setting them on the table beside her plate. Her eyes, ringed with heavy eyeliner like the first time we saw her, remain on Jonah. “Tell me,” she says. “Is Anders doing well?”
Jonah goes still, except for the slight twitch of a muscle in his jaw, for so long that I wonder if he misunderstood the question. Then he reaches for the pitcher of ice water and pours himself a fresh glass, taking his time like there’s no awkward silence whatsoever. When he finishes, he looks at Mildred and inhales a slow, deep breath. Almost as though he’s about to give a speech. “Do you want me to answer that honestly?” he asks.
His voice is calm, with a hint of a challenge. It’s like all of his earlier unease has suddenly vanished, and for some reason that makes me uneasy.
Mildred arches a brow. “I do.”
I let out an involuntary, nervous cough. Jonah blinks, catches my eye, and a deep flush stains his cheeks. He turns back to Mildred and mutters, “I guess he’s okay. I don’t know. We’re not close.”
An emotion I can’t decipher flits across Mildred’s face as she turns toward Aubrey. “You also look very little like your father, although I see traces of him in the shape of your eyes, and your chin.” Aubrey looks surprised, and gratified, at the comparison. “How is Adam nowadays?”
Aubrey tugs at the collar of her shirtdress and wets her lips. She hasn’t touched her pastries yet or any of the three beverages in front of her. She’s nervous, but her voice is steady as she says, “He’s pretty much the same as always.”
Mildred takes a delicate sip of tea. “In other words, he thinks the sun rises and sets on him, and surrounds himself with people who agree?” she asks.
I can feel my eyes pop as Aubrey goes red. Jesus, lady, I think. If he’s like that, don’t you think you might’ve had something to do with it?
Aubrey’s obvious agreement with Mildred’s jab is at war with loyalty her father doesn’t deserve, and the conflict is written all over her face. Mildred relents, going so far as to briefly pat Aubrey’s hand with gloved fingertips. “Forgive me,” she says. “This has been a difficult weekend. I didn’t mean to lead with—well. Let’s talk of happier things. I understand that you’re a competitive swimmer?” Aubrey nods, gratefully, as Mildred adds, “Your father must be proud of you. He always prized athletic ability.”
Aubrey hesitates, like she suspects a trap. “I…I hope so.”
Mildred turns back to Jonah, who’s been quietly cleansing his palate with miniature fruit tarts. “I hear your grades are excellent, Jonah. Will you be applying to Harvard?”
Jonah takes his time swallowing the tart, but looks relieved at the relatively easy question. “Yeah, probably.”
It’s a good fifteen minutes later before I fully grasp the pattern of the conversation. There are a half-dozen fascinating things we could be talking about right now, like our parents’ disinheritance, Dr. Baxter’s death, Uncle Archer’s reappearance, and, of course, the question that has to be foremost in Mildred’s mind: Why the hell are you three here? But none of those come up. My grandmother is dividing her laser-like attention between Aubrey and Jonah, asking them questions about their lives, their accomplishments, and their fathers. Sometimes her interrogation borders on the uncomfortable—she’s clearly fishing for something related to her two oldest sons, although she won’t come right out and say it—but her attention never wavers.
Jonah looks deeply uneasy the entire time, but he doesn’t give himself away. Aubrey unfurls like a flower in the sun, basking in the light of our grandmother’s unexpected interest.
I might as well not even be here.
My whole life, I’ve imagined what it would be like if my grandmother and I finally met. Yes, the shopping fantasies were silly, but beneath that, I used to think that me being her namesake might mean something. That looking so much like my mother might mean something. That wearing my grandfather’s watch every day might mean something. That caring about art and fashion the way she does might mean something.
And now, sitting in my mother’s favorite spot in the legendary Catmint House, watching whitecaps skitter on the horizon as I eat more than my fair share of brunch because I never have to answer any questions, all I can think is this:
None of it means anything at all.
Maybe she’s a racist who can’t be bothered with her only nonwhite grandchild. Maybe she’s sexist and only