Ethan and Mia lived in a cozy suburban home, a blend of modern convenience and warm, lived-in comfort. On this particular Saturday morning, the sun peeked through the curtains, casting a golden hue over their shared space. They had decided to tackle their list of errands together, starting with a trip to the grocery store.

Ethan, a software developer, had just finished his morning coffee and was scrolling through his phone. Mia, an elementary school teacher, was in the kitchen, preparing a simple breakfast of toast and fruit.

"Ready to go?" Ethan asked, setting his phone down and stretching.

"Just about," Mia replied, buttering her toast. "I just need to finish this."

They finished breakfast and loaded into Ethan's car. The drive to the grocery store was filled with light conversation about their weeks and upcoming plans. Ethan parked, and they grabbed their reusable bags from the trunk.

Inside the store, they split up the list. Ethan headed to the produce section while Mia went for the dairy. They met up in the middle, comparing notes and adding a few impulse items—Ethan picked up some artisanal chocolates, and Mia chose a new type of tea.

After paying at the self-checkout, they drove to the post office to mail a package. Ethan handled the paperwork while Mia waited in the car. Their final stop was the hardware store for a few home repair items. Mia browsed the gardening section while Ethan found the tools they needed.

By the time they returned home, the afternoon was well underway. They unloaded the car and put everything away, feeling a sense of accomplishment. As they settled back into their routine, Ethan and Mia shared a quiet moment, appreciating the simplicity of their shared responsibilities and the ease of their partnership.


On a crisp autumn morning, Ethan and Maya, an unmarried couple in their late twenties, prepared to leave their cozy home in Portland, Oregon, for a day of errands. The air was filled with the scent of fallen leaves as they stepped out, hand in hand, toward their well-loved minivan.

Their first stop was the local grocery store. As they navigated the aisles, Ethan took charge of the produce section, carefully selecting fresh apples and kale, while Maya focused on the pantry staples, adding a few new spices to their cart. They moved in sync, a well-practiced routine that spoke volumes about their partnership.

After stocking up on groceries, they drove to the post office to mail a package. Ethan handled the shipping details, ensuring everything was correct, while Maya waited outside, enjoying the cool breeze. Once the task was complete, they headed to the hardware store to pick up a few tools they needed for an upcoming home project.

At the store, Ethan browsed the shelves for a new drill bit, consulting with a store associate, while Maya explored the gardening section, excited about a new planter she had seen online. They met at the checkout counter, laughing about their finds, and loaded their purchases into the van.

Their final stop was the coffee shop, a favorite spot where they often met friends. They ordered their usual—a cappuccino for Ethan and a latte for Maya—and found a quiet corner to enjoy their moment of respite. As they sipped their drinks, they discussed their plans for the weekend, a mix of work and relaxation, content in the simplicity of their shared life.

Returning home, they unloaded the van, the groceries and new purchases a testament to a day well spent. As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over their neighborhood, Ethan and Maya felt a deep sense of satisfaction, grateful for the little moments that made their life together so fulfilling.


On a crisp Saturday morning in late autumn, Ethan and Maya, an unmarried couple who shared a cozy home in a quiet suburban neighborhood in the United States, decided to tackle their list of routine errands. The air was filled with the scent of fallen leaves as they stepped out of their house, hand in hand.

Their first stop was the local grocery store. As they navigated the aisles, Ethan took charge of the produce section, carefully selecting fresh vegetables and fruits. Maya, meanwhile, focused on the pantry staples, adding pasta, olive oil, and spices to their cart. They moved in sync, a well-practiced routine that spoke volumes about their partnership.

After stocking up on groceries, they drove to the nearby hardware store to pick up a few items for ongoing home projects. Ethan browsed the tools section, while Maya wandered over to the paint aisle, considering colors for the guest room. They met up at the checkout counter, laughing about their different approaches to home improvement.

Their final errand was a visit to the post office to mail a package. As they waited in line, Ethan entertained Maya with stories from his week, making her laugh despite the mundane surroundings.

By the time they returned home, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over their neighborhood. They unloaded the groceries and set the hardware store purchases aside for the weekend. As they settled into their living room, Ethan and Maya reflected on their day, grateful for the simple joy of sharing responsibilities and experiences.


Alex and Jamie lived in a cozy suburban home, their shared sanctuary amidst the hustle and bustle of daily life. On this particular Saturday morning, the sun streamed through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over the wooden countertops. Alex, already dressed in his favorite blue jeans and a casual shirt, sipped his coffee while scrolling through the grocery list on his phone. Jamie, still in her pajamas, emerged from the bedroom, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Morning," she murmured, reaching for a mug to pour herself some coffee.

"Ready for our grocery run?" Alex asked, glancing up from his phone.

Jamie nodded, taking a sip of her coffee. "Yeah, let's get this over with. We need to grab a few things for dinner tonight too."

They finished their coffee and headed out, hopping into Alex's car. The drive to the grocery store was filled with easy conversation, a testament to their comfortable relationship. Upon arrival, they split up, each taking a cart and tackling different sections of the store. Alex focused on the produce and meats, while Jamie navigated the aisles for dairy, bread, and household essentials.

Reunited at the checkout, they laughed about their choices and the occasional forgotten item. With bags in tow, they drove to the post office next, where Alex mailed a package and Jamie dropped off some documents. Their final stop was the hardware store, where they picked up a few tools Alex had been eyeing for an upcoming project.

By the time they returned home, the afternoon was waning. They unloaded the car together, chatting about their plans for the evening. As they settled back into their routine, the sense of partnership and ease between them was palpable, a reminder of the simple joys found in shared responsibilities and everyday moments.


On a crisp Saturday morning, Emily and Jake, an unmarried couple in their late twenties, prepared to head out for their weekly grocery run and a few routine errands. They lived in a cozy bungalow in a quiet neighborhood in the Midwest, a place they had turned into a home with shared laughter and late-night conversations.

Emily, a graphic designer, slipped on her favorite blue jacket while Jake, a high school teacher, grabbed his keys and wallet from the kitchen counter. They stepped out into the cool air, locking the door behind them.

Their first stop was the local grocery store. As they navigated the aisles, Emily handled the produce section, carefully selecting fresh vegetables while Jake took charge of the dairy and meats. They moved in sync, a well-practiced routine that felt almost second nature. Emily added a few items to their cart, including some artisanal cheese she had been eyeing, and Jake smiled, knowing it would make their dinner special.

Next, they drove to the hardware store to pick up a few tools Jake needed for a DIY project he had planned for the weekend. Emily waited in the car, browsing through her phone, while Jake quickly gathered the items on his list.

Their final stop was the post office, where they mailed a package Emily had been preparing for a client. Jake stood by, offering moral support as she navigated the counter.

By the time they returned home, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. They unloaded the groceries and tools, chatting about their plans for the evening. It was these simple moments, shared responsibilities, and mutual support that made their partnership strong, even without the label of marriage.


Ethan and Maya lived in a cozy bungalow on the outskirts of a small town in the United States. They had been together for five years, sharing a life filled with simple joys and mutual support. On this particular Saturday morning, they decided to tackle their list of routine errands, starting with a trip to the grocery store.

The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon as Ethan brewed a pot of coffee. The rich aroma filled the kitchen, waking Maya from her slumber. She stretched and joined him at the counter, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Morning," she murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Morning," Ethan replied, handing her a mug of coffee. "Ready for our adventure?"

Maya laughed. "As ready as I'll ever be."

They hopped into Ethan's old but reliable car and drove to the local grocery store. Inside, they split up, each taking a section of the shopping list. Ethan headed to the produce section, carefully selecting the freshest vegetables, while Maya navigated the aisles for dairy and pantry staples. They met up at the deli, where they picked out some sandwich fixings for the week ahead.

After checking out, they drove to the post office to mail a package Ethan had been working on for weeks. Maya waited in the car, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel to the rhythm of the radio. When Ethan returned, he handed her the receipt with a triumphant grin.

Their final stop was the hardware store. Maya needed to pick up a few tools for a DIY project she had planned, and Ethan decided to browse the gardening section. They met at the checkout with their purchases, laughing about the day's escapades.

As they drove home, the sky turning a warm shade of pink, Ethan reached over and squeezed Maya's hand. "Good day for errands," he said.

"The best," Maya agreed, smiling as she parked the car. Together, they carried their bags inside, ready to tackle the next adventure that life would throw their way.


Emma and Jake, an unmarried couple who had been living together for three years, shared a cozy home in a quiet suburban neighborhood. On a crisp Saturday morning, they decided to tackle their list of routine errands, starting with a trip to the grocery store.

Emma, a school teacher, had meticulously planned their grocery list the night before, categorizing items by aisle to maximize efficiency. Jake, a software developer, had a more laid-back approach, often suggesting spontaneous detours to explore new places. Despite their different styles, they complemented each other well.

As they drove to the store, Emma navigated while Jake handled the playlist, filling the car with their favorite tunes. They chatted about their week, sharing laughs over minor mishaps and celebrating small victories. Upon arriving, they grabbed their reusable bags and headed inside.

Inside the store, they split up, each taking half the list. Emma wandered through the produce section, selecting fresh vegetables and fruits, while Jake focused on the pantry staples and snacks. They met up in the dairy section, comparing notes and adjusting their lists as needed.

After gathering all their items, they headed to the checkout. While Emma packed their groceries, Jake browsed the magazines, eventually picking up a book on home gardening. Their next stop was the post office, where they dropped off a package Emma had been waiting to send.

Their final errand was a visit to the hardware store for a few household repairs. Emma chose new light fixtures for the living room, while Jake found the tools they needed. By the time they returned home, the afternoon was winding down. They unloaded the car, put away the groceries, and relaxed with a cup of tea, satisfied with a productive day spent together.


Ethan and Mia lived in a cozy suburban home, their shared space a blend of their individual tastes and mutual comfort. On this particular Saturday morning, the sun peeked through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the kitchen table where a list of errands awaited them.

"Ready to tackle the grocery run?" Ethan asked, pouring coffee into two mugs.

Mia nodded, scrolling through her phone. "Just need to grab a few things for the garden. Any preferences for dinner?"

