(MCT) — I should have known better. My cousin’s seemingly casual invitation was too intent on success, the gleam in her eye a bit too bright. “Take a bite,” she said, holding out the stalk of rhubarb.

She spoke as if she were postponing her own pleasure, as if her bite of the scarlet stalk could wait if it meant her own dear young cousin could be happy. The rhubarb looked tasty. The pale green stalk looked like celery, but better, with brilliant red striations that caught the sunlight. The bottom knob of the stalk, where it had been pulled from the plant with a firm tug, appeared as polished as marble.