Chapter 12 - I Sold the Dining Table
I kept the house for six months.
Then realized I hated walking past the dining room.
So I sold it.
Not the house.
The table.
A beautiful twelve-seat walnut table David selected because executives admired it.
I donated the proceeds to a local domestic-violence legal clinic.
Then I repainted the room.
Warm cream.
Added bookshelves.
A smaller round table.
Six chairs.
No head position.
That detail mattered to me.
The first dinner I hosted afterward included Naomi, Mark and his wife, Lena, my cousin Grace, and Samuel.
Someone spilled wine.
Nobody panicked.
Lena laughed too loudly.
Mark burned the bread.
Samuel told an inappropriate story about my father.
It was imperfect.
Safe.
May you like
I realized I had spent years confusing impressive with happy.
The two had almost nothing in common.
