AZALEA’S POV
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The lasagna sat steaming in its dish, the top layer a quilt of molten cheese bronzed at the edges, kissing the brown, see-through glass. It smells rich with love. I glance over the white decorated table at Corbin, my fingers twisting the extra cloth hanging over the edge, “You didn’t burn it.” I would have actually wondered where he bought it if I didn’t witness him making it with my own eyes. Corbin smugly digs the spoon into the sliced lasagna, leaning over to pick up Lyra’s plate and dishes for her, and then me, and then my mom before dishing for himself last.
Mom stares at him like he has a second head, and I know exactly why.
Men eat first.
Dad always ate first.
Elion always ate first.
And here Corbin is, selflessly serving us like he isn’t our guest, but our ser
