Tonight, we gathered around the same table. The smell of fresh-cut grass was in the air. Homemade roasted tomato sauce topped our pasta, with fresh, local, sweet italian sausage and basil from the garden. The wine was poured.
Fiona would not stop bawling. She cried and cried. We left the table, we came back. Maeve threw the bowl of pasta. She cried. I threw both girls under my arms and went inside. My wine and pasta were untouched. The girls both fell asleep without eating supper, they were so tired.
Going back outside, Liam and Aoife were in the middle of bickering when I returned to the table. I screamed at them. The neighbors heard. I shoveled in my pasta, drank my wine, and was glad I had ruminated on the beauty of last night, because otherwise I might have cried.