“You don’t want to come to a college dinner,” was my instinctive answer. “With you? I totally do.” I gazed up at him and offered rather pleadingly, “It’ll be boring, Toby.” “‘It’ll be boring, Toby,’ or—” he glared “—‘I’m ashamed of you, Toby’?” “God, I’m not ashamed of you. If I’m ashamed of anyone, it’s me.” He put his hands on his hips, like a very small but very determined fishwife. “That doesn’t help. I don’t want you ashamed of anybody.
