The jar of spaghetti sauce Charlie’d stuck in the microwave was only on its first revolution when I yanked the door open and pulled it out. “What did I do wrong?” Charlie demanded. “You’re supposed to take the lid off first, Dad. Metal’s bad for microwaves.” I swiftly removed the lid as I spoke, poured half the sauce into a bowl, and then put the bowl inside the microwave and the jar back in the fridge; I fixed the time and pressed start. Charlie watched my adjustments with pursed lips. “Did I get the noodles right?” I looked in the pan on the stove—the source of the smell that had alerted me.
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