“Nonsense, Martha, it is only a dinner,” she said with a breathless laugh.
“We must have the ribeye, and those little potatoes they roast in beef fat,” she said.
She twisted a small gold teapot charm on her wrist, her fingers moving in quick, nervous circles.
“The steakhouse has those twenty-dollar side dishes now,” I said.
“Oh, who cares about that on a birthday?” Evelyn said, her eyes wide.
She took a quick sip of her tea, her gold bracelet jingling against the saucer.
“We only turn sixty-five once, Martha,” she said.
I looked at the manicured lawn of her garden.
