He pulls open the fridge. It’s nearly empty, aside from a case of Miller Lite and a dozen or so half-empty condiment bottles. “I’ve got beer too or tap water.” “I’m good,” I say. “But you should refrigerate these two.” I pull the casserole and another dish out from the stack of containers and extend them to him. He eyes it suspiciously. “What is it?” “This one’s a cheese ball, and this is a tater tot casserole.” Charles collects the dishes and puts them in the fridge. He turns back toward me with knitted brows. “Why’d you bring me this stuff?”
