Conversation over Breakfast
BEA: “You’re my daughter, and I’m your mother. So I should take care of you.”
ME: “You did. Now it is my turn.”
BEA, after much thought: “Thank you.”
Bea is eating ice cream, slowly, savoring each spoonful. She pauses again and furrows her brow. That grey matter is getting a real workout today.
BEA: “I guess I’m just one of those queer people …”
I wait for her to elucidate but she doesn’t.
ME: “What do you mean?”
BEA: “People who don’t die.”
ME: “Oh! Well, you’ll die soon enough. In the meantime, we can enjoy having you here with us.”
Bea offers a faint, slighted embarrassed smile, like a young girl who has been told she is pretty by people she has only just met.
BEA: “What is the name of this place?”
I am not sure whether she is asking about Wellfleet or not. So I choose not, seizing the opportunity for self-promotion, a behavior that has become second-nature.
ME: “Chez Sven Bed & Breakfast, which makes sense since you’re having breakfast. Imagine, a place that serves chocolate ice cream instead of scrambled eggs and bacon!”
BEA: “Sounds ideal …”