“You’re kidding me,” Daddy said. But that’s what he said about most everything these days. With the scourge of Alzheimer’s, words were becoming an endangered species. Now it was pretty much only that and “I love you.”

“Eye candy means that Henry is something sweet to the eyes.” I was on a roll. Daddy and Griffin laughed, and Henry just looked at me and said, “payback.”

To finish off our Christmas dinner, Henry had prepared an exquisite espresso layer cake with a Bing cherry and fig reduction in Grand Marnier. Obviously, Henry had gotten the memo that figs were back in vogue. I thought of Elliott. He would’ve chosen Courvoisier, which would’ve been an interesting choice. Henry opted for something basic to cook with, but in his drink, he could be finicky, like Elliott. Christmas was already fading into memory when Henry, Hank, and Daddy left.

As Henry was leaving, he hugged me. “So, little sister. Did you get to see Griff’s tattoo?”

“Nope. I was good.”

“That surprises me. Too bad.” Henry’s eyes held a twinkle that piqued my curiosity.

I hugged Henry and Hank and gave Daddy an extra hug for good measure. I reflected on the limits of Daddy’s memory. Did it truly matter if it was a Wednesday or Thursday? Did it even matter who the president was? My father had a deep recognition of what love was and who he loved. Wasn’t that the most important thing to know as we navigated this crazy world?

After they left, Griffin greeted me with a dishtowel. Unfortunately for me, Griffin did not adhere to the same philosophy as my father, that a woman’s place is not in the kitchen. I helped Griffin wash up the many dirty dishes and put my mother’s china away until next year, reflecting on the day. We talked about the meal, about his condo and what a hit it was, about how well it functioned for entertaining. I was just about to ask Griffin about this mysterious tattoo when my phone rang.

It was Elliott. He sounded discombobulated.

“Elliott, what’s the matter?” I said.

“It’s just god-awful,” Elliott began.

“Start at the beginning. Tell me what’s wrong. Let me help,” I said.

“What an unbelievable shit storm. This new and fancy stove is on the blink, and we need a new one.”

“What about the warranty?” I asked.

“Fuck. Not you too. I’ve been so busy I never filled out the paperwork. I’m going to have to buy a new one. I don’t have any money. With paying Lady Jane off, her attorney fees, my attorney fees, and the money I had to pay Penny for redoing my apartment, I’m wiped out.” I took my glass of wine and went into the bedroom and closed the door.