Half an hour later, after I’d put away the food and had finally started on the dishes, the door opened. I turned my head to see Walt enter the room and close the door behind him.
He placed his empty pie plate on one end of the table and leaned against a nearby wall. “You made my favorite pie.”
I nodded and focused on scrubbing one of the turkey pans.
“No one’s made that pie since you left.”
I shrugged but didn’t say anything.
“You trying to tell me something, Jared?”
I cleared my throat. “Frankly, I don’t know what I wanted to say, but I thought you’d appreciate the gesture.”
“I do. But I also know you, and it’s hard for you to ever say you’re sorry or admit you’re wrong about something. You tend to use food to convey that instead. Is that what this really is? An apology?”
I finish