Ethan handed her a mug. "Surprise me. You always pick the best."

They finished their coffee and headed out. The drive to the grocery store was filled with easy conversation, a testament to their comfortable relationship. At the store, they split up—Ethan to the produce section, Mia to the bakery.

Ethan carefully selected fresh vegetables, remembering Mia's love for roasted Brussels sprouts. He found her near the bread aisle, debating between sourdough and rye.

"How about this one?" He held up a loaf of multigrain. "It's got everything."

Mia smiled. "Perfect. Let's get the rest and hit the hardware store next."

At the hardware store, they browsed the gardening section. Mia picked out a new set of tools while Ethan found a bag of soil amendments. They paid and headed to the post office to mail a package.

"That's the last one," Ethan said as they walked back to the car. "Smooth run."

Mia agreed, feeling content. "Home for a bit of relaxation, then?"

"Absolutely," Ethan replied, starting the engine. "Groceries, gardening supplies, and a smooth sail through the post office. Great team work."

As they drove home, the ease of their partnership was evident, a routine that felt anything but ordinary.


Ethan and Maya lived in a cozy apartment in the heart of the city. Though they weren't married, their bond was strong, built on shared experiences and mutual respect. On a crisp Saturday morning, they decided to tackle their list of errands together.

The first task was grocery shopping. They hopped into Ethan's old but reliable sedan and headed to the local supermarket. As they walked through the automatic doors, Maya pulled out her list. "Let's start with the produce section," she suggested. Ethan nodded, following her lead.

They moved in sync, Ethan grabbing a basket while Maya pointed out the freshest vegetables. "These look good," she said, picking up a bunch of kale. Ethan added them to the basket, then moved on to the fruits. "How about some apples?" he asked, holding up a red one. Maya agreed, and he placed a few in the basket.

Next, they headed to the dairy section. Maya picked out some organic milk, while Ethan chose a block of cheddar cheese. "We should get some yogurt too," Maya said, reaching for a container. Ethan smiled, appreciating her attention to detail.

After finishing their grocery shopping, they drove to the post office to mail a package. Ethan stood in line, holding the package while Maya filled out the necessary forms. Once they were done, they walked to the nearby hardware store to pick up a few tools they needed for an upcoming DIY project.

As they loaded the groceries and tools into the car, Ethan turned to Maya. "Great job today," he said, squeezing her hand. Maya smiled, feeling content. "Teamwork makes the dream work," she replied.

They drove back home, ready to enjoy the rest of their weekend together.


On a crisp Saturday morning in the heart of the Midwest, Clara and Jack, an unmarried couple who had been sharing their lives and a charming bungalow for the past three years, prepared to head out for their weekly grocery run and a few routine errands. The sun peeked through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the kitchen table where Clara was meticulously jotting down items on her shopping list.

"Don't forget the almond milk and whole grain bread," Clara called out, her pen hovering over the paper.

Jack, who had just finished brewing a pot of coffee, nodded and took a sip. "Got it. And I'll grab some fresh vegetables while I'm at it."

They both grabbed their jackets from the coat rack by the door. Clara locked up the house, and they hopped into Jack's reliable sedan. The drive to the grocery store was filled with light-hearted conversation about their plans for the upcoming week.

At the store, they split up to cover more ground efficiently. Clara headed to the produce section, carefully selecting the ripest tomatoes and freshest greens, while Jack made his way to the dairy and bakery aisles. They reconvened at the checkout counter, laughing about the time they accidentally bought two gallons of milk instead of one.

After paying for their groceries, they drove to the post office to mail a package Clara had been working on for weeks. Jack waited in the car while Clara went inside, and soon she was back, sliding into the passenger seat with a satisfied smile.

Their final stop was the hardware store, where Jack needed to pick up a few tools for a project he had been planning. Clara browsed the gardening section, inspired by the upcoming spring season.

By the time they returned home, the afternoon sun was beginning to set. They unloaded the car together, chatting about their day as they brought the groceries inside and stored the hardware in the garage. As they settled in for the evening, Clara and Jack felt a renewed sense of partnership, strengthened by the simple routine of sharing their lives and responsibilities.


Mark and Emily, an unmarried couple, shared a cozy home in a quiet suburb. On a crisp Saturday morning, they decided to tackle their list of errands together.

Mark, a software developer, and Emily, an elementary school teacher, had been living together for three years. They enjoyed these shared outings, finding them a perfect blend of productivity and companionship.

After a light breakfast of coffee and toast, they grabbed their reusable bags and headed to their car. Mark drove, while Emily navigated using her phone. Their first stop was the local grocery store.

As they walked through the automatic doors, Emily glanced at their list: milk, eggs, bread, and some fresh vegetables. Mark headed straight for the produce section, picking out bell peppers and broccoli, while Emily wandered over to the dairy aisle.

They met up in the middle of the store, comparing their selections. "These look good," Mark said, holding up the vegetables. Emily nodded, adding, "And I found the organic milk we like."

Next, they drove to the post office to mail a package Mark had been preparing for the past week. Emily waited in the car while Mark went inside, returning a few minutes later with a receipt in hand.

Their final stop was the hardware store. Emily needed a new set of shelves for her classroom, and Mark wanted to pick up some tools for a weekend project. They browsed the aisles, discussing the best options.

After a successful shopping trip, they headed home, content with their accomplishments. As they unloaded the car, Mark said, "Same time next week?" Emily smiled, "Absolutely."

They spent the rest of the afternoon organizing their purchases and relaxing, grateful for the simple joy of shared responsibilities.


Jake and Emily, an unmarried couple in their late twenties, lived in a cozy apartment in the heart of the city. On this particular Saturday morning, they decided to tackle their list of routine errands together.

The plan was simple: pick up groceries, drop off the dry cleaning, and maybe find a new houseplant for the living room.

As they stepped out of their apartment, the early autumn air greeted them with a crisp freshness. They walked hand-in-hand to their car, a reliable old sedan that had seen them through many adventures.

First on their list was the grocery store. Emily navigated while Jake drove, their easy banter filling the car.

"Don't forget the almond milk," Emily reminded him as they parked.

"Got it," Jake replied with a grin.

Inside the store, they fell into a familiar rhythm. Emily headed to the produce section while Jake made his way to the dairy aisle. They met up in the middle, comparing notes and adding a few impulse buys to their cart—a box of Emily's favorite dark chocolate and a new type of pasta Jake wanted to try.

Their next stop was the dry cleaners. Emily dropped off her work blouse while Jake waited outside, scrolling through his phone.

"All set," Emily said as she rejoined him. "Now, about that houseplant…"

They drove to a local nursery, where they spent the next half-hour debating between a fern and a succulent.

"Let's go with the fern," Jake said, sensing Emily's preference.

As they drove back home, the fern securely wrapped in the backseat, Jake and Emily felt a sense of accomplishment.

"Great day for errands," Jake said.

"Definitely," Emily agreed, squeezing his hand.

They may not have been married, but in moments like these, they felt like a family.


Ethan and Mia, an unmarried couple who had been living together for three years, decided to tackle their weekend errands together. It was a crisp Saturday morning, and the sun peeked through the curtains, casting a warm glow on their cozy home.

Ethan, a software developer, was sipping his coffee, scrolling through his phone. Mia, an elementary school teacher, was in the kitchen, preparing a simple breakfast of toast and eggs.

"Ready to hit the grocery store?" Ethan asked, setting his phone down.

"Almost. Just finishing breakfast," Mia replied, flipping her egg in the pan.

They ate quickly, discussing their plans for the day. After breakfast, they hopped into Ethan's car. Their first stop was the grocery store. As they walked through the aisles, Mia handled the produce section, picking out fresh vegetables for the week, while Ethan focused on the pantry staples. They met up in the dairy section, comparing their lists to ensure they hadn't missed anything.

"Don't forget the milk," Mia reminded him as he reached for a carton.

"Got it," Ethan said with a smile.

Next, they drove to the post office to mail a package Ethan had been waiting to send. Mia waited in the car, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel to a song on the radio.

Their final stop was the hardware store. Mia needed a new set of shelves for her classroom, and Ethan was looking for some tools to fix a leaky faucet at home. They browsed the aisles, chatting about their finds and making a few purchases.

By the time they returned home, the afternoon was winding down. They unloaded the car and put away their groceries and supplies.

"Good job today," Ethan said, giving Mia a quick hug.

"Teamwork makes the dream work," Mia laughed, returning the hug.

They spent the rest of the evening relaxing, content with a day well spent.


Ethan and Mia lived in a cozy suburban home, their lives intertwined in a dance of routine and comfort. On this particular Saturday morning, the sun peeked through the curtains, casting a warm glow on their shared space. They had a list of errands to tackle, starting with a trip to the grocery store.

Ethan, a software developer, was already up, brewing a pot of coffee. The rich aroma filled the kitchen as Mia, an elementary school teacher, stretched and joined him. They exchanged a quick kiss before diving into their morning ritual.

"I'll grab the shopping list," Mia said, reaching for a piece of paper pinned to the fridge. Ethan nodded, taking a sip of his coffee.

They loaded into Ethan's car, a reliable sedan that had seen them through many adventures. The drive to the grocery store was filled with easy conversation, a blend of work talk and weekend plans. Mia navigated, pointing out the best route to avoid traffic.

At the store, they fell into a familiar rhythm. Ethan headed to the produce section while Mia made her way to the dairy aisle. They met up in the middle, comparing notes and adding a few impulse buys to their cart.

After groceries, they stopped by the post office to mail a package and then swung by the hardware store to pick up a few tools Ethan had been eyeing. Mia browsed the garden section, picking out some new plants for their backyard.

By the time they returned home, the afternoon was slipping away. They unloaded the car, Ethan handling the groceries while Mia dealt with the hardware. Satisfied with their day's work, they settled into their living room, ready to relax with a movie.

As the credits rolled, Ethan and Mia shared a sense of accomplishment. Their simple errands had become a testament to their partnership, a series of small moments that built their life together.


On a crisp Saturday morning in late September, Emma and Jake, an unmarried couple who had been living together for three years, decided to tackle their list of errands. Their home, a cozy two-bedroom house in a quiet suburb of Portland, Oregon, was filled with the scent of freshly brewed coffee as they prepared to head out.

