Granma has made meat loaf with tomato sauce, and Mr. Tomski eats his plate clean, twice. But he doesn’t “contribute much to the conversation,” as Granma likes to say. He lets her and Mom do most of the talking—they kind of fight and tease each other at the same time. “One thing I didn’t realize when I moved back home,” Mom says, “is just how much I would regress. It’s like Ben and me are the kids again. We even share my old bedroom. I used to lie in that bed and think, I wish I had a sister. Or a brother. And now I’ve got Ben.”

And she looks at me with big eyes, where I can see the makeup on her lids. But this is something private she told me—it upsets me that she’s telling it to Mr. Tomski. It also feels like she’s showing off, and one of the things she’s showing off about is how well we get along. I don’t know what to say, but it doesn’t matter because Granma says, “And I get to be the mean old mom again. I go in and say lights out, kids.”

But this isn’t even true. “You always go to bed first, Granma. Everybody falls asleep before me. I have to read with a flashlight under the covers.”

“It’s good to have a kid who loves to read,” Mr. Tomski says, just because it’s the kind of thing a teacher is supposed to say. “You never read again like you do when you’re young.”

“Oh, Ben always has a book in his hands,” Mom says. “Sometimes I can’t get him out of bed.”

Eventually, Mr. Tomski sits back and pulls out his tie again—he had tucked it inside his shirt, between two buttons.

“That was a fine meal,” he says. “Thank you, Mrs. Koehner.”

Granma smiles. “It’s nice to have people to cook for.”

Granma starts clearing the table and brings out coffee and an apple pie. Mr. Tomski shifts his head a little to the side, because those flowers are blocking his view, and says, “Jenny tells me that your father used to play basketball.”

It takes me a second to realize that he’s talking to me.

“I guess so.”

“He played in college, or so she tells me.”

“I don’t really know,” I say.

“Well, maybe you’d like to try out for the team some time. One of our kids is moving to Albuquerque at Christmas. We’ll have a vacancy on the roster.”

“I’ll think about it, Mr. Tomski.” I say this in my “polite voice,” but what I really mean is “leave me alone.”

“I tell you what.” He doesn’t seem to take the hint. “The new year is a good time to start new things. How about you come out anyway, when we get back from the holidays? We could use a manager; there’s always something to do.” He moves the flowers a little so he can look at me. “Not a bad way to make some friends,” he adds.