“Wine, Sid,” I say, trying not to laugh. “Just wine.”
Nora leans toward Grandpa Sid. “Smells amazing, doesn’t it?”
He cups a hand behind his ear. “Hazelnut glazing?” he repeats, genuinely puzzled. “On lasagna?”
“Sid,” I sigh, “why aren’t you wearing the hearing aids I bought you?”
He peers at me over the rims of his bifocals. “Iam.”
“You’re not.”
“Yes I am,” he insists, patting the sides of his head.
I narrow my eyes. “Sid, those are just your ears.”
He looks vaguely surprised. Then shrugs. “Ah. That explains why everything’s so muffled.”
Nora lets out a quiet snort, hiding behind her wineglass.
“Seriously,” I say, “these cost me a fortune. You begged for the top-of-the-line ones. Bluetooth! Noise canceling! A ‘party mode,’ whatever the hell that is.”
Sid leans forward with a dramatic squint. “Party mode? Is that what the kids call it now?”
“No, Sid, it’s whatyoucalled it when you told the audiologist you wanted to ‘hear the gossip without the jazz.’”
He waves a dismissive hand. “Jazz ruins everything.”
“Come on. Just put them in.”
Sid eyes me like I’m offering to shove a grenade in his ears. “Those things make my ears feel violated. Like two tiny FBI agents whispering state secrets directly into my brain.”
“Sid—”
“I wore them last week,” he says defensively. “Heard your mother fart during a prayer.”
Nora wheezes.
“That’s not a reason not to wear them!” I say.
Sid leans back smugly. “Au contraire. Some sounds are better left to mystery, son.”
I rub my temples. “Just… consider putting them in for dinner. For Nora’s sake.”
He brightens. “Oh, well, I guess I will. Anything for a pretty woman.”
Nora blushes, clearly charmed. “That’s very sweet.”
He grins. “Don’t thank me, doll. Thank evolution. My ears might be seventy-eight, but they still know what’s important.”
“You’re ninety-one, Sid. And if you start talking about prune juice again, I’m putting on the jazz.”
Once Grandpa Sid is settled at the table with his hearing aids in, Mom insists we try her homemade garlic knots and launches into questions like she’s been saving them up all year.
“So Nora, how’d you two meet?”
“At a masquerade gala,” she says, smiling at me. “I didn’t know who he was.”
My mom laughs so hard she snorts. “Oh, that’s perfect. I like you already.”
