So when I married William, I tried to build the kind of holiday I had always wished for. I marinated chicken, labeled coolers, folded napkins into little fans, and planned everything carefully, even if Elaine was the only person who noticed.
William came up behind me and kissed my temple.
“Gaia, nobody is going to call the police if the forks are in the wrong basket.”
“Your sister might,” I said, sliding them slightly to the left.
He laughed, and I let myself laugh too.
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