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You’re a wrestler, right, Jake?” Dad asked, passing Jake more saag. My parents were in an Indian food phase. The evening’s entree consisted of limp spinach. God forbid we’d throw a few burgers on the grill and just have a barbecue when guests came over.Jake gave the bright green, mushy contents a wary glance but accepted the bowl. “Yeah. I wrestle. I’m captain this year.””How Greco-Roman of you,” Lucius said dryly, lifting a glob of spinach and letting it drip, slowly, from his fork. “Grappling about on mats.
