The grand living room of our Chicago townhouse was so crowded that every breath tasted like expensive cologne, roasted prime rib, and champagne.
Crystal glasses chimed, relatives laughed, and warm voices filled every corner of the house. The tiny baby I had once held against my chest on a freezing winter night had somehow become a tall, handsome twenty-five-year-old man.
My son, Ethan, stood near the center of the room in a crisp white dress shirt, holding a champagne glass as he smiled at our relatives.
