“That’s how you operate, is it?” my mother said more meaningfully than I understood.

“It’s how I’m made.”

“Then sit where I’ve put you,” my aunt said, “and the rest of you sit where you like.”

She dealt portions of dinner until the recipients cried enough. “That’s for a growing boy,” she said as she loaded my plate, and gave Abel a glance which I saw my mother take for an indelicate reference. When he set about his meal he began by lowering his head towards it, so that I wondered if he mightn’t use his utensils or his hands. Perhaps he was simply scenting the ingredients, but I was glad he didn’t play the joke he appeared to be threatening. Even the morsels into which he cut the salad suggested one. My mother watched the process as she might have viewed an exhibit in a zoo, a creature presenting some trait more unusual than attractive. As he raised a dinky forkful to his mouth, revealing small uncommonly even teeth, she said “So may we ask what you are, Abel?”

He shut his lips on a discreet crunch no louder than the shattering of shells and swallowed before answering. I was surprised to notice how smooth his throat was, not lumpy like my father’s and mine. “I’m what you see,” he said.

“I see somebody playing with words.” As if she was indulging him, though only barely, my mother said “I was asking what you do.”

“Whatever I need,” my aunt said.

My mother jerked her hands up, flinging any further questions heavenwards. Abel took another muted meatless bite and dabbed at his faintly glistening lips with a finger. “Your turn now, Astrid.”

“I’ve had it.” When his wide eyes didn’t blink she said “For what?”

“What do you bring to the world?”

“My son, for a start.”

“There’s one gift I can’t provide,” Abel said and shifted his gaze to my father. “Children.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The unwavering gaze prompted my father to add “If I should be.”

“Some creations abide longer.”

“We wouldn’t know,” my mother said. “Other than parents we’re just dull accountants, both of us.”

“Don’t undersell yourself, Astrid,” my aunt protested. “You’ve never been just anything, and I’ll say the same for Jonathan.”

“Just a bit out of our depth with all the arty conversation,” my father said.

My mother gave this a decidedly unappreciative look, and I felt compelled to contribute if not to rescue everyone from further confrontation. I asked Abel the first question that came to my mind, having found it oddly bothersome. “How old are you?”

“Patrick,” my aunt said, manufacturing a laugh. “No need to be quite so uninhibited.”

“Perhaps he feels encouraged when he’s here,” my mother said.