I made the mistake of cooking dinner for E-- on Saturday night. At least, at first, I thought it was a mistake. It may have been self-sabotage. My sister claimed this to be the case and I believe her because she’s an expert in self-sabotage.

     “She always finds something to complain about,” I said.

     “Well,” my sister said, “you did cook for a food critic.”

     Our conversation took place over the phone. I was driving home from Poppy’s and she was driving to or from something with AJ. I wasn’t ready to end the call.

     “Maybe I can come over?” I asked her. “I’m struggling.”

     “Not a good night,” she t...

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