A few years ago, he realized that Russell read as voraciously and ambitiously as he did to please his parents; but given the push-me pull-you nature of their relationship, Russell usually told them he was reading a mindless potboiler or scandal-mongering memoir to shock and dismay them. There was some potential for actual conversation in Thomas Mann, since he wrote the only novels in world literature Leon didn’t consider “gossip with commas.”

“Leon,” he said. Leon looked up from his plate of food hopefully, as if he’d been waiting for something to interest him. “When I came home last night, Russell was reading a collection of Thomas Mann’s short novels. Is there one that’s a particular favorite of yours?”

“I do have a favorite.” He went back to his food, swallowed a mouthful of pasta, and said, “But I don’t think it’s one Russell would care for.”

“Why not tell us the title?” Desmond said. “We can take bets on whether or not it’s one Russell cares for.” Russell nudged him under the table. “We can play a little parlor game after dinner,” Desmond went on, “and see who can quote the most lines from it.”

Leon sighed. As he was about to mention a title, Russell cut him off. “I don’t know what Desmond’s talking about. I’m reading a self-help book. It’s all about reaching your full potential.”

Desmond felt his face grow hot. He didn’t want to hear any more about that book, not now or ever. Russell wasn’t reading it and never would read it. Bringing it up was a slap in his face, recrimination for trying to referee Russell’s boxing match with his parents.

“The problem with helping people reach their full potential,” Gloria said, “is that it’s basically the same thing as eliminating hope. People are happiest believing the fiction that they’re only using twenty percent of their talent and intelligence. Help them become all that they can ever be and they’ll really have something to be depressed about.”

There was a muscle twitching in Russell’s face, just under his cheekbone. Maybe she was suggesting that Russell had reached his full potential in running the secondhand shop, reading self-help books, and co-habiting with Desmond. When the waitress came back and delivered her canned questions to make sure everyone was happy, Russell asked for directions to the men’s room and got up from the table. After a moment of awkward silence, Gloria said, “You’re good to put up with our little family squabbles, Desmond.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Desmond said. “I’m part of the family.”