“I once painted my whole body white,” continued Alice, “curled up in a ball, and hung myself from the ceiling for a piece. I called it:
The Phases of My Moon.”
Ivy’s father smiled uncomfortably.
As she and Olivia led the way to the dining
room, Ivy heard Alice say, “Wow Charlie, your house is so enormous and ultraconservative modern. You should really consider metallics!”
Good sign, Ivy thought. She’s interested in interior design.
Olivia and Ivy pulled out the two chairs opposite each other at the oak dining room table, which was strewn with dead rose petals atop the black silk tablecloth.
“There are only two places,” their father said, clearly surprised. “Won’t you girls be joining us?”
“We can’t,” Ivy said firmly.
“It would totally defeat the purpose,” added Olivia. “You know, of our art.”
Ivy was grateful when Alice brushed past her dad and took a seat. “Did you girls fold these napkins to look like bats?” she asked. “The Japanese say that origami is the purest art form.”
“Yes,” Ivy’s father admitted, taking a seat at last, “that is a lovely touch.”
“Make yourselves comfortable,” said Olivia.
“And we’ll be back in a moment with your first course,” added Ivy.
As her sister ladled soup into black lacquer bowls, Ivy peeked into the dining room. Her father and Alice were chatting amicably. Alice was leaning forward, her chin resting in her hands, her eyes upturned toward Ivy’s father.
It’s working! Ivy thought.
Everything’s going perfectly! thought Olivia. Through the crack in the dining room door, she could see the candlelight flickering warmly on Alice and Mr. Vega’s pale faces. Both of them were wolfing down their cream of plasma soup. As she ate, Alice talked about waitressing at the Meat & Greet—the enormous walk-in freezer (“Like a cave!”), how hard it was to find comfortable shoes (“If people like us can live forever, why do we still have back pain?”), how tips were divided (“Evenly”). Mr. Vega smiled and nodded attentively.
“Anyway,” said Alice, “I think Ivy and Olivia are absolutely, one hundred percent right on. Serving food is an art!” Mr. Vega continued to nod.
He didn’t say anything as Alice finished the last roll.
Uh-oh, Olivia thought. Silence. She turned and bumped right into her sister, who’d been peering over her shoulder the whole time.
“How come no one’s talking?” Ivy whispered.
“Lesson of Love Number Two,” Olivia replied softly, “never let an awkward moment linger.” She rushed to the counter, grabbed the bottle of sparkling white wine that was chilling there, and slipped into the dining room.
“So,” she said as she topped up the wineglasses, “you’re both actively involved with the Franklin Grove Art Museum. I’ve never been.”
“You’ve never been?” Mr. Vega and Alice both repeated incredulously.
“Olivia, you must go,” Mr. Vega said. “It is an excellent museum, one of the best in this part of the country.”
“When Charlie’s right, he’s right,” Alice said, raising her glass in the air before taking a gulp.
“Really?” said Olivia. “What’s your favorite piece of art there, Mr. Vega?”
Her father’s eyes shifted as if he was imagining that the piece of art was right there in the room with them. “There is a piece of sculpture on the first floor that takes my breath away,” he said.
“Which one?” asked Alice.
“It is a late work by Carlos van Thacter, a Transylvanian artist,” Mr. Vega replied. “An enormous black granite spike rises from the floor, as if from the center of the earth. And then it bends gracefully, almost like a blade of grass. For me, it illustrates the struggle between the natural and the unnatural.”