“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.”
“You mean that big black thing by the elevators?” Alice said. “I’ve always found that cold and boring.”
“Cold and boring?” Mr. Vega repeated. “Well, it might not be one of those cartoon collages on the second floor that everybody—”
“My friend, Marie, made those,” Alice interrupted.
Olivia slipped back into the kitchen.
“Why are they fighting?” Ivy demanded.
“They’re not fighting,” Olivia said, though she wasn’t sure. “They’re having an intellectual debate.”
“Well, you have to stop them!”
“What do you want me to do?” Olivia asked.
“Clear their plates and change the subject,” Ivy commanded and pushed her sister back through the swinging door. Olivia almost stumbled right into the back of her father’s chair.
“May I take that?” she panted, gesturing to Mr. Vega’s bowl. “So, Alice,” she said, searching her mind for a harmless subject for conversation, “how long have you lived in Franklin Grove?”
“Three and a half years,” said Alice. “I used to live in Paris. I just love Europe!”
Olivia couldn’t help wincing. A pan clattered in the kitchen.
“It’s nothing!” called Ivy.
“Oh?” said Mr. Vega to Alice, clearly interested in hearing more.
The two of them spent the entire main course talking about Europe, pausing only to rave about Ivy’s lasagna. In the kitchen, Olivia whipped heavy cream with sugar and vanilla in a ceramic bowl. “It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine,” she chanted to herself as she whipped.
“Will you please stop saying that?” Ivy said in a deflated voice.
“It’s true,” Olivia answered. She was determined to remain optimistic.
“If the whole purpose of tonight was to convince our father not to move to Europe,” Ivy said, “how is them talking the whole time about Europe fine?”
“Because it shows just how much they have in common,” said Olivia. If they like each other, she thought, he’ll stay. He has to!
After she cleared their main course plates, Olivia prepared to bring out dessert. “Lesson of Love Number Three,” she announced, “set the mood.” She turned down the lights in the dining room and put some harp music on the stereo. Then she carried out a big bowl of grapes, plus the two dishes of blood Jell-O, topped with her special whipped cream.
“Dessert is served,” she said smoothly, placing the dishes carefully on the table.
“You girls have really outdone yourselves,” Mr. Vega said, seeming genuinely impressed. He took a bite, and his eyes lit up. “This topping,” he said. “It’s cream, with sugar and vanilla, right?”