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Authors: Elinor Lipman
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shinier—raw silk?—than he'd seen at first. It manages to be both too big in the bust and too short in the sleeves. Thalia twirls, and the skirt billows. She cuffs her hand around one wrist. "And can't you see it with a big wide bracelet? And very high strappy shoes? Burgundy patent? Don't you love it?" she demands. "Isn't it amazing?"
"It's all amazing," Henry says.
9. The Maisonette
T HALIA COMES DOWN to breakfast in another Williebelle frock, this one of a translucent crinkly fabric, either yellow or yellowed with age, decorated with dainty sprays of violets. Clearly she's wearing it to make Henry laugh, over her jeans and turtleneck sweater. On her head: a short pink veil anchored with a furry bow, its netting decorated with pink velvet butterflies. Thalia says nothing but hums, "In your Easter bonnet."
Henry doesn't hear her until his espresso machine stops its grinding. Turning around, he jumps, then laughs.
"Good morning, darling host and costumer," Thalia says.
"That hat," he says. "What does it say about me that I remember it vividly, and as a child I thought it was the most beautiful thing in the world?"
Thalia kisses his cheek and says, "President of Future Homosexuals of America?"
How does she do it? he marvels. Has anyone else of his acquaintance ever possessed this talent for simultaneously shocking and disarming?
"Did I offend?" she asks breezily.
Henry selects a mug and an espresso cup from the cabinet above and holds both up for her consideration.
"A double, definitely. You didn't answer my question—is it okay to joke about your ... personalhood?"
"From you, it's quite okay. In fact it's very nice when someone doesn't consider the topic unmentionable."
"Good! And it's out there? Friends? Relatives? Lawyers and judges?"
"Why?"
"Just asking to prevent future big-mouth faux pas." She accepts her mug of coffee and motions toward the espresso machine. "I'm watching how you do this so I know which buttons to push."
He points: This one under the green light gives you the coffee, and this one means refill the water tank. He asks if she'd like him to steam some milk and she says no, black. Did she drink a whole bottle of wine last night?
Henry says no, he helped. And wouldn't it be easier to drink her coffee minus the chin-length veil?
Thalia folds the netting up one turn into a goofy cuff. She takes a sip and says, "I'm sure it was meant to be worn at teas and ... where else did your mother go where food was served? Bridge club?"
"How do you know these things?"
"Old movies, dahling: tea parties, bridge clubs, country clubs, June Allyson, and, of course, church."
"Willie did, in fact, play bridge and go to church."
"Where was this again?"
"Wilmington, Delaware" He taps his mug against hers. "Where I was a celebrity."
"No you weren't!"
"Minor, very: I was one of those New Year's babies, first child born in nineteen fifty-two in Wilmington. My mother and I made the front page."
Thalia asks, "What time?"
"What time was I born? "
"To win. Was it a squeaker?"
"Not at all. Two-oh-two A.M. "
"Did your mother save the front page?"
Henry smiles. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But I was the fourth boy." He counts off on his fingers. "They didn't mean to have four children, they were praying for a girl, and, most likely, the photo of my mother wasn't flattering."
"I'm noting the irony of this," says Thalia. "She didn't want a fourth child or a fourth boy, but who took care of her in her old age? Whose guest room did she more or less die in? Who was such a great comfort and host while his older brothers were—I'm guessing—too busy with their wives and offspring to take her in and preserve her wardrobe?"
"She did come around," says Henry. "I didn't mean to imply that I was unloved."
"And she was fine having a gay son?"
"She was fine having a divorced bachelor son. Still, she left her not-insubstantial engagement ring to my future wife, the posthumous one."
"So sweet," says Thalia. She
"It's all amazing," Henry says.
9. The Maisonette
T HALIA COMES DOWN to breakfast in another Williebelle frock, this one of a translucent crinkly fabric, either yellow or yellowed with age, decorated with dainty sprays of violets. Clearly she's wearing it to make Henry laugh, over her jeans and turtleneck sweater. On her head: a short pink veil anchored with a furry bow, its netting decorated with pink velvet butterflies. Thalia says nothing but hums, "In your Easter bonnet."
Henry doesn't hear her until his espresso machine stops its grinding. Turning around, he jumps, then laughs.
"Good morning, darling host and costumer," Thalia says.
"That hat," he says. "What does it say about me that I remember it vividly, and as a child I thought it was the most beautiful thing in the world?"
Thalia kisses his cheek and says, "President of Future Homosexuals of America?"
How does she do it? he marvels. Has anyone else of his acquaintance ever possessed this talent for simultaneously shocking and disarming?
"Did I offend?" she asks breezily.
Henry selects a mug and an espresso cup from the cabinet above and holds both up for her consideration.
"A double, definitely. You didn't answer my question—is it okay to joke about your ... personalhood?"
"From you, it's quite okay. In fact it's very nice when someone doesn't consider the topic unmentionable."
"Good! And it's out there? Friends? Relatives? Lawyers and judges?"
"Why?"
"Just asking to prevent future big-mouth faux pas." She accepts her mug of coffee and motions toward the espresso machine. "I'm watching how you do this so I know which buttons to push."
He points: This one under the green light gives you the coffee, and this one means refill the water tank. He asks if she'd like him to steam some milk and she says no, black. Did she drink a whole bottle of wine last night?
Henry says no, he helped. And wouldn't it be easier to drink her coffee minus the chin-length veil?
Thalia folds the netting up one turn into a goofy cuff. She takes a sip and says, "I'm sure it was meant to be worn at teas and ... where else did your mother go where food was served? Bridge club?"
"How do you know these things?"
"Old movies, dahling: tea parties, bridge clubs, country clubs, June Allyson, and, of course, church."
"Willie did, in fact, play bridge and go to church."
"Where was this again?"
"Wilmington, Delaware" He taps his mug against hers. "Where I was a celebrity."
"No you weren't!"
"Minor, very: I was one of those New Year's babies, first child born in nineteen fifty-two in Wilmington. My mother and I made the front page."
Thalia asks, "What time?"
"What time was I born? "
"To win. Was it a squeaker?"
"Not at all. Two-oh-two A.M. "
"Did your mother save the front page?"
Henry smiles. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But I was the fourth boy." He counts off on his fingers. "They didn't mean to have four children, they were praying for a girl, and, most likely, the photo of my mother wasn't flattering."
"I'm noting the irony of this," says Thalia. "She didn't want a fourth child or a fourth boy, but who took care of her in her old age? Whose guest room did she more or less die in? Who was such a great comfort and host while his older brothers were—I'm guessing—too busy with their wives and offspring to take her in and preserve her wardrobe?"
"She did come around," says Henry. "I didn't mean to imply that I was unloved."
"And she was fine having a gay son?"
"She was fine having a divorced bachelor son. Still, she left her not-insubstantial engagement ring to my future wife, the posthumous one."
"So sweet," says Thalia. She
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