Carolyn’s new dining room table had arrived two days before her mother asked to sleep over. A medium-sized, cherry wood, bar-style table she’d been visiting at Floyd’s Furniture for over three months. The display had begun to show the wear of prospective buyers trying out the chairs, the scrapes along the top caused by the scooting of the basket containing wooden grapes and pears, and even the slight cracks in the corners facing the store’s carpeted walkway. But Carolyn knew she’d be more careful when she owned it herself (certainly more than the young couple she’d seen with the peanut butter-faced toddler or the bearded man who’d sat alone pretending to deal out a deck of cards to imaginary players), because this would be her first big purchase since the divorce.