Breathing Lessons by Anne Tyler Page B

said. He'd surprised her with it that morning." "A hollow chocolate rabbit. He'd filled it with rum." "She didn't know he'd filled it with rum." "He said he'd wanted it to be like those Swiss candies they fill with liqueurs." "Rum seeped out the bottom." "Little melty holes in the chocolate." "Worst mess you ever saw, all across the tablecloth." "Lucky it was only one of those Hallmark paper tablecloths for holidays." Back in the dining alcove, the Barley twins were talking with Michael. They had flipped up their clip-on shades, which stuck out above their glasses like the perky antennas of some sharp-faced, cute little creatures from outer space, and they were nodding earnestly, in unison. Jo Ann and Sugar were discussing mixed marriages-the consuming interest of Jo Ann's life for years before her wedding to Nat and evidently afterward as well. "But tell me the truth," Sugar was saying. "Doesn't it sometimes seem to you like every marriage is mixed?'' And Serena's two little grandsons were surreptitiously bombarding each other with bits of cake. It looked good: angel food. Maggie thought about trying a slice but then she remembered her diet. She had a virtuous, empty feeling in the center of her rib cage. She traveled around the table surveying what was offered, resisting even the bowl of Fritos. "The dump salad is mine," Serena's neighbor said at her elbow.
"Dump salad?" "You take a packet of orange Jell-O powder, a can of crushed pineapple, a carton of Cool Whip ..." Some woman in a bouffant hairdo said hello and the neighbor turned to greet her, leaving Maggie with the gritty feeling of Jell-O powder on her teeth.
Serena was over by the buffet, beneath an oil painting of a dead bird with a basket of olive-drab fruit. Linda and her husband stood next to her. "When all these people leave, Mom," Linda was saying, "we're taking you out to dinner, anyplace your heart desires." She spoke a little above normal volume, as if Serena were hard of hearing. "We're going to buy you a real meal," she said.
"Oh, well, there's so much food right here in the house," Serena said. "And I'm honestly not all that hungry anyhow." Her son-in-law said, "Now, Mother Gill, just tell us your favorite restaurant.'' Jeff, that was it. Maggie couldn't think of his last name.
Serena said, "Um ..." She glanced around, as if hoping for a suggestion. Her eyes brushed Maggie and traveled on. Finally she said, "Oh, well, maybe the Golden Chopsticks. That's a good place." "What kind is it, Chinese?" "Well, yes, but they also have-" "Oh, I just don't care for Chinese food," Linda said. "Not Chinese or Japanese, either one, I'm sorry to say." "Or any other Oriental," Jeff pointed out. "You don't like Thai food either." "No, that's true. Or Filipino or Burmese." Serena said, "But-" "And you can't eat Indian; don't forget Indian," Jeff said.
"No; Indian has those spices." "Spices affect her digestion," Jeff told Serena.
"I guess I'm just sensitive or something," Linda said.
"Same goes for Mexican." "But we don't have any Mexican," Serena said. "We don't have any of those places." Linda said, "What I'd like to know is how the Mexicans themselves can stand all those spicy seasonings." "They can't," Jeff told her. "They come down with this awful condition that coats the insides of their mouths like plates of armor." Serena blinked. "Well," she said, "what kind of restaurant did you two have in mind?" "We thought maybe that steak house off of Route One," Jeff told her.
"MacMann's? Oh." "That is, if it's all right with you." "Well, MacMann's is kind of ... noisy, isn't it?" Serena asked.
"I never thought it was noisy," Linda said.
"I mean it's always so noisy and crowded." "Just take it or leave it, Mom," Linda told her, raising her chin. "We were only trying to be nice, for God's sake." Maggie, standing just outside their little circle, waited for Serena to toss her one of her wry, eye-rolling expressions. But Serena didn't even glance at her. She seemed