Emma, a graphic designer, slipped on her favorite denim jacket and grabbed her tote bag, where she had already packed their grocery list. Jake, a high school teacher, pulled on his fleece jacket and made sure his wallet and keys were in his pocket. They both loved these Saturday mornings together; it was their time to catch up on chores and enjoy each other's company without the rush of weekday responsibilities.

They hopped into Jake's reliable old sedan and drove to the local grocery store. As they walked through the automatic doors, Emma handed Jake the list. "Why don't you start with the produce section?" she suggested. "I'll meet you at the dairy aisle in ten minutes."

Jake nodded and headed off, enjoying the familiar routine. He picked out the freshest apples, remembering how Emma loved to bake pies in the fall. Meanwhile, Emma browsed the dairy section, selecting their favorite organic milk and a few blocks of cheese. They met up as planned, laughing about the odd looks they got from a few shoppers who must have wondered why they were timing their meeting so precisely.

After groceries, they drove to the post office to mail a package Emma had been working on for a client. Jake waited in the car while Emma went inside, appreciating the small moments of patience they had learned to give each other.

Their final stop was the hardware store, where they needed to pick up a few tools for a DIY project they had planned for the weekend. As they browsed the aisles, Jake found a set of wrenches he had been eyeing for months. "Do you think we need these?" he asked, looking at Emma with a hopeful grin.

She laughed. "If you really want them, go for it. We can always use more tools around here."

With their errands complete, they drove back home, feeling content and ready to tackle their next project together.


On a crisp autumn morning in a small town in the Midwest, Alex and Jamie, an unmarried couple who had been living together for three years, prepared to head out for their weekly grocery run and routine errands. Their cozy home, nestled between two oak trees, was filled with the scent of freshly brewed coffee as they gathered their keys and lists.

Alex, a software developer, had made a detailed grocery list, meticulously noting down everything they needed. Jamie, an elementary school teacher, had a more relaxed approach, often relying on their memory. Together, they complemented each other perfectly.

They hopped into Alex's reliable sedan and drove to the local grocery store. Upon arrival, they split up, tackling different sections of the store. Alex headed straight for the produce section, carefully selecting the freshest vegetables and fruits. Jamie meandered through the aisles, picking up essentials like bread, milk, and their favorite brand of coffee.

After filling their cart, they met at the checkout counter, chatting about their plans for the weekend. With bags in hand, they drove to the post office next, where Alex mailed a package he had been working on for weeks. Jamie dropped off a stack of letters for her students' parents.

Their final stop was the hardware store. Alex needed a new set of tools for a project he was working on, while Jamie picked up a few gardening supplies. They laughed as Alex tried to lift a particularly heavy bag of soil, and Jamie stepped in to help.

By the time they returned home, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over their neighborhood. They unloaded the car together, feeling content and ready to enjoy a quiet evening at home, their errands successfully completed.


Ethan and Mia lived in a cozy bungalow on the outskirts of a small town in the United States. Though unmarried, their bond was strong, built on years of shared experiences and mutual respect. On this particular Saturday morning, they decided to tackle their list of routine errands together.

The sun peeked through the curtains as Ethan brewed a pot of coffee. Mia, already dressed in her favorite jeans and a comfortable sweater, joined him in the kitchen. They sipped their coffee in companionable silence, the steam rising in gentle swirls.

"Groceries first, then the post office?" Ethan suggested, breaking the silence.

Mia nodded, grabbing the list she had taped to the fridge. "And don't forget we need to drop off the library books."

They stepped out into the crisp morning air, Ethan locking the door behind them. Their car, a reliable old sedan, purred to life as Ethan turned the key. Mia plugged her phone into the aux cord, setting the mood with a playlist of their favorite songs.

At the grocery store, they fell into a familiar rhythm. Ethan headed to the produce section while Mia made her way to the bakery. They met up in the aisle, Ethan holding a bunch of vibrant kale and Mia clutching a loaf of freshly baked sourdough.

"Found everything?" Mia asked, smiling.

"Almost. Need any help with the dairy?" Ethan offered.

"Sure, grab some almond milk while you're at it," Mia replied.

After paying for their groceries, they drove to the post office. Ethan waited in the car with the groceries while Mia went inside to mail a package. Within minutes, she was back, sliding into the passenger seat with a satisfied smile.

"Last stop: the library," Ethan said, turning the car around.

As they drove, Mia reached over to squeeze Ethan's hand. "Thanks for doing this with me. I appreciate it."

Ethan glanced at her, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Anytime, Mia. It's our thing."

They parked outside the library, quickly dropping off the books before heading back home. As they walked through the door, groceries in hand, Mia turned to Ethan. "Same time next week?"

"Absolutely," Ethan agreed, and they both knew that their simple Saturday routine was something they both looked forward to, a small but significant part of their life together.


On a crisp Saturday morning in late September, Emma and Jake, an unmarried couple who had been sharing their cozy home in the suburbs of Portland for the past three years, decided it was the perfect day to tackle their grocery list and a few routine errands.

As the sun began to peek over the horizon, casting a golden hue across their neighborhood, Emma brewed a pot of strong coffee while Jake shuffled through the mail that had arrived the previous day. They exchanged a few light-hearted comments about the upcoming fall season and the changes they planned to make in their garden.

With their reusable bags in tow, they hopped into Jake's trusty hatchback and headed to the local farmer's market. The air was filled with the scent of fresh produce and the lively chatter of fellow shoppers. Emma navigated the stalls with ease, selecting organic vegetables and locally-sourced eggs, while Jake focused on finding the perfect cuts of grass-fed beef. They shared a laugh over a particularly stubborn avocado that refused to yield to Jake's gentle squeeze.

After loading their haul into the car, they drove to the hardware store to pick up a few items for their ongoing home improvement project. Emma browsed the aisles for new paint samples, discussing color schemes with Jake, who was meticulously choosing tools and supplies.

Their final stop was the post office, where they dropped off a package Emma had meticulously wrapped for her sister's birthday. As they walked back to the car, hands full and hearts light, they reflected on the simplicity and joy of their shared routine.

Returning home, they unloaded their purchases and began preparing a hearty lunch, content in the knowledge that, together, they could face any task—no matter how mundane—with grace and a sense of partnership.


On a crisp Saturday morning in the suburbs of Portland, Oregon, Alex and Jamie, an unmarried couple in their late twenties, prepared to head out for their weekly grocery run and a few routine errands. The sun peeked through the curtains, casting a warm glow over their cozy home.

Alex, a software developer with a penchant for organization, grabbed the shopping list from the kitchen counter. "Okay, we need milk, eggs, and that organic spinach you like," he said, handing the list to Jamie, who was already slipping into her favorite denim jacket.

Jamie, an art teacher with a free spirit, smiled as she reviewed the list. "Got it. And don’t forget we need to drop off the library books and swing by the post office to mail that package."

They locked the door behind them and walked to their trusty minivan, a vehicle that had become a symbol of their shared responsibilities and adventures. The drive to the grocery store was filled with light-hearted conversation about their plans for the upcoming week.

At the store, they fell into a familiar rhythm. Alex headed to the dairy section while Jamie made her way to the produce aisle. They met up in the middle of the store to compare their finds and joke about the ridiculousness of some of the product names.

After filling their cart, they drove to the library, where Jamie efficiently returned their books while Alex browsed the new arrivals. Their final stop was the post office, where they waited in line, chatting with a fellow customer about the unseasonably warm weather.

By the time they returned home, the sky had turned a dusky pink. They unloaded the groceries, satisfied with a job well done. As they settled in for the evening, Alex and Jamie felt a sense of contentment, knowing that their simple routines strengthened their bond.


On a crisp Saturday morning in late autumn, Emma and Jake, an unmarried couple in their early thirties, prepared to leave their cozy home in a quiet suburban neighborhood. The leaves outside had turned a brilliant shade of amber, and the air carried a chill that promised winter was near. Emma, a freelance graphic designer, and Jake, a high school teacher, had been living together for the past two years. Their home, a charming two-bedroom house, was filled with the warmth of their shared life.

As they gathered their belongings, Emma glanced at the list she had made the night before. "Okay, we need to pick up groceries, drop off the dry cleaning, and swing by the post office to mail that package," she said, slipping her phone into her jacket pocket.

Jake, who had just finished brewing a pot of coffee, nodded. "Sounds good. I'll drive," he offered, grabbing his keys from the hook by the door.

The drive to the grocery store was filled with easy conversation. They discussed their plans for the upcoming holiday season and debated the merits of various recipes for Thanksgiving dinner. Upon arriving, they split up, each taking a cart and meeting back at the checkout lanes an hour later, their carts brimming with fresh produce, dairy, and a few treats for themselves.

Next, they dropped off the dry cleaning, where Jake waited in the car while Emma went inside. Finally, they headed to the post office. Emma mailed the package while Jake browsed the postcards, eventually selecting one with a picturesque autumn scene to send to his sister.

As they drove back home, the sky beginning to pink with the approaching sunset, they felt a sense of contentment. Their errands completed, they looked forward to a quiet evening, perhaps cooking dinner together and watching a movie, grateful for the simple routines that brought them closer.


On a crisp Saturday morning, Ethan and Maya, an unmarried couple who had been living together for three years, prepared to head out for their weekly grocery run and a few routine errands. Their home, a cozy two-bedroom apartment in a quiet suburban neighborhood, was filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

Ethan, a software developer, wore his usual weekend attire—cargo shorts and a graphic T-shirt. He grabbed the reusable shopping bags from the closet, while Maya, an elementary school teacher, slipped into her favorite jeans and a comfortable sweater. She double-checked her list, ensuring they wouldn't forget anything essential.

They stepped out into the cool air, locking the door behind them, and walked to their trusty minivan parked at the curb. Ethan took the wheel, and they drove to the local grocery store. As they navigated the aisles, they fell into a familiar rhythm. Ethan handled the produce section, carefully selecting the freshest vegetables, while Maya focused on the pantry staples and snacks.

