“It did go well, didn’t it?” Mrs. A says as we repair to the dining room for a post-show lunch.
“Especially compared to last time,” Malia agrees. It’s possible she’s not referring to the part where we found a dead body, but there’s a strained silence anyway.
“Are those empanadas?” Mrs. A says, hurrying to the buffet.
It’s an effective redirect, turning the conversation to food as we fill our plates.
“To Claude,” Mr. Namura says when we’re all seated. We raise our glasses in the direction of his portrait.
“It’s such a blessing having Virginia and Felix here this summer.” Mrs. A slices into her empanada with a knife and fork. “Obviously nothing can fill the void of Claude’s absence, but your youth and freshness bring such a thrilling sort of—” She circles a hand in front of her chest, searching for the right word.
“Energy?” I suggest, before she can say something that will make me want to walk into the sea. Also “smoothly functioning joints” would be rude.
“I was thinking more like ‘razzmatazz’!”
“Dibs on being the razz,” Felix says.
“I’d rather be the matazz anyway,” I tell him, in case he thinks he won.
Mrs. A turns to my grandmother. “We should give them one of those cute nicknames.”
“Like Sonny and Cher?” Grandma Lainey asks, straight-faced.
“No, you know the kind I’m talking about. Where they smash the two names together to make a new name.”
“A portmanteau,” Mr. Namura supplies. “Like Bennifer.”
Everyone nods their agreement. Even Felix gets in on the act, making sure I get a load of the suppressed amusement in his sparkling eyes and twitching lips.
“How about Virgix?” he suggests, giving it a hard G like the name of a particularly embarrassing prescription medicine.
“Let’s workshop it,” Mrs. A says, letting him down gently. “Hmmm. Vi-Fee isn’t quite right.” Her tone is thoughtful, like we’re naming something important. An infant, maybe. Or a new planet.
Felix clears his throat. “Fe-vir?”
Mrs. A covers her mouth with both hands, giving a little squeal before she recovers the ability to speak. “Isn’t that darling!”
“Fever,” Malia bellows. “In the morning. Fever all through the night.”
Mrs. A shimmies to the beat. Even my grandmother is bopping her head. Okay, fine. It’s clever. And I don’t have a better idea. Yet.
“You give me fever,” Malia continues, at a slightly less earsplitting volume.
Felix points at her, fully bringing the finger guns. “What a lovely way to burn.”
His voice really is excellent. I try to look unimpressed, but he must see the grudging admiration on my face because he leans closer. “We sang this in all-state chorus.”
“He has more layers than that clown you dated before,” Grandma Lainey says, when the musical interlude is over.
“Not a literal clown,” I tell Felix, who is looking too intrigued.
“That would have been more entertaining,” my grandmother quips. “At least clowns can juggle. Or ride a unicycle.”
“Who breaks up with someone at a wedding?” Mrs. A shakes her head for a second, then catches herself, shooting an apologetic look at my grandmother.
There’s a beat of uncomfortable silence. It must sting, not being invited to your only daughter’s wedding. Even though my mother wasn’t lying about the whole event being “quick and casual,” all three of us understood the part she didn’t say. My grandmother is incapable of blending quietly into the background. If she showed up, it would turn into a production.
“Sounds like there’s a story there,” Felix hints, clearly in search of dirt.
