Nobody moved. Courtney’s lips stayed parted, her red nails frozen around the lid of the container I had just taken from Nathan. Joyce clutched her enormous handbag against her chest as though I might snatch that too. Wendy set down her fork, and Paula’s wine glass stopped halfway to her mouth. Frank turned off the grill and stepped to my side, his tongs still in his hand. “Mom, what is wrong with you?” Nathan whispered, his face burning.

Then Courtney’s chin began to shake. “You do not understand,” she said, her voice cracking, “we have nothing at home.” Joyce’s hand slipped, and her handbag tipped open. A pink notice slid out and landed on my mother’s green tablecloth, the bold red letters facing up: FINAL NOTICE OF EVICTION. Nathan went completely white.