My 17-year-old daughter spent three days cooking for 23 people for my mother’s 67th birthday. Ten minutes before the party, Dad texted, “We decided to celebrate at a restaurant instead. Adults only.”
Then suggested she shouldn’t take it personally. Surely, she could freeze the leftovers. He had to go. The waiter had arrived. He hung up. I stared at my phone. Then called Mom. She answered...