After loading their cart, they moved on to the pharmacy next door to pick up a prescription for Maya's dog, Buddy. The pharmacist greeted them by name, a testament to their routine visits. With the prescription in hand, they drove to the post office to mail a package Ethan had been preparing for the past week.

Their final stop was the hardware store, where they needed to pick up a few tools for an upcoming DIY project. Ethan browsed the shelves while Maya waited in the car, listening to a podcast.

By the time they returned home, the sky was beginning to pink with the afternoon sun. They unloaded the groceries and tools, chatting about their plans for the weekend. It was these small, shared moments that made their routine feel anything but ordinary.


Jake and Mia, an unmarried couple in their late twenties, lived in a cozy suburban home in the United States. On a crisp autumn morning, they decided to tackle their list of routine errands together.

After a quick breakfast of coffee and toast, they grabbed their jackets and headed out to Jake's reliable old sedan. The drive to the grocery store was filled with light-hearted conversation, Mia occasionally pointing out the vibrant fall foliage while Jake navigated the familiar streets.

Upon arriving at the store, they split up to cover more ground efficiently. Mia headed to the produce section, carefully selecting fresh vegetables and fruits, while Jake made his way to the dairy and meat aisles. They met up in the center of the store to compare their findings, laughing as they discovered they had both picked up a carton of eggs.

With their grocery bags in tow, they drove to the post office next. Mia dropped off a package she had been waiting to ship, while Jake picked up a certified mail envelope he had been expecting. Their final stop was the hardware store, where they browsed for a new set of tools Jake had been eyeing. Mia offered her opinion on the best options, and they eventually settled on a sturdy set that fit their budget.

As they drove back home, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon, they felt a sense of accomplishment. Unloading the car, they shared a moment of quiet satisfaction, knowing that their simple day out had kept their home running smoothly.

Inside, they unpacked the groceries and put away the new tools, ready to relax with a homemade dinner and a movie, content in the rhythm of their shared life.


On a crisp Saturday morning in late October, Ethan and Maya, an unmarried couple in their late twenties, prepared to leave their cozy home in Portland, Oregon, for a day of errands. The air was tinged with the scent of fallen leaves, and the sky was a clear, inviting blue.

Ethan, a software developer, had just finished his morning coffee, while Maya, an elementary school teacher, was organizing her tote bag with a list of groceries and a few other items they needed. They shared a quick kiss before heading out the door.

Their first stop was the local grocery store. As they navigated the aisles, Ethan handled the produce section, carefully selecting fresh apples and a head of cauliflower, while Maya focused on the pantry staples, adding a box of pasta and a jar of marinara sauce to their cart. They chatted about their plans for the week, Ethan mentioning an upcoming project at work and Maya sharing details about a parent-teacher conference.

After grocery shopping, they drove to the post office to mail a package Ethan had been waiting to send. Maya waited in the car, scrolling through her phone, while Ethan went inside. He returned a few minutes later, and they continued to their next destination: the hardware store.

At the hardware store, they browsed the aisles for a new set of shelves for their living room. Ethan measured the space in his mind, while Maya picked out a set that matched their aesthetic. They laughed as they tried to fit the shelves into their cart, eventually managing to secure them for the trip home.

By the time they returned home, the afternoon was winding down. They unloaded the groceries and hardware, feeling a sense of accomplishment. As they settled in for the evening, Ethan and Maya reflected on their productive day, grateful for the simple routines that brought them closer together.


On a crisp Saturday morning, Emma and Jake, an unmarried couple who had been living together for the past two years, prepared to head out for their weekly grocery run and a few routine errands. Their home, a cozy bungalow in a quiet suburban neighborhood, was filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee as they sipped their morning mugs in the kitchen.

"Do you think we need to stop by the post office too?" Emma asked, scanning the list she had jotted down the night before.

Jake nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. "Yeah, I need to mail that package out today. And we should probably drop by the hardware store; the faucet in the bathroom is dripping again."

They finished their coffee and headed out, hopping into Jake's old but reliable sedan. The drive to the grocery store was filled with light-hearted conversation about their plans for the upcoming weekend. Emma mentioned a new hiking trail she wanted to explore, while Jake talked about a movie he wanted to see.

At the grocery store, they split up to cover more ground. Emma headed to the produce section, carefully selecting the freshest vegetables, while Jake made his way to the dairy and meat sections. They met up in the middle aisle, comparing their finds and adding a few impulse buys to their cart.

After checking out, they drove to the post office, where Jake quickly mailed his package. Their final stop was the hardware store, where they picked up a new faucet and some tools. Emma waited in the car, scrolling through her phone, while Jake went in to make the purchase.

By the time they returned home, the late morning sun was shining brightly. They unloaded their bags, with Emma putting away the groceries and Jake starting on the bathroom repair. It was a simple Saturday, but moments like these were what made their shared life feel complete.


On a crisp Saturday morning in late autumn, Ethan and Mia, an unmarried couple who had been sharing their home in a quiet suburban neighborhood for the past two years, decided to tackle their list of routine errands. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, casting a golden hue across their small front yard.

Ethan, a software developer with a penchant for organization, had already prepared a detailed list of groceries they needed. Mia, an elementary school teacher with a creative streak, had added a few items of her own, including some art supplies for her classroom.

They hopped into Ethan’s reliable sedan, the engine purring to life as they backed out of the driveway. Their first stop was the local grocery store. As they navigated the bustling aisles, Ethan scanned the list while Mia picked out fresh produce, chatting animatedly about her upcoming art project with her students.

After filling their cart, they moved on to the post office to mail a package Ethan had been waiting to send. Mia browsed the selection of postcards while Ethan waited in line, the smell of ink and paper lingering in the air.

Their final stop was the hardware store, where they needed to pick up a few tools for a small home improvement project. Mia haggled over the price of a new set of paintbrushes while Ethan browsed the aisles, eventually finding the exact type of screws they needed.

As they drove back home, the car filled with the scent of fresh groceries and the excitement of their completed tasks, they both felt a sense of accomplishment. Unloading the car, they shared a laugh about the day’s adventures, grateful for the simple joys of shared responsibilities and the comfort of their life together.


On a crisp Saturday morning in late autumn, Alex and Jamie, an unmarried couple who had been living together for three years, decided it was time to tackle their grocery shopping and a few routine errands. They lived in a cozy bungalow in a quiet neighborhood in the Midwest, where the leaves had just begun to turn golden.

Alex, a software developer, had made a fresh pot of coffee, filling the house with its rich aroma. Jamie, a high school teacher, was flipping through the weekly grocery ads, marking items they needed. They both agreed it was the perfect day for their outing.

After a quick breakfast of toast and eggs, they piled into Alex’s reliable old sedan. The drive to the grocery store was filled with light-hearted conversation about their plans for the upcoming holiday season.

Once at the store, they split up to cover more ground efficiently. Alex headed to the produce section, picking out fresh vegetables and fruits, while Jamie navigated the aisles for dairy, meats, and household essentials. They met up in the center aisle, comparing their lists and laughing about the overflowing cart.

Next, they drove to the post office to mail a package Alex had been preparing for a client. Jamie waited in the car, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel to a tune playing on the radio.

Their final stop was the hardware store, where they needed to pick up a few tools for a DIY project they had planned for the weekend. Alex browsed the shelves while Jamie chatted with the cashier, exchanging tips on the best types of paint to use.

By the time they returned home, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over their neighborhood. They unloaded the car together, feeling content and ready to tackle the rest of their weekend plans.


Jack and Emma, an unmarried couple, shared a cozy home in the suburbs of Portland, Oregon. On a crisp Saturday morning, they decided to tackle their list of errands together. The plan was simple: pick up groceries, drop off the dry cleaning, and perhaps find a new houseplant for the living room.

As they stepped out of their apartment, the cool autumn air greeted them. Jack, with his tousled brown hair and a worn leather jacket, locked the door behind them. Emma, wrapped in a red scarf that matched her vibrant personality, adjusted the strap of her crossbody bag.

They hopped into Jack’s old but reliable minivan, a vehicle that had seen better days but still got the job done. Jack navigated through the familiar streets while Emma plugged their playlist into the car’s audio system. The sound of indie folk filled the air as they drove towards the local grocery store.

At the store, they split up to cover more ground. Jack headed to the produce section, carefully selecting the freshest vegetables while Emma made her way to the bakery. They met up at the deli, where they debated over which cheese to buy. After a playful argument, they compromised on both options.

Next, they dropped off the dry cleaning, where Emma chatted with the clerk about the weather while Jack waited impatiently outside. Their final stop was a small nursery where they browsed through various plants. Emma’s eyes lit up when she spotted a vibrant fern, and Jack agreed it would be a perfect addition to their home.

By the time they returned home, the sky had begun to pink with the setting sun. They unloaded their purchases, laughing about the day’s small adventures. As they settled into their evening routine, the new fern stood proudly on the windowsill, a green reminder of their shared outing.


Ethan and Maya lived in a cozy bungalow on the outskirts of a small town in the United States. Though they weren't married, their bond was strong, built on years of shared experiences and mutual support. On this particular Saturday morning, they decided to tackle their list of routine errands together.

The sun peeked through the curtains as Ethan brewed a pot of coffee. The rich aroma filled the kitchen, waking Maya from her light sleep on the couch. She stretched and joined him at the counter, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Morning," she murmured.

"Morning," Ethan replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Ready for our adventure?"

Maya laughed. "As ready as I'll ever be. Let's get this over with."

They grabbed their jackets and headed out to Ethan's trusty old pickup truck. The first stop was the grocery store. As they walked through the automatic doors, Maya handed Ethan her list. "Can you grab the milk and eggs? I'll get the vegetables."

Ethan nodded and they split up, navigating the aisles with ease. Maya selected a colorful array of bell peppers, carrots, and broccoli, while Ethan gathered the essentials. They met at the checkout, chatting about their plans for dinner.

Next, they drove to the hardware store to pick up a few tools Ethan needed for a project he was working on in the garage. Maya browsed the gardening section, picking out some new plants for their backyard.

Their final stop was the post office. Ethan mailed a package he had been working on for weeks, while Maya dropped off some letters.

