Chapter 23: Tobias Sets the Table

I stood outside Tobias's door at seven-forty with a bottle of cider and my keys in my fist.

I had been sitting down the block in my car with the engine off since ten to seven.

I was late on purpose.

I wanted to know what he would do with an empty chair.

The building was a brick fourplex on the east side, with a dead plant on the porch and a bike chained to the rail.

I knocked.

He opened the door in an apron that said KISS THE COOK, with a smear of flour on his cheek.

"You came," he said.

"I said I would."

"It's seven-forty."

"I know. Traffic."

He looked at me, and then he smiled a little.

"Come in," he said. "It's just cooling."

The apartment was one room with a kitchenette and a couch from Mom's basement.

On the little table by the window were two plates, two forks, two glasses and a candle in a jar.

The plates were Grandma's white ones with the blue rim, the ones that had sat in the cupboard at Mom's for twenty years.

Both were empty.

Between them, a casserole dish with tinfoil over the top sat on a folded towel.

"I didn't touch it," he said. "I was going to wait."

"For forty minutes?"

"Yeah."

"You were hungry."

"I was starving. I smelled the thing for forty minutes."

"Tobias, you could have eaten."

"I know."

"You don't have to wait for me. Nobody has to."

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