What's for Dinner? by James Schuyler

Author:James Schuyler
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-59017-435-7
Publisher: New York Review Books

2

“Well, Nick,” Bryan Delehantey said, “you’ve certainly become a long drink of water.”

“It’s funny,” Nick said. “Nobody else in my family is extra tall. My Dad’s not short, but he’s not tall either. I don’t mind it: I like basketball.”

“Hi Nick,” Patrick said, coming into the living room.

“And where were you?” Bryan said.

“He’s been being a good lad,” Biddy said, “and running an errand for your old mother. Did they match the wool?”

“I think so,” Patrick said. “Here it is.” He handed her a bag.

“Yes,” Biddy said. “That’s right. I do love a nice rich dark red. It goes with everything.” She regarded the maroon hanks Patrick had gotten for her. “Who would like to volunteer his hands while I wind this yarn?”

Neither twin spoke and Nick said, “I’ll do it.”

“No, Nick,” Bryan said, “you’re a guest. Let Patrick do it.”

“But I just went all the way uptown to get the stuff,” Patrick protested.

“It wouldn’t seem so far uptown,” Bryan said, “if it was a matter of hanging around the Candy Kitchen. However, in simple justice, Michael can do it.” Bryan was in a mellow mood, having had an extra highball before dinner, which had been late.

Maureen looked in the room. “Whose turn is it to load the dish-washer? They’re all cleared and rinsed and waiting.”

“Michael’s,” Patrick said.

“Like heck it is. I did it last night. Anyway, I’m helping Gran.”

“Come along Patrick, and stop fibbing.” Maureen left the room followed by her lumbering son.

“Mr Delehantey,” Nick asked, “would it be OK if the boys went uptown with me for a little while? We want to talk to some of the guys.”

“’Fraid not, Nick. Homework and practicing. There’s no point in their being in the school orchestra if they don’t practice. Not that it doesn’t make this house a merry hell.”

“But it’s Friday night,” Michael protested. “And we practiced this afternoon like you asked us to, so it wouldn’t get on your nerves.”

Bryan expanded, “I’ll admit I did forget there for a moment that it’s Friday. It’s my day off tomorrow, too, don’t forget, and I’m not making any special event out of it.”

“All we’d do,” Michael said, “is walk uptown, have a coke and talk to the guys a little. The senior track meet is tomorrow afternoon—we’re not in it but we’d like to go. Maybe you’d like to come too?”

“Maybe. Doubt if I’ll have the time. Now if I let you go uptown, and say I expect you back at a reasonable hour, do I have to say precisely what time I mean?”

“No, sir,” Michael said.

“And what hour do you have in mind?” Bryan asked.

“Ten o’clock?”

“Nine thirty. At the latest.”

“But it’s already eight o’clock.”

“Do you want me to change my mind?” Bryan asked rhetorically.

“No, sir.”

Eventually the wool was wound, the dishwasher loaded and the three boys set out. They had barely hit the sidewalk when Nick said, “Pete Petrosian has some great grass. His brother gave it to him when he was home from college last weekend. His brother is a great guy.

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