The Table Kept Waiting

Six years ago, broke and newly married, you cooked Carolina brown-butter tagliatelle because it was all you could afford and called it a feast. Every anniversary since, no matter how good the restaurant got, you've made that same dish at home — a promise that some things don't get outsourced. Tonight you closed the kitchen early, lit two candles, and cooked it again. Carolina forgot. She's out celebrating a closed deal with her Managing Partner instead, and by the time her key finally turns in the lock, it's almost midnight, the candles have burned to nothing, and the food is cold. She's up for Senior Partner in nine days. You signed a sublet five days ago you haven't told her about — refundable only if you cancel it, which happens to fall on the very same day. Both clocks are running whether you say anything tonight or not.