As they drove back home, Ethan reached over and squeezed Maya's hand. "Thanks for coming with me. It's always better with you."

Maya smiled. "Anytime. Team effort, remember?"

They parked the truck and carried their bags inside, ready to tackle the rest of their weekend together.


On a crisp Saturday morning in the suburbs of Portland, Oregon, Jake and Emily, an unmarried couple in their late twenties, prepared to tackle their weekly grocery run and a few routine errands. They lived in a cozy bungalow they had decorated with mismatched furniture and an eclectic collection of art.

Jake, a software developer, was the first to rise. He brewed a pot of coffee and set the table for breakfast. Emily, a graphic designer, joined him shortly after, her hair still tousled from sleep. They shared a plate of toast and discussed their plans for the day.

After breakfast, they packed the car. Jake grabbed the reusable bags from the kitchen drawer while Emily checked her phone for the grocery list she had compiled the night before. They hopped into their trusty minivan, a vehicle they affectionately called "The Beast."

The first stop was the local farmer's market. The air was filled with the aroma of fresh produce and the chatter of fellow shoppers. Jake navigated the crowds, while Emily honed in on the stalls selling organic vegetables. They filled their bags with kale, tomatoes, and a variety of herbs. Emily haggled over the price of a particularly plump bunch of asparagus, eventually securing a discount.

Next, they drove to the hardware store to pick up a few tools Jake needed for a DIY project. Emily browsed the gardening section, adding a few items to their cart. They checked out quickly and headed to the post office to mail a package Emily had been preparing for a client.

Their final stop was the grocery store. They moved through the aisles with a well-practiced efficiency, each knowing what the other needed. Jake handled the snacks and beverages, while Emily focused on the ingredients for the meals she had planned. They met at the checkout, loaded down with bags.

By the time they returned home, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. Tired but satisfied, they unloaded the car and stored their purchases. As they settled into their evening, they reflected on the simple pleasure of sharing these mundane tasks, finding joy in the rhythm of their shared life.


Ethan and Mia lived in a cozy suburban home, their lives intertwined in a dance of shared responsibilities and quiet moments. On this crisp autumn morning, they decided to tackle their list of routine errands together.

The plan was simple: pick up groceries, drop off the dry cleaning, and perhaps find a new houseplant for the living room. Ethan, always the early riser, had already brewed a pot of coffee, the rich aroma filling the air as Mia emerged from the bedroom, her hair tousled from sleep.

They loaded into Ethan's trusty minivan, the vehicle a testament to their shared life. Mia navigated, her finger tracing the route on her phone as Ethan drove, his hand occasionally reaching over to squeeze hers. The grocery store was their first stop.

Inside, they fell into a familiar rhythm. Ethan headed for the produce section while Mia made her way to the bakery. They met halfway down the aisle, Ethan holding a bunch of vibrant kale and Mia balancing a tray of freshly baked croissants.

"Perfect," Ethan said, smiling as he added the croissants to their cart.

Next, they dropped off the dry cleaning, Ethan waiting in the car while Mia dashed in and out of the store. The final stop was the local nursery, where they browsed the selection of plants. Mia's eye caught a small, leafy fern, and Ethan nodded in approval.

With their errands complete, they drove home, the day's tasks behind them and the weekend stretching ahead, filled with possibilities.


On a crisp Saturday morning in early autumn, Alex and Jamie, an unmarried couple who had been living together for three years, decided it was the perfect day to tackle their grocery shopping and a few routine errands. They lived in a cozy suburban home in the United States, nestled between two maple trees that painted the front yard in shades of amber and scarlet.

After a lazy breakfast of coffee and toast, they both got ready and headed out to the car, a reliable old sedan that had seen them through many adventures. Jamie, always the navigator, checked the list on her phone as Alex started the engine. "We need to hit the grocery store first, then the post office, and finally, the hardware store," she said, tapping her screen for emphasis.

Alex nodded, backing out of the driveway. "Got it. Any specific brands you're looking for at the grocery store?" he asked, glancing over.

"Just the usual," Jamie replied, "and maybe some of those organic apples you like."

They arrived at the grocery store and split up, each taking a cart. Alex headed to the produce section while Jamie made her way to the dairy aisle. They met up at the checkout, laughing about the overflowing carts. "I think we bought enough food to last us a month," Alex joked, placing a carton of eggs on the conveyor belt.

Next, they drove to the post office. Jamie had a package to ship, and Alex needed to mail out some important documents. The line was short, and they chatted with the postal worker about the upcoming holidays.

Finally, they arrived at the hardware store. Alex browsed the tools section while Jamie picked up some new light bulbs and a roll of caulk. They found a quiet corner to sit and enjoy the small talk with a store employee about recent home improvement projects.

By the time they returned home, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over their neighborhood. They unloaded the car, feeling a sense of accomplishment. As they settled back into their routine, they knew that these simple errands were just another chapter in their shared life.


Ethan and Maya lived in a cozy bungalow on the outskirts of a small town in the United States. Though they weren't married, their bond was strong, built on years of shared experiences and mutual respect. On this particular Saturday morning, they decided to tackle their list of errands together.

The sun was just peeking over the horizon as they stepped out of their home. Ethan, with his usual meticulous nature, double-checked that they had everything they needed: a reusable shopping bag, their wallets, and a notepad for the grocery list. Maya, ever the spontaneous one, grabbed her phone to check the weather forecast.

They hopped into Ethan's old but reliable sedan. As they drove to the grocery store, Maya scrolled through her phone, occasionally pointing out interesting articles to Ethan, who listened with a half-smile while keeping his eyes on the road.

At the grocery store, they split up to cover more ground. Ethan headed to the produce section, carefully selecting the freshest vegetables while Maya navigated the aisles, grabbing essentials like milk, bread, and their favorite coffee. They met up at the checkout counter, laughing about the ridiculous number of items they had accumulated.

Next on their list was the post office. Ethan dropped off a package he had been meaning to send for weeks, while Maya picked up a few letters that had arrived the previous day. Their final stop was the hardware store, where they needed to pick up a few tools for a DIY project they had planned for the weekend.

As they drove back home, the car filled with the scent of fresh groceries and the promise of a productive afternoon, Ethan and Maya felt a sense of contentment. Their day might have been filled with mundane tasks, but it was these small moments together that strengthened their relationship, reminding them of the joy in sharing life's simple routines.


The apartment smelled like garlic and burnt butter by six o'clock, which Marisol insisted was fine. "It's rustic," she said, scraping the darkened bits off the pan. "It's supposed to smell like something happened here."

Dev was setting the table, counting forks twice because he'd lost track. He had come home late from the clinic and still had the crease of his ID badge on his shirt. "Do we own six matching wine glasses?"

"We own four. Sarah and Tomás get the mason jars. They'll think it's charming."

"They'll think we're broke."

"We are broke."

He laughed and went to find the jars. In the living room he moved the laundry basket into the bedroom, then moved it again, into the closet, where it wouldn't be discovered by anyone looking for a coat.

The guests came at seven-fifteen, apologizing for the parking situation, holding a bottle of Malbec and a bakery box. Marisol hugged everyone with a wooden spoon still in her hand. Dev took the coats and stacked them on the bed, on top of the laundry basket he'd forgotten to hide better, and then just shut the door.

Dinner was chicken thighs with lemon and too many capers, and the salad Dev had assembled with a heavy hand on the red onion. Nobody minded. Tomás talked about his brother's divorce. Sarah told a long story about a coworker who kept a parrot in the office. Marisol refilled the mason jars.

Around ten, Dev started collecting plates and Marisol said not yet, sit down, and he sat down. The candle had burned into the holder. Someone suggested coffee and nobody made it.

At eleven-thirty, alone in the kitchen with the water running, Marisol said, "That was good, right?" and Dev, drying a mason jar, said it was.


The Levinsons' apartment smelled like garlic by four o'clock. Dara had started the braise early, worried it wouldn't be tender enough, and now the kitchen windows were fogged over gray-white.

"You're going to overcook it," Michael said, pulling on a sweater. He'd been sent out for wine twice already and had come back the second time with a bottle of orange something the guy at the shop had recommended.

"I'm not going to overcook it. It's a braise. That's the whole point."

He kissed the back of her neck and went to deal with the table. They had four chairs that matched and two that didn't, and he spent longer than necessary arranging them so the mismatch looked deliberate. The tablecloth had a wine stain from Thanksgiving that Dara had sworn she'd get out.

"Napkins?"

"Second drawer. Not the paper ones."

Priya and Tom arrived at six-forty with a lemon tart and apologies about parking. Ben came at seven, alone, which everyone noticed and no one mentioned. Michael took coats and poured the orange wine, which turned out to be strange and good, and Dara caught his eye across the room in a way that said *fine, you were right.*

The braise held. Priya asked for the recipe and Dara admitted she'd changed it three times. Tom told a long story about his boss that got funnier the drunker he got telling it. Ben talked about his sister's kids, and then, later, about the apartment he was moving into in March, and Dara refilled his glass without saying anything.

They were washing dishes at midnight, Michael drying because he claimed she never got the pans clean enough.

"That went well," she said.

"He seemed okay."

"He seemed okay."

Michael hung the towel on the oven handle. Outside, someone's car alarm went off and then stopped.


Marisol found the good tablecloth in the linen closet, folded beneath a stack of towels that hadn't been touched since they moved in. She shook it out over the dining table while Ben stood at the stove, tasting the sauce off a wooden spoon.

"Too much oregano?" he asked.

"There's no such thing." She reached past him for the wine opener and he shifted sideways without looking, the way he did, the two of them navigating the galley kitchen like people who had memorized each other's dimensions.

The Nowaks were bringing bread. Priya and Dev were bringing a bottle of something and their four-year-old, who would fall asleep on the couch by eight. Ben had made too much chicken, as always, and Marisol had bought a lemon tart from the bakery on Prospect because she'd run out of time and no one would care.

At 6:40 she lit the candles. At 6:45 she blew them out because it seemed too early and the wax would be gone by dessert. Ben laughed at her from the sink.

"What?"

"Nothing. You do this every time."

The doorbell rang at 7:12. Everyone arrived within four minutes of each other, coats piling on the bed in the guest room, Dev's daughter immediately locating the cat under the radiator.

