Lu says to her brother: “I’m sure Fred’s thinking he has a huge advantage—one case, no administrative duties—and that I can’t possibly keep up. But I will. I’m a better lawyer than he is. I proved that time and again when I was his deputy.”
She glances out at the lake. It is one of those January days that feels like a hangover. The holidays are past, her birthday is past, even her new job is losing its shiny-new luster despite the challenge of the Drysdale case. The Ravens, as of last weekend, are no longer in contention for the Super Bowl, not that she really cares. She often thinks that’s why the Super Bowl was invented—to give people a reason to party into February. The beer companies have been pretty effective at giving people reasons to drink at least once a month—Super Bowl, Mardi Gras, Cinco de Mayo, Memorial Day, Fourth of July, Labor Day, Halloween. She’s surprised they haven’t figured out a way to make MLK’s birthday a bacchanal. Civil rights Jell-O shots for all! This Bud’s for you, Dr. King. She remembers when Penelope, age four, came home from school and began telling her there was a man, a very good man, who died too young and he would cry if he saw what life was like today.
For a moment, Lu thought Penelope was talking about Gabe.
“Maybe you should plead this one out, Lu. Take the air out of his tires.”
“No.”
“And here comes the famous Lu Brant chin action.”
It is family lore that Lu, when stubborn, sets her jaw and sticks out her chin. “Bridle” is the correct term. It refers to a horse in bridle, the way the jaw extends when the bit is forced into the mouth. She has never heard the term used to refer to a man. Bridle. Bridal.
Their food comes and she is delighted that AJ has chosen steak frites—it seems a victory over Lauranne—but mystified why he has yet to bring up the confidential matter that this lunch was supposed to feature. They’ve both had a glass of wine and a leisurely appetizer course—an eggplant Napoleon for Lu, a frisée salad with lardons for AJ. She wonders if Lauranne will be able to smell the meat on him when he comes home, then wonders if AJ cares.
He dips a french fry in mayonnaise, sighs with pleasure. “These are perfect.”
“Five Guys are almost as good. That’s where I usually go when I need a fix.”
“There’s not one near me.”
“There’s one in the Harbor and then one over in that neighborhood they’re now calling Brewers Hill. Also, just fifteen minutes down the parkway at Arundel Mills.”
“Sounds like you’ve made quite a study of this. You need better vices, Lu.”
She sips her wine, not at all flustered by the fleeting mental vision of her true vice, Bash. Compartmentalization is not a problem for Lu. Bash has a talent for it, too, despite that worrisome appearance at the open house over Christmas. If her fifty-three-year-old brother knew—well, what would he do? Take a swing at his old friend? AJ may be progressive in his politics, his ideas about climate change, and how to feed the planet, but when it comes to his sister, he’s stuck in retro big-brother mode. How silly.
“How much longer are you going to stall?” she asks him now.
“Stall?”
“I thought you had something to discuss with me. Are you concerned about Dad?” The second she says that, she realizes that she is a little concerned. A line from Wordsworth comes to her: Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers. So much getting. So much spending. There’s a hint of mania to their father these past few years, and now she wonders if that means there was a depressive phase she missed. No one expects a man widowered at a young age to be the life of the party, but Lu has begun to suspect her father’s quiet, contained ways were part of something larger, sadder still.
“Should I be? He seems pretty hale. And sharp as ever. If anything, I’m surprised by how little he changes, and I don’t see him day in, day out as you do, so I would be more prone to notice. No, I wanted to talk to you about, um, kids.”
“Kids?”
“Having them.”
“Well, it all begins when two people love each other very much—”
“No, seriously, Lu. I want to talk to you about surrogacy.”