I hope this isn’t too subtle. I’ve been reading E. M. Forster and class is on my mind.
My mother has that same bowl.
That was what Beulah saw when she walked into the Stantons’ living room. Not the fine china, the taffeta curtains, or the fresh yogurt on the kitchen table. It was the plain, almost tacky bowl, one that her mother had kept half-blackened banana in for baking, that drew her attention.
“Hey, you’re early,” Nick came out from the back. “Oh…yeah, that. It’s my Gran’s. Dad wanted to chuck it, said it ‘broke the aesthetic.’ Whatever; I think it’s cool. We had it since forever.” He grabbed the keys. “Ready?”
“Yeah,” Beulah nodded, and smiled.