Dinner was loud. Someone spilled water and it wasn't a problem. Ben told the story about his boss and the parking garage, and Marisol let him tell it wrong because he told it better that way. Karen Nowak had opinions about the new bike lanes. There was an argument about whether the movie was actually good or just long.

They left at eleven, in stages, with hugs at the door.

Marisol carried plates. Ben ran the water hot.

"That went well," she said.

"You always say that."

"It's always true."


Dana got home at four-thirty with two bags of groceries and a bouquet of grocery-store tulips already drooping. Ellen was in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, arguing with a jar of capers.

"They're supposed to be in brine," Ellen said. "These are in oil. Everything's in oil now."

"It'll be fine." Dana set the tulips in the sink and started hunting for the vase they only used four times a year. She found it behind the crockpot, dusty, and rinsed it out while Ellen chopped shallots.

They'd invited the Merrills and Ellen's coworker Priya, who was newish to town and had mentioned twice that she didn't know many people yet. Four guests, one table that comfortably seated four, and a folding chair from the garage that Dana wiped down with a paper towel.

"Did you vacuum the hallway?" Ellen asked.

"I vacuumed the parts people see."

"That's the hallway."

Dana vacuumed the hallway.

The chicken went in at six. At six-fifteen Priya texted that she was bringing wine, and at six-twenty the Merrills texted that Ben's mother had called and they'd be twenty minutes late. Ellen turned the oven down and stood in front of it with her hands on her hips, recalculating.

"We could put out the cheese early," Dana said.

"We're putting out the cheese early."

Priya arrived first and helped set the table, which broke the awkwardness faster than any of them expected. The Merrills came in loud and apologizing, Ben holding a pie he admitted was store-bought. The chicken was slightly dry. Nobody said so. The capers, in oil, were fine.

They ate until eight-thirty and talked until ten, and Priya laughed hard at something Ben said about his mother's opinions on mulch.

Afterward, Dana washed and Ellen dried, both of them a little wine-slow, agreeing that it had gone well and that they should do it more often, knowing they probably wouldn't for months.


The apartment smelled like garlic and burnt rosemary. Dana had left the sprigs in the pan too long while she was texting her sister, and now the kitchen carried a faint smoky sweetness she hoped would read as intentional.

"Do we own four matching wine glasses?" Malik called from the dining room.

"We own three. The fourth one broke in June."

"So somebody drinks from a mug."

"Somebody drinks from the tumbler with the flamingos."

He came into the kitchen holding it up like evidence. Dana laughed and told him to put it at his own place, since he was the host and hosts absorbed the indignities. Malik set the table with the flamingo glass at his seat, then went back and straightened all the forks, which Dana pretended not to notice because it made him happy.

They had forty minutes. Malik pulled the chicken thighs from the marinade and laid them in the cast iron while Dana chopped fennel, and for a while neither of them said anything except *behind you* and *is this too much salt*. He tasted the vinaigrette off the back of a spoon and added more mustard without asking, which she allowed.

The Ortegas arrived twelve minutes late with a bottle of Malbec and a story about parking. Josh from Malik's office came at seven-thirty with nothing, apologizing twice, and Dana told him she preferred guests who owed her something.

Dinner ran long. The chicken was better than the fennel salad, which everyone was polite about. Around ten, Sofia Ortega spilled a little wine on the tablecloth, and Malik covered the stain with a folded napkin and said it had character now. Josh stayed until eleven-forty.

Afterward, Dana washed and Malik dried. He asked if it had gone well. She said it had, and handed him the flamingo tumbler last, and he set it in the cupboard where it lived.


The Table by Six

Marisol found the good tablecloth folded in the linen closet behind the extra towels, creased into stiff squares from a year of neglect. She shook it out over the dining table while Dev stood in the kitchen doorway, drying his hands on a dish towel.

"It's got a stain," he said.

"It's got a candlestick going over it."

He came and helped her straighten the edges, and they worked the way they always did, without much talking, until the corners hung even. Then he went back to the chicken, which he'd been braising since four, and which had filled the house with the smell of garlic and white wine and something faintly burned along the bottom of the pot.

"Did you buy bread?" she called.

"I bought bread."

"The good bread or the other bread?"

"The other bread," he admitted. "The good bakery closed at three."

Marisol found the wine glasses, all six of them, though two were from a different set and one had a chip on the rim, which she set at her own place. At 5:40 she went upstairs and changed her shirt twice. At 5:50 Dev asked her where they kept the trivets, and she told him, and he found them exactly where she said they'd be, which annoyed him slightly.

The Kims arrived at 6:10 with a bottle of wine and their daughter's soccer schedule as an excuse for being late. Jenny came at 6:25, apologetic, with grocery-store flowers still in their plastic sleeve. Marisol cut the stems at an angle over the sink and put them in the pitcher because the vase was somewhere in the basement.

The chicken was good. The bread was fine. Around nine, someone knocked over a glass — the chipped one, as it happened — and Dev came back from the kitchen with paper towels, and everyone kept talking while he crouched under the table, wiping the floor.


Marcus found the good tablecloth in the linen closet, folded under a stack of towels neither of them remembered buying.

"It's wrinkled," he said, holding it up in the kitchen doorway.

Priya didn't look away from the stove. "It's always wrinkled. Just pull it tight at the corners." She lifted the lid off the pot and steam bloomed against her glasses. "Did you get bread?"

"I got two kinds. The seeded one and the plain one, because I couldn't remember which one Dave hates."

"Dave doesn't hate bread. You're thinking of Jenna and gluten."

Marcus set the loaves on the counter and started clearing the mail off the table—catalogs, a jury summons he'd been ignoring, a birthday card from his aunt that had arrived three weeks late. He shoved it all into a drawer that no longer closed properly.

By six-forty the apartment smelled like cumin and burnt garlic. Priya had scraped the black bits out of the pan and started over, swearing quietly, and Marcus had put on a record and then taken it off because he decided it was trying too hard. He lit a candle instead. Then he blew it out, because it was a Christmas candle and it was April.

They arrived at seven-fifteen, Dave and Jenna and Jenna's cousin who was in town for a conference and whose name Marcus lost immediately. Everyone stood in the kitchen because that's where people stand. Priya handed out wine in mismatched glasses. Dave told a long story about a parking ticket he was contesting on principle.

The food was good. Nobody mentioned the tablecloth.

Around eleven, after the door closed, Priya sat down on the floor with her back against the dishwasher.

"That was fine," she said.

"That was fine," Marcus agreed, and handed her the last of the wine.


The lasagna had been in the oven for twenty minutes when Priya realized she'd forgotten to buy bread.

"I can go," Daniel said, already reaching for his keys off the hook by the door. He was still wearing the shirt he'd worn to work, though he'd rolled the sleeves up, which was his version of changing clothes.

"The good bakery closes at six."

"Then I'll get the grocery store kind and we'll pretend."

While he was gone, Priya set the table for six, then remembered the Hendersons were bringing their daughter and hunted in the hall closet for the folding chair. It had a wobble. She wedged a coaster under one leg and decided that was good enough. She lit two candles, blew one out because it smelled too strongly of fig, and put on a playlist Daniel had made three years ago for a road trip.

He came back with a baguette and a bag of frozen peas she hadn't asked for.

"They were on sale."

"We have peas."

"We have a philosophy about peas now?"

She laughed and took the bread from him, and he went to shower, and by the time the doorbell rang at seven-fifteen he had a different shirt on and had found the wine opener that had been missing since New Year's.

Rachel Henderson brought flowers. Their daughter, who was nine, immediately found the cat under the couch. Marcus arrived twenty minutes late from the airport, apologizing, still pulling his carry-on.

The lasagna came out slightly burnt on one corner. Daniel served that corner to himself without saying anything about it. Priya noticed and pressed her foot against his under the table.

They talked about a neighbor's fence dispute, about whether anyone still used their cable subscription, about Marcus's brother's new baby. Someone spilled water. The candle burned down to a nub.

At eleven, standing in the kitchen with the dishwasher humming, Daniel said, "That was nice."

"It was," Priya said, and handed him a towel.


Marguerite had been chopping shallots for twenty minutes when Dev came in from the garage carrying two folding chairs, one under each arm.

"We only need six," she said, not looking up.

"Seven if Priya brings her sister." He set them by the wall, then leaned over the cutting board. "That's a lot of shallots."

"It's for the vinaigrette and the braise."

He kissed the top of her head and went to deal with the ice, which he'd forgotten to buy and was now attempting to solve by emptying both trays into a mixing bowl and refilling them. Marguerite watched him do this out of the corner of her eye and decided not to comment.

The house looked reasonable. They had spent Saturday morning arguing amiably about whether to move the bookshelf, and had not moved it. Dev put on a record, then took it off, then put it back on lower. At six-fifteen he changed his shirt because the first one smelled faintly of garage.

The Kims arrived early with a bottle of red and an apology for being early. Priya came alone. Tom and Alice were forty minutes late and unrepentant, which surprised no one. Everyone stood in the kitchen despite the perfectly good living room.

The braise was good. The bread was slightly overtoasted. Someone spilled wine on the tablecloth and Marguerite said it didn't matter, and it mostly didn't. Tom told a long story about his neighbor's fence that got funnier the longer it went on. Dev refilled glasses without being asked and laughed too loudly at his own joke about the ice.

At eleven-thirty the last of them left. Marguerite started the dishwasher; Dev collected glasses from the windowsill and the arm of the couch.

"That went well," he said.

"It did." She turned off the kitchen light. "You forgot the ice."

"Nobody noticed."

"I noticed."


Marisol found the good tablecloth crumpled at the back of the linen closet, smelling faintly of cedar and last Thanksgiving.

"It's wrinkled," she called.

"So put a bowl on it," Dev said from the kitchen, where he was arguing with a chicken. He'd read that you could spatchcock a bird in under two minutes. It had been eleven.

She came in and watched him wrestle the spine out with kitchen shears, his glasses fogging from the oven he'd preheated too early. "You're supposed to press down on the breastbone."

"I know what I'm supposed to do."

