is my house. My name is on it. Frank and I put thirty years into this place and my name is still on that deed and I have not signed a single thing in that folder. Not one page. And I am not going to.

Sunday dinner is in two days. I’ve been thinking about it since I got off the kitchen floor.

I’m going to go. I’m going to bring a dish, I’ll probably make the pasta salad they both like, the one with the olives, because I’m not going to walk in there being dramatic about this. I’m going to sit down at the table and I’m going to be normal through most of the meal. I’m going to let them be a little nervous, because I think they will be. David messes with his watch when he’s nervous, he’s done it since he was a teenager, and I’ll watch for that.

And then, when it feels right, I’m going to introduce them to the guest I’ve invited. My attorney. His name is Gerald, he’s been my friend since Frank and I first bought the house, and he agreed to come to Sunday dinner when I called him yesterday and explained the situation. He didn’t say much on the phone. He just said, yes, I think that makes sense, I’ll be there. Gerald is in his late seventies and he looks like someone’s grandfather and he is absolutely not someone you want to be across a dinner table from when you’ve been trying to get a widow to sign over her property.