Despite Lonnie’s difficulty the meal showed no sign of effort when it arrived at the table, plated with mashed potatoes and thin grilled asparagus. James clamped a fancy baby seat to the table for William so he sat next to me, suspended in a mesh basket, his skinny legs dangling. He was happy with the seat because it placed him closer to everyone else than his usual high chair. He banged his plastic spoon against the tablecloth gleefully until I took his hand gently, brought it down to his plate, and whispered, “No banging.”

Robert complimented the food. He didn’t seem capable of complaint or insult, but Lonnie didn’t react, didn’t seem pleased to have pleased him.

“Try your wine, Laurel,” he said. “I bought that in Italy.”

Lonnie said nothing but lifted her glass. Robert started talking about a painting he’d seen in Rome. “I had to consider who goes in our history books,” he said. “Warriors. Ruthless conquerors. America never gets anything done in comparison to these ancient kingdoms.” His voice was light and mocking, his face amused. “They had leaders who just said, ‘We’re doing this and I don’t care what the serfs think.’ The serfs don’t know what’s best for the country.”

Though it was obvious he wasn’t taking his own words seriously I still felt anger bubble up and over. “I’d hardly say the powerful do either.” It just came out. It was the same tone my dad used when he told off someone he disagreed with—a lighthearted scoff. Everyone stared at me, waiting for more. It was only then that I realized I shouldn’t have interjected, shouldn’t be having the conversation at all. We’d hardly spoken up to that point, I’d told him what—the state I was from?—and I was a guest in his home, eating his food, disagreeing.

“The French Revolution,” I said, stumbling, grasping for something, anything, to back myself up. “You know, didn’t we sort of learn that the women marched because they couldn’t afford bread?”

I didn’t actually know that much about the French Revolution. I’d read Lonnie’s copy of The Red and the Black for the extramarital love affair, without understanding much of the political references. I didn’t even know if it was really hunger that spurred the Women’s March on Versailles or if that was just a cliché I’d picked up somewhere.

“Astute observation, Ella,” Robert said, smiling at me. Then he didn’t say anything else. I felt like a puppy who’d been thrown a little scrap. It wasn’t enough—where was the rest of it?

“Speaking of rulers, in fact, we have an announcement, don’t we, James?” Robert said, changing the subject.

James nodded. It seemed to me he was purposefully not meeting Lonnie’s eye. Robert said, “I’ve decided to make James here senior partner.”