Back inside, a cabinet displayed labeled containers—napkins, runners, candles, spare etiquette. Evelyn laughed softly at the last one. “A family joke?” “A philosophy,” his mother replied, smiling perfectly. “Order makes space for joy.” Evelyn considered joy that did not need a label. Or was that not possible?
At the sink, his mother demonstrated her “quiet rinse.” “Noise agitates, and agitation travels,” she said, barely rippling the water. Evelyn mirrored the motion. “Lovely,” the woman approved. The praise managed to both brighten and tighten at once. Evelyn was feeling suffocated.