underwater-blue mugs out of her bag, placed them on top of the closed laptop, kissed her daughter on the top of her bowed head, and closed the door behind her without another word.
“Dad—” Meredith began.
“Just stop,” he told her.
“Stop what?”
He didn’t say. “She was up late Tuesday night firing those.” He nodded toward the mugs. “New glaze we’re trying. Pretty, right?”
“They’re … gorgeous,” Meredith managed, a new subject the only option for conversation, evidently.
“We’re going home,” said her father. “But we’ll call soon when things … when she calms down. Or, hell, maybe you don’t need us to talk to us anyway. Maybe we’re just slowing down the process.” He kissed Meredith and followed his wife out the door.
Meredith sat with her head in her hands for half an hour. Sam made coffee and filled their new mugs.
“That did not go well,” said Meredith.
“It did not,” agreed Sam.
“We should have just shut the computer when my grandmother first said hello. They wouldn’t have caught on. They’d never have guessed.”
“No.”
“We could have explained everything to Grandma later. She’d have understood.”
“No Merde, she wouldn’t understand at all. But that’s okay. Because it’s not really her. The only her to understand or not understand is gone.”
Meredith thought about that for a while. “You know what we did wrong? We sprang it on them accidentally.”
“I don’t think that’s quite it.”
“It might have gone better if we’d prepared them for it. Led them in gently.”
“Gently how?”
“We have to cut them some slack,” she said. “They’re not used to the technology. They’re not one hundred percent comfortable with regular e-mail, never mind dead e-mail. They’ve never liked video chat. Maybe they’ll come around though.”
“They won’t. They shouldn’t. It’s not for them. It was only ever for you.”
Meredith wasn’t listening. “They aren’t the right people for this. They aren’t a good test case.”
“Test case?”
“I’m an idiot. You know who we should call? Dashiell! Of course, Dashiell. Obviously! How did I not think of this before?”
Sam didn’t answer. He wasn’t entirely clear on what she was thinking, but he was still pretty sure that last bit was rhetorical.
COUSIN DASH
D ashiell was the sort of cousin (with the sort of money) you could call around two thirty the day after Thanksgiving when your parents stormed out after brunch, and he’d be there in time for a late dinner bearing the best wine you’d had since the last time you saw him and chocolate cake from Hellner’s, the place down the street from his loft that made the best chocolate cake in the known universe. Sam hoped maybe the point here was that Meredith wanted to be with family rather than that Meredith was going off the deep end. It was hard for him to tell because his own family and sense of family were so small. It had only ever been him and his dad, him and his dad, for as long as he could remember. He hoped maybe there was more going on here than Meredith’s sudden and ill-advised desperation to share Livvie. It was Thanksgiving, and she’d lost her grandmother, and now her parents were angry at her, even more distant than usual. Her family was dwindling. She had to call in the reserves. Sam thought that Dash, with all his L.A. chic and Hollywood cool and connections and hangers-on, was the wrong guy for the job, but that was because Sam didn’t really know him. Dash listened in sympathetic horror when Meredith told him her parents were mad at her (though not why; she was saving that for later), sharing in the family drama, in agreement that there was not a much worse feeling in the world than disappointing your mom and dad. He dropped everything and came right away.
First, they all got drunk. Meredith had learned from Julia and Kyle that sober was no way to hear this news. There was no way to ease in (“So,
“Dad—” Meredith began.
“Just stop,” he told her.
“Stop what?”
He didn’t say. “She was up late Tuesday night firing those.” He nodded toward the mugs. “New glaze we’re trying. Pretty, right?”
“They’re … gorgeous,” Meredith managed, a new subject the only option for conversation, evidently.
“We’re going home,” said her father. “But we’ll call soon when things … when she calms down. Or, hell, maybe you don’t need us to talk to us anyway. Maybe we’re just slowing down the process.” He kissed Meredith and followed his wife out the door.
Meredith sat with her head in her hands for half an hour. Sam made coffee and filled their new mugs.
“That did not go well,” said Meredith.
“It did not,” agreed Sam.
“We should have just shut the computer when my grandmother first said hello. They wouldn’t have caught on. They’d never have guessed.”
“No.”
“We could have explained everything to Grandma later. She’d have understood.”
“No Merde, she wouldn’t understand at all. But that’s okay. Because it’s not really her. The only her to understand or not understand is gone.”
Meredith thought about that for a while. “You know what we did wrong? We sprang it on them accidentally.”
“I don’t think that’s quite it.”
“It might have gone better if we’d prepared them for it. Led them in gently.”
“Gently how?”
“We have to cut them some slack,” she said. “They’re not used to the technology. They’re not one hundred percent comfortable with regular e-mail, never mind dead e-mail. They’ve never liked video chat. Maybe they’ll come around though.”
“They won’t. They shouldn’t. It’s not for them. It was only ever for you.”
Meredith wasn’t listening. “They aren’t the right people for this. They aren’t a good test case.”
“Test case?”
“I’m an idiot. You know who we should call? Dashiell! Of course, Dashiell. Obviously! How did I not think of this before?”
Sam didn’t answer. He wasn’t entirely clear on what she was thinking, but he was still pretty sure that last bit was rhetorical.
COUSIN DASH
D ashiell was the sort of cousin (with the sort of money) you could call around two thirty the day after Thanksgiving when your parents stormed out after brunch, and he’d be there in time for a late dinner bearing the best wine you’d had since the last time you saw him and chocolate cake from Hellner’s, the place down the street from his loft that made the best chocolate cake in the known universe. Sam hoped maybe the point here was that Meredith wanted to be with family rather than that Meredith was going off the deep end. It was hard for him to tell because his own family and sense of family were so small. It had only ever been him and his dad, him and his dad, for as long as he could remember. He hoped maybe there was more going on here than Meredith’s sudden and ill-advised desperation to share Livvie. It was Thanksgiving, and she’d lost her grandmother, and now her parents were angry at her, even more distant than usual. Her family was dwindling. She had to call in the reserves. Sam thought that Dash, with all his L.A. chic and Hollywood cool and connections and hangers-on, was the wrong guy for the job, but that was because Sam didn’t really know him. Dash listened in sympathetic horror when Meredith told him her parents were mad at her (though not why; she was saving that for later), sharing in the family drama, in agreement that there was not a much worse feeling in the world than disappointing your mom and dad. He dropped everything and came right away.
First, they all got drunk. Meredith had learned from Julia and Kyle that sober was no way to hear this news. There was no way to ease in (“So,
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