Maisy poured them all more wine. Greek music wafted from inside. To Joey, it was the language of love as she knew it, suffused with emotion, as if the singers were soap opera stars belting out their lines instead of saying them.

“How is that, Bea?” asked Rand. He’d just returned from a sailing trip to Albania, and he’d turned a color suited to a man discovered on a deserted island with just a palm frond strung around his waist.

“Well, in Greek, words themselves are either masculine or feminine.”

“Is that right?” said Scott. “I’m impressed, sweetheart.”

“So what words are masculine?” asked Rand.

“Ah-ha! I’ll tell you.” Bea gave a dramatic pause. “Anger. Fear. Pain. All masculine. How’s that for you men?”

“I don’t know what that proves,” said Rand. “So they arbitrarily assigned genders to these things.”

“Arbitrary? I don’t think so,” said Joey. She realized she must have read the same article as her mother. “How about the feminine words though? Love. Beauty. Art. Truth.” Bea smiled at her, but a tight smile. Joey felt uneasy for a moment, like she’d inadvertently stolen her mom’s spotlight.

“Impressive, Jonesey.” Leo whistled and gave her one of those mock bows that made Joey feel like she’d earned a gold star. “Truth. Feminine, you say? That’s very interesting.”

“What you see is what you get.” Joey laughed. “Right, Mom and Mais?”

“Well, beauty is a woman’s purview, I’ll give you all that,” said Rand. “I wouldn’t ever try to convince you I’m beautiful.”

“No, you most definitely are not at the moment, my friend.” Scott pressed a finger into Rand’s skin. “It’s like Lily’s Etch A Sketch.”

“Thanks, bud,” said Rand, his smile jarring, the white of his teeth against the red of his skin. “Here’s what I don’t get. Why all the negative masculine words? Anger, pain. What did we ever do to piss off the Greeks?”

“Yeah!” said Scott. “We’re teddy bears, us men.”

Joey snorted.

“Because you men don’t deal with your pain and anger, and it doesn’t go away, it just simmers below the surface,” said Maisy. She didn’t pipe up often in these sorts of debates, so when she did interject, it was noted.

Jefferson the Cat made a growling noise underfoot.

“No, I’m not giving you my chicken,” said Leo in the cat’s general direction.

“Sibling rivalry.” Rand laughed. Joey couldn’t look directly at him.

“How about hate?” asked Leo, in a tone befitting the word he’d tossed into the arena. “Is that feminine or masculine?”

There was some shifting in chairs and drinks being drunk.

Leo stood. “Never mind. How about a walk, Jonesey?” She eyed the clouds moving in. “She who wilts in the rain,” he said, reading her mind. “If it rains, we’ll duck into a bar.”

“Okay.” Joey stood.