A Shared Table

You left a message late last night wanting to eat turkey dinner together. While the feast concluded, I found a small brass bread-and-butter plate left near your chair, holding a solitary clean roast turkey breast cube set beside a polished silver fork. Beside the plate, a miniature pewter salt cellar had tipped slightly against the linen runner, propped by a stray peppercorn. I planted my boots on the walnut wood, brushed the peppercorn aside, and righted the cellar with a muted click. Stepping up to the brass rim, I sat beside the carved portion and maintained my post. We share this meal in quiet order.