She took the shears from him anyway and finished it, and he let her, and then he washed his hands and started on the potatoes because that was the thing he could actually do without incident. They worked around each other in the narrow galley, a choreography twelve years old — her reaching over his shoulder for the salt, him stepping back without looking.

The Ferrises arrived at seven with a bottle of wine and their four-year-old, who had a fever they hadn't mentioned on the phone. Amy Ferris kept apologizing. The kid fell asleep on the couch under Dev's fleece jacket before the salad came out.

Dinner was fine. The chicken was dry at the edges and good in the middle. Tom Ferris talked about his brother's divorce for longer than anyone wanted. Marisol lit the candles and then blew them out because the smoke bothered the sleeping child.

They left at nine-forty, carrying the boy like a duffel bag.

Dev scraped plates. Marisol washed. Neither of them said anything for a while, and then she said, "The potatoes were good," and he said, "The potatoes were fine," and she flicked water at him, and they finished the dishes and went to bed.


Marisol had insisted on the tablecloth, the good one, even though Danny pointed out that Rob would inevitably spill something red on it. She smoothed the linen anyway while Danny stood at the counter, slicing shallots with the concentration of a man defusing something.

"You're crying," she said.

"I'm not crying. It's chemistry."

She kissed the back of his neck on her way to the fridge, where she found the salad greens still in the plastic clamshell and remembered she hadn't washed them. Outside, an ambulance went by on Delaney Street, and their neighbor's dog answered it.

The chicken went in at six. Danny opened a beer and drank half of it standing up, then remembered the candles and went digging in the hall closet, where he found a box of tapers from Christmas and a broken umbrella he'd been meaning to throw out for two years. Marisol changed her shirt twice and settled on the first one.

Rob and Priya arrived at seven with a bottle of Malbec and a story about the parking. Priya took off her shoes without being asked and Marisol said she didn't have to, and Priya said she wanted to. They ate in the kitchen because the dining room table was covered in Danny's tax paperwork, which he'd promised to move and hadn't.

The chicken was slightly overdone. Nobody mentioned it. Rob told a long story about his brother's boat and Danny laughed in the right places while quietly refilling everyone's glass. Marisol and Priya got into an argument about a movie neither of them had finished.

By eleven the candles were stubs. Danny walked them to the door and Marisol started the dishes, and when he came back she handed him a towel without turning around. Rob had, in fact, spilled something red.

"Told you," Danny said.

"Soak it," she said. "It'll come out."


The Fernandez-Okonkwo Dinner

Marisol had been chopping cilantro for ten minutes when Adaeze came in from the garage carrying two bags of ice and a look of mild betrayal.

"They were out of the good tortilla chips," Adaeze said. "I got the ones in the yellow bag."

"The yellow bag is fine."

"The yellow bag is not fine, but it's what we have." She dumped the ice into the cooler on the back porch and came back rubbing her hands on her jeans. "Do you want me to do the guacamole or are you doing the guacamole?"

"I'm doing the guacamole. You can do the drinks."

They had lived in the house on Rosedale for six years, long enough that the kitchen had worn grooves into their movements—Adaeze reaching over Marisol's shoulder for the good cutting board, Marisol stepping left without looking when she heard the fridge open.

Priya and Tom arrived first, twenty minutes early, which Adaeze had predicted. Then Wes, alone, because Sam had a work thing. Then Marisol's cousin Danny, who was not technically invited but had texted *heard there's food?* at four o'clock.

The chicken took longer than the recipe claimed. Everyone stood around the counter eating the yellow-bag chips and it turned out nobody minded them. Tom told a long story about a raccoon in his attic. Wes and Adaeze got into a friendly disagreement about whether the new grocery store on Fifth was actually better or just newer.

At some point Marisol looked up and saw Adaeze refilling Priya's wine, laughing at something with her head tipped back, and felt the specific contentment of a Saturday going well.

They ate at nine. Danny did the dishes without being asked. By eleven-thirty everyone was gone, and Adaeze was standing barefoot in the kitchen eating the last of the guacamole with a spoon.

"That was good," she said.

"That was good," Marisol agreed.


The Delgados had been arguing about the tablecloth for twenty minutes, which meant they weren't really arguing about the tablecloth.

"The blue one has that stain," Marisol said, holding it up to the kitchen light.

"Nobody's going to see it under the serving dishes." Ray was crouched in front of the oven, squinting at the chicken. "Does this look done to you?"

She came over and pressed a finger into the thigh. "Ten more minutes. And the stain is right where Diane sits."

"Then Diane sits somewhere else."

They'd invited four people, which in their house counted as a crowd. Ray had spent Saturday morning at the hardware store buying a folding chair to replace the one that had collapsed under his brother at Thanksgiving. Marisol had made her mother's rice and then made it again when the first batch scorched.

The doorbell rang at six-forty, ten minutes early, and they looked at each other with a flash of shared panic before Ray wiped his hands and went to answer it. Diane and Paul came in carrying a bottle of wine and a plastic clamshell of grocery-store brownies, apologizing for being early, and Marisol said don't be silly, come in, and shot Ray a look over their shoulders that meant *the candles*.

He lit the candles.

Kevin and Aisha arrived twenty minutes later with a story about parking. The chicken was slightly dry, which Ray apologized for twice and nobody else mentioned. Paul asked about the bathroom renovation. Aisha and Marisol got into a long, laughing disagreement about a movie neither of them had liked.

By eleven the wine bottles were empty and everyone was standing in the entryway putting on coats, saying they should do this more often.

Afterward, Ray washed and Marisol dried, and neither of them said anything for a while.

"It went okay," she said finally.

"It went fine," he said.


Miriam found the good tablecloth folded at the back of the linen closet, still creased from the last time they'd used it, which had been Thanksgiving. She shook it out over the dining table while Daniel stood at the stove, poking at a pot of lentil soup with a wooden spoon.

"Do you think it needs more cumin?" he asked.

"You always think it needs more cumin."

He added more cumin.

The Fenwicks were coming at seven, and Ravi and Jean around the same time, which meant everyone would arrive at 7:20 and stand in the entryway apologizing about traffic on Route 9. Miriam set out five plates, then went back for a sixth because Jean's sister was in town.

Daniel washed lettuce in the colander, tearing it by hand the way his mother had. He'd bought a baguette that afternoon and it had gone slightly stale in the car, so he sliced it and put it in the oven with olive oil to make it deliberate.

"Did you light the candles?" he called.

"It's not dark yet."

"Light them anyway."

She lit them. The house smelled like garlic and burnt match.

The Fenwicks arrived first, at 7:15, with a bottle of wine that Daniel set on the counter and forgot to open. Ravi came with his sister-in-law, who was tall and quiet and turned out to know a great deal about municipal water systems, which somehow carried them through the salad course.

Miriam refilled water glasses. Daniel told the story about the raccoon in the garage, and Miriam corrected two details, and he let her.

By eleven the guests were gone. Daniel stacked the plates while Miriam blew out the candles, and they stood in the kitchen a moment, not talking, the dishwasher already humming.

"That was nice," she said.

"The soup needed more cumin," he said, and she laughed at him.


Marguerite found the good tablecloth folded in the linen closet, still creased from the last time they'd used it, back in March. She shook it out over the dining table while Dev stood in the kitchen doorway with a wooden spoon, arguing with himself about whether the braise needed another hour.

"It needs another hour," he said.

"They're coming at seven."

"Then it needs forty minutes and a lot of confidence."

She laughed and went to find the candles. The good ones were gone—she'd burned them during the power outage in January—so she set out two mismatched tapers, one cream and one a strange dusty rose from a Christmas gift set. Dev came out to look and said they were fine, and then went back to shove the pot roast around.

At six-fifteen he burned his thumb on the oven rack and swore in two languages. Marguerite ran it under cold water and held it there longer than necessary. The kitchen smelled like garlic and browned onions and, faintly, like the lemon cleaner she'd used on the counters an hour before.

The Ramirezes arrived seven minutes late with a bottle of wine and their daughter's soccer schedule as an excuse. Kim brought a store-bought pie and apologized for it three separate times, and Dev told her three separate times that store pie was the superior pie, which was not true but made her stop.

They ate. The braise was fine. Somebody knocked over a water glass and it soaked the corner of the tablecloth and nobody cared much. Talk drifted to a neighbor's fence dispute, then to Kim's mother's hip, then to nothing in particular.

At eleven Marguerite stood at the sink with her sleeves pushed up while Dev dried, and they went over the evening the way they always did—who said what, who looked tired—until the counters were clear and the lights went off, one room at a time.


Marguerite had been chopping onions for ten minutes, which meant she was crying, which meant Devon kept making sympathetic noises from the doorway without actually coming in to help.

"You could set the table," she said.

"I'm mentally setting it."

He did, eventually—the mismatched plates they'd accumulated over eleven years, the cloth napkins his mother had given them that they only used when people came over. He counted out five settings, then remembered Priya was bringing her sister, and added a sixth by pulling the desk chair in from the office.

The chicken was in the oven by six. Marguerite went to change out of the shirt she'd spilled olive oil on, and Devon stood at the counter tasting the sauce with a spoon he then rinsed and put back in the drawer, which she would have objected to if she'd seen it.

"Do we have wine?" she called.

"We have that bottle from the Hendersons."

"That's been in the pantry since Christmas."

"Wine doesn't go bad."

"Wine absolutely goes bad."

He drove to the store and got two bottles and a bag of ice they didn't need. By the time he got back the house smelled like garlic and rosemary and Marguerite had lit the candles too early, so they were already burning down.

The guests came at seven-fifteen, all at once, the way people do. Priya's sister was named Anjali and was quieter than Priya but laughed harder. Someone spilled a glass of red on the tablecloth and everyone said it was fine, it was fine, it was an old tablecloth—which was true.

They ate for two hours. Devon told the story about the raccoon in the garage and Marguerite corrected two details, and he let her.

At eleven-thirty they stood in the kitchen with the dishwasher running, not talking, just leaning against opposite counters, tired in a way that felt earned.


Marguerite tasted the sauce and made a face. "Too much lemon."

"There's no such thing," Dev said, but he came over and tried it anyway, then reached past her for the sugar bowl. He added a pinch, stirred, tasted again. "Okay. Maybe a little."

