“Good boy. Last treat, then I’ll fix your dinner.” He gobbled the treat, then ran to the corner of the mudroom and came back carrying his little blue wire basket. That meant he wanted to play their version of basketball. She took the basket and sat on the floor with him. “Okay, but just for a few minutes. Go get your ball.”

Gray raced across the room, skidding to a stop, then came back with the beanbag ball in his mouth. He dropped it into the basket and then sat with his nose in the air.

“Aren’t you proud of yourself.” She grabbed the ball from the basket and tossed it across the room.

Gray sped across the room again, oinking and snorting all the way with his tiny feet scampering for all he was worth. He grabbed the ball and came back, dumping the ball into the basket again.

“Good job, cutie pie. By the way, I saw your namesake. He’s cute too.” She got up. “He thinks he’s a better cook than me, but you love my cooking, don’t you? Come get some dinner.”

Gray followed her. She heated up a cup of mixed vegetables in the microwave, and then stirred them into a cup of pig chow pellets.

She carried the bowl back into the mudroom and put his dish on his place mat. He sat next to the bowl, waiting patiently for the command. “Get it!”

Then Gray leaped to his feet and pigged out.

She stood at the door and watched him eat. Gray finished his dinner and then exited through the doggy door to the back porch and then out to the yard. She closed the Dutch door. He’d come in when he was ready. It had been so tempting to let him in other parts of the house when he was little, but a pig could wreak havoc on things with that snout. She was glad now that she’d stuck to her guns on creating a little pig-proof space of his own.

She skipped dinner for herself, choosing to lay on the couch and go through the big stack of magazines that had piled up over the holidays. One by one, she flipped through them, tearing out interesting recipes, flavor combinations, and decoration ideas, then setting them aside for the recycle bin.

But her thoughts kept going back to that party. Andrew was the last person she’d expected to see. After seven years, she’d colored him gone for good. What bothered her more than seeing him was how off kilter she felt about it.

If anyone had asked her a week ago about Andrew, she’d have said she was long over all of that, but now she wasn’t so sure, and that wasn’t fair.