Dionysus in Wisconsin by E. H. Lupton

Author:E. H. Lupton [E. H. Lupton]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Winnowing Fan Press
Published: 2023-05-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Sam felt more lost than he usually did at parties. No sooner had they come downstairs but Ulysses had been pressed into service in the kitchen. Sam’s offers to help as well had resulted in Ekaterina handing him a tray of pierogis and pushing him out toward the buffet that now took up a sizeable part of the living room. The table had been removed from the dining room and replaced with a number of smaller folding tables flanked by folding chairs. There were flowering plants everywhere, decorative gourds, carved turnips and small pumpkins, and a flotilla of white candles.

Before he could figure out what he should be doing, Obe came over and slapped him on the back. “Don’t worry about it, man. I’ve been married to Celeste almost a decade and I’m still not allowed in the kitchen when she’s on a rampage.”

Sam glanced from Obe’s face to the kitchen doorway and back. “We’re not—we’re just—”

Obe held up a hand. “Man, if you say whatever you’re about to say, you are going to embarrass both of us.”

Sam blinked and closed his mouth.

Obe laughed. “I don’t know about your family, but these folks are pretty perceptive. If you don’t want to cop to something, it’s better to keep quiet. They’ll smell a lie from a mile away.”

“What do you advise?” Sam asked, a bit tartly.

“Have a drink and relax. Come on.” He led Sam over to a table full of various bottles. “What do you like? We have . . . ooh, this came back from France with Mariah. I’m having this.” He handed Sam a glass and poured one for himself.

“Who’s Mariah?”

“I am,” came a voice from behind them. Sam turned to see a tall woman with blue eyes and long red hair. “And you are?”

He was glad, suddenly, to have the wine glass to hold onto. “Sam.”

She didn’t offer to shake anyway, but looked him up and down, one eyebrow raised. Her eyes were a much darker blue than her son’s, but there was an unmistakable similarity in their faces. “Ah, you’re Ulysses’s project. How lovely,” she said, before leaning forward to kiss the air above his cheek. She had a French accent and a pleasant expression.

“Am I?” Sam said. He tried to recall if he’d ever met the parents of any of his previous lovers and came up blank.

She gave him a half smile that felt oddly familiar. “Of course you are, darling. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not an insult. He chooses his projects very carefully.”

Which meant what, exactly? Sam glanced again at the doorway to the kitchen, but no salvation was forthcoming. Before he could reply, Mariah had moved on. “Obe! How are you, dearest? Are you ready for tonight?”

When she’d gone elsewhere, he looked at Obe and found the man amused.

“What?”

“She likes you,” Obe said. “Come on, I have to get ready.”

Sam followed him over to the altar he’d constructed. There was a coffee table with chafing pans of bright orange rice and aromatic

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