The dining room held eighteen at table with one high chair that Kofi had assembled that morning with the focused competence of someone who had watched too many assembly videos and was applying all of them simultaneously.
Helena had arranged the flowers.
She had arranged them twice — once the night before and once that morning when she decided the first arrangement was technically correct but emotionally insufficient. The second arrangement was the one on the table. Nobody had commented on the first.
Mrs. Calloway had provided the space and excused herself from the reception, which was exactly the right decision and suggested she understood the room she had offered.
The food was good.
That was the first thing and the most important thing and the thing that Juno, who had coordinated the catering with the specific intensity of someone for whom food was love expressed operationally, would accept as his primary review.
They ate.
They talked.
