We did our best, showing everyone the trays and inviting them to take a seat. It was the kind of thing you might expect the hostess to do, but Viridian remained a benevolent, detached presence at the head of the table. People did sit, and Barb and Chloe fussed over refilling the wineglasses. I went back to the kitchen to help Oscar.

He was pulling things out of the oven, sprinkling chopped herbs, tossing pasta, everything all at once, like a grill cook at a diner. “Here, careful, it’s hot.” He handed me a breadbasket and a pot of whipped butter. “No, I’ll take this one, it’s heavy.”

Aaron came in to help, and we got a staggering amount of food out to the garden in a very short time. There was a bowl of green salad served family style, two kinds of pasta, one with red sauce and one with spinach and cream. A ratatouille layered like a stained-glass window, a caponata served cold, a cheese soufflé, a tray of spring rolls, roasted asparagus.

“Good Lord,” Sacha said, contemplating it all. “Oscar, take a bow.”

Which he did, after mopping at his face with a napkin. Then he rapped on the edge of a wineglass with a knife for our attention.

To the Looking-Glass world it was Alice that said

‘I’ve a sceptre in hand, I’ve a crown on my head.

Let the Looking-Glass creatures, whatever they be

Come and dine with the Red Queen, the White Queen,

and me.’

Then he sat down. People applauded. “Do you remember the rest of it?” Doug asked.

“I remember everything I ever read,” Oscar said glumly. “I have that kind of brain. It’s a burden.”

“So you’re Alice?”

“No, I’m more like the Mad Hatter.”

Viridian said, “Well, the White Queen has untidy hair, so I guess that’s me.”

“I’ll be the Red Queen. She’s always cutting people’s heads off,” Sacha said cheerfully.

I kept quiet. I’d only seen Alice in Wonderland on television, another of my cultural failings.

There were some more jokes about Eat Me, Drink Me, and then people settled in to do just that. Aaron was sitting next to me. “Good oysters,” I said, and he gave me a stoic look.

Barb was sitting on my other side. We didn’t say anything at first, then we agreed the spinach pasta was good, then we had the kind of conversation that can happen when you’re both drinking a lot of wine. She nodded at the two empty chairs. “So much for the guest of honor.”

She meant Larry and his entourage, I assumed. I said, “Maybe they’re just late.”

“Everybody else managed to get here on time.”

You couldn’t argue with that. I put my fork down. I was already getting full. I said, “Is he really that big a deal? Larry. I don’t know his last name.”