A bit groggy, for he still had not completely shaken the sleep out of his head, and somewhat shellshocked by this early morning assault on his auditory senses, Giancarlo regarded the box with a vague expression. “That’s very nice of you,” he said to Celeste with a yawn. “But why are you here?”

Rolling her eyes, Celeste gave an exasperated huff and turned to her husband. “He didn’t get our message,” she said with a shake of her head. “I told you that was probably what happened.”

“Of course he got our message!” cried Anthony. “I called three times. He just didn’t listen to it. He never listens to his messages!”

This pronouncement led to a brief exchange between the two regarding the comparative merits of answering machines and voice mail, and the appropriateness for Giancarlo of a new digital answering machine as a Christmas gift come December. Unable to offer his own opinion on the matter—even if he had wanted to do so—Giancarlo stood there and watched in pained silence as the debate continued without him. When at last he could absorb no more of this particular line of discourse, he simply turned away and beckoned for them to follow.

“Things haven’t changed much in here,” observed a disapproving Celeste as they passed the untidy living room.

“Really,” nodded Anthony. “The Rhode Island Philharmonic Orchestra could come and play here, with all the instruments he has laying around.”

“They’re performing here next week,” said Giancarlo with as much sarcasm as he could muster in his drowsy state. “I’ll get you tickets.”

With that he trod on toward the kitchen. Once there, Celeste insisted that the two men sit at the table while she made the coffee for them. Giancarlo had no objection to being treated like a guest in his own house, so he pointed out where the coffeemaker and filters were to be found and settled into a chair across the table from his cousin

Celeste went to work, moving about the kitchen as if it were her own. Seeking mugs and a plate for the pastries, she opened one of the cabinets and peered inside. “What you need,” she opined as she closed the cabinet and opened the one next to it, “is a good woman. Then you could get things in order around here, the way they should be.”

“I kind of like things around here just the way they are,” offered Giancarlo.

“That’s because you’ve lived too long all by yourself,” she said. “You don’t know any better. Isn’t that right, Anthony?”

“I dunno,” her husband shrugged, giving Giancarlo a wink. “Sometimes living alone doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.”

“Ha!” his wife scoffed. “You wouldn’t last a week without me.”

“That’s what women always say,” Anthony sighed. “They think we’re all babies.”