We’re eating together like a family, and the smile Cal sends me over his glass of chocolate milk is the icing on the cake. The grand slam. The winning shot at the three-point line as the buzzer goes off, and two little girls squeal with joyful glee from the sidelines. I’m that little girl again. And he’s my star. The pumpkin puree leaks out of every misshapen pasta pouch, the sauce is broken, and the garlic bread is burnt to a crisp. Without a doubt, it’s the best meal I’ve ever had.
