‘Do we have anything scheduled tomorrow night?’ ‘No,’ she answered. ‘Have him here tomorrow night for dinner. Six sharp,’ he ordered. ‘G...e, how could he possibly refuse such a gracious, generous, sincere invitation?’ I said. ‘You don’t get to be a smart aleck with us either,’ said my Father, obviously not mollified. ‘I’ll see if he’s free,’ I said. ‘I think I can persuade him to come, if he’s not going to Friday night services.’ ‘At least he’s Jewish,’ my Mother said. Dad gave her a withering. I sat at what I thought an appropriate distance, a foot separating us, but she slid back to be snugly seated, our sides touching. I looked at her sternly, but she wasn’t budging, so I just let it be. We started to talk about the rush I was feeling over my recent success at the gallery, but the waitress bounded up to gather the dirty dishes and noticed who was seated there as she said “Hi Arisol, no classes today? Who’s your friend?” Arisol introduced me as her Uncle George, the one. More

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