She was at the cottage to witness the biggest argument of our relationship thus far: I want to paint the wood walls white, and Charlie is adamantly opposed. We were in the kitchen, washing dishes, both of us in bathing suits, me with dish gloves on, and what started as a conversation became a full-out battle that was only broken up by Nan laugh-crying from her armchair. “John and Joyce used to have this debate every summer,” she said when we joined her in the living room. “It’s nice,” she said, “that so much has changed, but so little has, too.”