They had ninety minutes. The Ferreiras were always fifteen minutes early, which meant seventy-five. Marguerite had already decided not to mention the dust on the bookshelves.

Dev put on the playlist he'd made in September and never updated. He set the table with the good plates and then, halfway through, switched to the everyday ones because the good ones had a chip he'd forgotten about and it would bother him all night. Marguerite watched him do this from the stove and said nothing.

"Did you get bread?" she asked.

He stopped. "I got wine."

"You got wine instead of bread."

"I got wine and I forgot bread." He was already finding his keys. "Fifteen minutes."

While he was gone she wiped the counters twice, moved the mail pile into the bedroom, and lit the candle her sister had given them that smelled vaguely like a hotel lobby. She blew it out and opened a window instead.

He came back with bread, and also flowers, which was excessive, and she told him so while filling a jar with water.

The Ferreiras arrived at 6:47. Tom brought a bottle they'd been given at a wedding; Ana brought her mother's cake. Everyone stood in the kitchen for a while, which is where everyone always stands, and Dev kept trying to move them into the living room until he gave up and got out more glasses.

The chicken was slightly dry. Nobody minded. Ana laughed so hard at something Tom said that she had to put her fork down.

At eleven, Marguerite washed and Dev dried, both of them quiet, the window still open.


Marta found the good tablecloth folded in the linen closet, still creased from the last time they'd used it, which had been Thanksgiving. She shook it out over the dining table while Dev worked on the chicken, standing at the counter with his sleeves pushed up, patting the skin dry with paper towels.

"Do we have rosemary?" he called.

"You bought some Tuesday."

"Did I?"

She came into the kitchen and found it behind the milk, a plastic clamshell of it, slightly wilted. He took it from her without looking up and said thanks in the automatic way of eighteen years.

The Kowalskis arrived at six-forty, ten minutes early, with a bottle of Malbec and their daughter's college application news, which took up the first twenty minutes. Renu came at seven with store-bought tiramisu and an apology for her hair, which she'd cut too short. Everyone stood in the kitchen even though Marta had cleaned the living room. The chicken took longer than the recipe said.

They ate at seven-thirty. Dev told the story about the rental car in Albuquerque, and Marta let him tell it wrong—the dog had been a shepherd mix, not a beagle—because interrupting would take longer than letting it go. Under the table, she slipped off her shoes.

Jim Kowalski helped clear. Renu wanted to see the bathroom Dev had retiled himself, and stood in the doorway saying the grout lines were straight, really straight, and Dev said it took four tries.

They left a little after ten. Marta ran hot water over the roasting pan and let it soak. Dev put away the folding chairs, then came back and leaned against the counter with a dish towel over his shoulder.

"That was good," he said.

"The chicken was dry."

"Nobody noticed."

"You noticed."

He shrugged and picked up a plate.


Marisol found the good tablecloth folded in the linen closet, still creased from the last time they'd used it, back in February. She shook it out over the dining table while Danny hauled the extra chairs up from the basement, one under each arm, banging the doorframe on his way through.

"Watch the paint," she said.

"I watched it. It watched me back."

She smoothed the creases with her palms, then gave up and put the water glasses down over the worst of them. In the kitchen, Danny had the chicken out on the counter, patting it dry with paper towels while the oven ticked toward four hundred. He'd bought too much garlic again. He always bought too much garlic.

"The Hendersons are bringing wine," Marisol said. "So don't open the good bottle."

"The good bottle's for us. Tuesday. When they're gone and I'm on the couch."

She laughed and stole a slice of the cucumber he was cutting for the salad.

At six-forty, headlights swung across the front window. Marisol did a last check of the bathroom—towel straight, candle lit—and Danny turned the music down two notches, which was his version of formality. Then the doorbell, and Kate and Rob crowding into the entryway with a bottle of red and a plate of brownies wrapped in foil, apologizing for the brownies being store-bought, and everyone saying it didn't matter, and Marisol hugging Kate around the plate.

Dinner ran long. The chicken came out a little dry at the edges, which nobody mentioned but Danny mentioned twice. Rob told a story about his boss's boat that took eleven minutes. Kate helped clear plates over Marisol's objections.

At eleven, standing in the ruined kitchen, Danny rinsed and Marisol loaded, and they didn't say much, and it was fine.


Marisol found the good tablecloth folded at the bottom of the linen closet, smelling faintly of cedar. She shook it out over the dining table while Dev stood at the stove, poking at a pot of rice that had started to catch.

"It's sticking," he said.

"Turn it down. Lid on."

"I did turn it down."

She came over and turned it down further, and he made a face at her, and she kissed the side of his head and went back to the table. Four plates. They'd only ever needed four, since the Kowalskis were the only people they saw regularly anymore, but she counted them twice anyway.

Dev had been marinating chicken thighs since noon, which was too long, probably, but he refused to hear it. He'd gotten the recipe from his mother over the phone in a conversation that lasted forty minutes and involved a lot of arguing about paprika. Now the kitchen smelled like garlic and smoke, and he propped the back door open with a shoe.

"They're going to think we burned the house down," Marisol said.

"They'll be fifteen minutes late anyway."

They were twenty. Ellen brought a bottle of wine and a bag of clementines, apologizing for the clementines, saying she'd panicked at the store. Tom took off his shoes without being asked and left them neatly by the door, toes out.

The chicken was good. The rice had a crust on the bottom that Dev insisted was intentional, and Tom, loyally, ate two helpings of it. They talked about Ellen's sister, about the roof, about a movie none of them could remember the ending of. At some point Marisol got up to make coffee and found Dev had already put the water on.

Afterward, dishes in the sink, the two of them stood in the quiet kitchen not saying much. Dev handed her a clementine. She took it.


Marcus found the good tablecloth in the linen closet, folded beneath the beach towels they hadn't touched since August. He shook it out over the dining table while Elena stood at the stove, pressing the back of a spoon against garlic in a pan.

"It's got a stain," he said.

"Where?"

"Corner. Wine, probably. From Thanksgiving."

She didn't look up. "Put the candles there. Nobody looks at corners."

He arranged the candles, then the plates—four of them, the ones without chips—and folded the napkins into rough triangles because neither of them had ever learned anything fancier. Outside, a car door slammed, but it was only their neighbor coming home from work.

Elena had made the same chicken she always made, the one with lemon and too much rosemary, and it was already filling the kitchen with a smell that made the house feel like it belonged to grown-ups. Marcus opened the wine to let it breathe, which he'd read about somewhere and now did religiously, and poured himself a small glass to test it.

"Testing," she said.

"Quality control."

Dev and Priya arrived twenty minutes late with a store-bought pie and apologies about the parkway. Elena hugged them both at the door while Marcus took coats to the bedroom and dropped them on the bed. They ate at the table with the stained cloth and nobody mentioned it. Dev told a long story about his brother-in-law's boat that stopped being about the boat halfway through. Priya asked about the bathroom renovation, and Elena said don't get her started, then got started.

By eleven the candles had burned down unevenly and the pie was mostly gone. At the door there was the usual round of promises to do this more often.

Afterward, Marcus washed and Elena dried, and neither of them said much, which was fine.


Marguerite discovered the chard had gone slimy at the back of the crisper drawer around four o'clock, which meant Dev had to drive to the Kroger on Buchanan while she started the chicken. He came back with chard, a bag of ice, and a bouquet of grocery-store tulips that were already drooping.

"They'll perk up," he said, running water into a jar.

"They will not."

"They'll perk up in the jar."

He was wrong, but she let him have it. She had the thighs browning in the cast iron and the kitchen smelled like garlic and rendered fat, and Dev put on the playlist he made for dinner parties — mostly Nina Simone, a little Talking Heads — and started in on the dishes she'd already dirtied.

The Reyeses arrived at seven with a bottle of wine they'd clearly received as a gift, judging by the ribbon still on the neck. Tom Whitlow came at seven-twenty, apologizing, holding his phone like evidence. Everyone stood in the kitchen even though there were chairs eight feet away.

Dinner ran long. Ana Reyes told the story about her sister's wedding and the ice sculpture, and Dev laughed so hard he had to put his fork down, which he always did, which Marguerite always found faintly embarrassing and also liked. Someone spilled wine. Tom, twice divorced, said something quiet and true about being alone in a house, and there was a pause, and then Marguerite got up for the pie.

They left at eleven-fifteen. Dev started rinsing plates and Marguerite blew out the candles and sat down at the emptied table, tired in a good way.

"The tulips didn't perk up," she called.

"Give them till morning."

In the morning they were worse. He threw them out without saying anything, and she didn't mention it.


The lasagna had been in the oven for forty minutes when Dana realized she'd forgotten to buy bread.

"I can go," Marcus said, already reaching for his keys off the hook by the door. He was still in the gray sweater he'd worn to work, sleeves pushed to his elbows.

"The good place closes at six."

"Then I'll get the okay place." He kissed the side of her head and left, the storm door banging behind him the way it always did, the way he kept meaning to fix.

Dana wiped down the counter, then wiped it again. She set out four plates, the ones from his grandmother, and counted forks twice. Through the window over the sink she could see the neighbor's dog nosing along the fence line in the blue light. She turned the oven down twenty degrees and hoped that was right.

Marcus came back with a baguette and a bag of ice nobody had asked for. "It was on sale," he said, which was what he said about most things.

Priya and Tom arrived at seven with a bottle of wine and their eleven-month-old, who fell asleep in the car seat and stayed asleep through the whole meal, which everyone agreed was a small miracle.

The lasagna was slightly burnt at one corner. Nobody minded. Tom told a long story about a coworker who'd tried to microwave a hard-boiled egg, and Marcus laughed so hard he had to put his glass down. Dana refilled water. Priya asked about the bathroom renovation, and Dana said, "Ask him, it's his fault," and Marcus said, "It's the contractor's fault," and Priya said that's what Tom always said too.

They left a little after ten. Dana rinsed plates while Marcus dried, both of them quiet, comfortable. He bumped her hip with his to move her over.

"That went well," she said.

"You forgot the salad," he said.

She had. Neither of them cared.