“Drinks?”
A server with the long face of a retired racehorse appeared before them. Both Cleo and her father ordered iced teas, Miriam requested hot water with lemon, and Frank asked for a Tom Collins. He had been hoping to slip this order in with as little fuss as possible, but Miriam was on him in seconds.
“Is that like an Arnold Palmer?” she asked.
“Kind of,” he said, busying himself with his napkin.
“Is Bombay Sapphire okay for you, sir?” asked the waiter.
“Sure, sure,” he said.
Frank gave the server a meaningful look, which he hoped would convey his disappointment in him, but he merely turned on his heel with a curt head nod.
“Drinking at lunch on a weekday!” exclaimed Miriam. “How very urbane.”
Cleo could feel her cheeks burning. She took a large gulp of ice water. Frank, who had been momentarily embarrassed, now made the conscious decision not to care what she thought. There was no way he was getting through this lunch without a drink.
“Do they serve bread in this place?” Peter asked, looking around the room testily.
“I’m sure they do, sweetheart,” soothed Miriam. “This is a New York institution, after all.”
Miriam covered Peter’s hand with hers. Cleo shot up in her chair. “I can go ask for some,” she said.
“Nonsense,” growled her father. “Sit down.”
She sank back into her seat. Even after all these years, she could not disobey her father. To Frank, her father seemed like some kind of grumpy grizzly bear who was being subjected to the equivalent of a teddy bear’s picnic.
“Oh, Cleo,” cooed Miriam. “Humphrey sends his love. You know he’s starting Cambridge next month?”
“He’s a hardworking lad, that one,” said Peter.
“Hopefully it means he’ll finally be rid of that horrible girlfriend of his,” said Miriam. “He keeps trying to break up with her, but every time he does, she cries, and he just can’t go through with it, poor thing.”
“Maybe he doesn’t really want to break up with her,” said Cleo.
“He most certainly does,” said Miriam. “She’s absolutely ghastly, as I keep reminding him. He’s just too nice, that’s his problem.”
“Sounds like he needs to grow a pair,” said Frank.
Miriam inhaled sharply as if she’d been struck.
“Humphrey’s a very sensitive boy,” she said. “Exceptional in many ways. There’s certainly nothing wrong with Humphrey.”
“The boy’s a red belt in martial arts,” said Peter.
“I was just kidding,” said Frank.
“He was just kidding,” said Cleo.
“Where’s that bread?” said Peter.
Frank glanced at Cleo, who had reverted back to staring at her lap. It was up to him to make nice, he gathered.
“So,” he said. “Cley mentioned you’re leading some kind of workshop for children?”
Miriam tipped her head back and laughed with an abandon that rang entirely false.
“I run workshops for healing your inner child. It’s a little different.” She turned to Peter, still giggling. “Did you hear that, Pete?”
Peter grunted an acknowledgment. He was distracted by a bountiful breadbasket winding its ways toward them, along with the tray of drinks. The server was still relinquishing his load when Peter snapped off a breadstick and speared it into the pat of butter.
“We just led a workshop for a tech start-up in San Francisco, and now we’re heading to New Haven. In fact, I’ve toured it all over the world. Last month we were in China!”
“That’s amazing,” said Cleo.
Frank noticed that Cleo looked anything but amazed by this. In fact, she looked deeply depressed. He took a long pull from his drink.
“You do the workshops together?” he asked.
“Mimi’s the brains behind the whole operation,” said Peter, demolishing a bread roll. “Now I’m retired, I can travel with her.”
“You’re like my groupie, aren’t you, darling?” said Miriam.
The breadstick Cleo was holding snapped between her fingers.
“Let’s order food, since you’re so hungry, Peter,” said Frank. He beckoned over the long-faced waiter. “A dozen oysters and a couple of the lobster seafood platters for the table. How does that sound?”
“Perfect,” said Cleo, inwardly relishing the fact that for once her father was not the head of the table. Frank was more successful than he had ever been.