fifteen minutes polishing some serving forks which were probably made of stainless steel but it made her happy. By the time we all sat down at the table the serving forks could have lit the room without the candles. Next to all the other tableware they looked like great shining daggers, fresh and ready to claim the life of someone close to us and throw the rest of us into turmoil and heartbreak. Not that Adam was killed with daggers, but it seemed like a good time to foreshadow.
Before we ate came the toasts. Kate, at the head of the table where she belonged and where she will always belong, clinked her glass. “Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen, to the first dinner party of the season.”
“The season?” Flora Habstat said. “You guys really have a season? Like football?”
V looked at Flora in what is described in books as “archly.” “ Not at all ,” she said huffily, “like football.”
“It’s just an expression. Kate means the first of the school year,” Jennifer Rose Milton explained hurriedly.
Kate sailed on like a queen. “I think we should all go around the table, each of us presenting a toast. I will go first.” She cleared her throat and looked down as if collecting her thoughts, though I suspected she wrote the speech this afternoon. She raised her glass by the stem, as V had instructed us to do two years ago at our first dinner party. I cringe when I think it was just spaghetti with marinara and garlic bread. We all followed suit, and as my glass cooled my fingertips I felt connected to a long line of literary circles: Oscar Wilde and Dorothy Parker, and what’s-her-name, Virginia Woolf, Byron and his friends, even Shakespeare and Company. I was acting in a tradition.
“To all of my guests, both frequent and infrequent,” Kate said, bowing regally to Flora Habstat and Adam. “May we generally be happy, generally be witty, generally be honest, but above all always be interesting.” We clinked and drank.
Gabriel, the next in clockwise order, was looking at Kate oddly. “And may we always be friends ,” he said. “That’s my toast. Better friends than interesting.”
“ Please ,” Natasha said at my right, “better chicken than egg.
Who cares?”
“Obviously you don’t,” Gabriel said. It grew deathly cold.
“I do believe I still smell that brie,” Kate said, and we all laughed. Kate glowed at her bon mot briefly before nodding for Douglas to go next.
Douglas cleared his throat. “This may sound dire, but I would like to toast to the hope of making it
through this year. When my sister was a senior she never really told me what was going on, but she was really stressed and worried and cried a lot. I think that sort of stuff can really test friendships, and so I want to toast to being careful and trying to make it through.” He raised his glass and we all slowly followed. Douglas always was a worrywart, but this seemed darker. Even the clinking of our glasses seemed to be at a lower pitch. For a second I almost ran to him and held him but then I didn’t.
Lily looked like the burden was on her to lighten the tone, but snappy jokes aren’t her style. She plans things out. She looked at her plate and then out at us. “Here’s to rising above petty obstacles.”
“ Must we ?” Kate asked. “What should we fight about, if not silly things like how to bake the brie? Must we reserve fighting for deep emotional conflicts?”
“I’m sorry. My toast was inaccurate.” Lily narrowed her eyes. “Here’s to letting our favorite superficial things, like baking brie, replace whatever other superficial things, like, say, college applic- ations, may get in our way.” With that, everyone drank; thinking about college applications tends to make us thirsty. “Amen!” cried Gabriel and Natasha in unison, and they looked at each other across the table, tried to scowl and finally grinned.
Flora Habstat was next and looked uncertain. She had been looking uncertain
Before we ate came the toasts. Kate, at the head of the table where she belonged and where she will always belong, clinked her glass. “Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen, to the first dinner party of the season.”
“The season?” Flora Habstat said. “You guys really have a season? Like football?”
V looked at Flora in what is described in books as “archly.” “ Not at all ,” she said huffily, “like football.”
“It’s just an expression. Kate means the first of the school year,” Jennifer Rose Milton explained hurriedly.
Kate sailed on like a queen. “I think we should all go around the table, each of us presenting a toast. I will go first.” She cleared her throat and looked down as if collecting her thoughts, though I suspected she wrote the speech this afternoon. She raised her glass by the stem, as V had instructed us to do two years ago at our first dinner party. I cringe when I think it was just spaghetti with marinara and garlic bread. We all followed suit, and as my glass cooled my fingertips I felt connected to a long line of literary circles: Oscar Wilde and Dorothy Parker, and what’s-her-name, Virginia Woolf, Byron and his friends, even Shakespeare and Company. I was acting in a tradition.
“To all of my guests, both frequent and infrequent,” Kate said, bowing regally to Flora Habstat and Adam. “May we generally be happy, generally be witty, generally be honest, but above all always be interesting.” We clinked and drank.
Gabriel, the next in clockwise order, was looking at Kate oddly. “And may we always be friends ,” he said. “That’s my toast. Better friends than interesting.”
“ Please ,” Natasha said at my right, “better chicken than egg.
Who cares?”
“Obviously you don’t,” Gabriel said. It grew deathly cold.
“I do believe I still smell that brie,” Kate said, and we all laughed. Kate glowed at her bon mot briefly before nodding for Douglas to go next.
Douglas cleared his throat. “This may sound dire, but I would like to toast to the hope of making it
through this year. When my sister was a senior she never really told me what was going on, but she was really stressed and worried and cried a lot. I think that sort of stuff can really test friendships, and so I want to toast to being careful and trying to make it through.” He raised his glass and we all slowly followed. Douglas always was a worrywart, but this seemed darker. Even the clinking of our glasses seemed to be at a lower pitch. For a second I almost ran to him and held him but then I didn’t.
Lily looked like the burden was on her to lighten the tone, but snappy jokes aren’t her style. She plans things out. She looked at her plate and then out at us. “Here’s to rising above petty obstacles.”
“ Must we ?” Kate asked. “What should we fight about, if not silly things like how to bake the brie? Must we reserve fighting for deep emotional conflicts?”
“I’m sorry. My toast was inaccurate.” Lily narrowed her eyes. “Here’s to letting our favorite superficial things, like baking brie, replace whatever other superficial things, like, say, college applic- ations, may get in our way.” With that, everyone drank; thinking about college applications tends to make us thirsty. “Amen!” cried Gabriel and Natasha in unison, and they looked at each other across the table, tried to scowl and finally grinned.
Flora Habstat was next and looked uncertain. She had been looking uncertain
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