He waited two minutes, then turned the flame off and carried the pasta pot to the sink. He had no strainer, so he drained the water by holding the lid on with his thumbs and leaving only the narrowest opening between it and the far side of the pot. As he tipped the pot forward, steam erupted and the pasta slid forward, hitting the lid. Startled, Ben let his grip falter, and the lid fell with a crash into the sink. The pasta tumbled after it, landing with a wet plop and slithering, along with the water, toward the drain.

He managed to stop it, creating a dam with the lid and preventing the majority of the pasta from escaping. What was left he scooped up using the salad tongs and returned to the pot. Then, rattled by the near disaster, he stood and sipped at a glass of merlot, eyeing the pasta suspiciously lest it make another attempt at escape.

It was now a quarter to seven, and Caddie was officially late. He tried to recall if he’d given her an exact time, and suspected he hadn’t. Still, she should have been there by now. He wondered if he should have waited for her to get there before cooking the pasta, but it couldn’t be helped now.

He began putting things in bowls, the salads in individual ones and the pasta and sauce into larger communal serving dishes. He withdrew from the refrigerator the bottle of Italian dressing and the Parmesan cheese he’d picked up along with the other groceries and removed the protective plastic wrappers from each. He considered putting the dressing on, then decided that it would be better to let Caddie do it herself.

After carrying each dish to the table, he had nothing to do but wait. He drank a full glass of wine and poured himself another. As he emptied that one, he found himself growing hypersensitive to noises. He jumped when a car door opened, and any sound that resembled footsteps on the stairs caused him to go to the front door. But each time the steps belonged to someone else, and the cars stopped in front of other houses.

At seven-thirty, he sat down at the table and poked listlessly at the pasta. It had formed an unappetizing ball, now grown cold, and the strands left gummy paste on the fork. The garlic bread, too, had not been made more appealing by the loss of heat. Only the salad retained some of its freshness. He picked at it listlessly, putting a piece of avocado in his mouth. It was mushy, and he was forced to wash it down with more wine.