The kitchen was decorated in bleached woods, with beige granite counters and a light hardwood floor. It was a cozy room they all congregated in, and there was a couch and a TV, where Zelda watched her soaps and talk shows. She quoted from them liberally, whenever the opportunity arose.

“Hi, Mom,” Sam said, hard at work with a purple crayon, looking up as his mother walked in.

“Hi, sweetheart. How was your day?” She kissed the top of his head and ruffled his hair.

“Good. Stevie threw up in school,” he said matter-of-factly, switching the purple crayon for green. He was drawing a house, a cowboy, and a rainbow. Maxine didn't read anything into it, he was a normal, happy kid. He missed his father less than the others, since he had never lived with him. His two older siblings were slightly more aware of their loss.

“That's too bad,” Maxine commented on the unfortunate Stevie. She hoped it was something he ate, not a new flu going around school. “You feel okay?”

“Yup.” Sam nodded, as Zelda looked into the oven and checked on dinner, and Daphne walked into the room. At thirteen, her body was developing new curves, and she had just started eighth grade. All three of them went to Dalton, and Maxine loved the school.

“Can I borrow your black sweater?” Daphne asked, helping herself to a slice of an apple Sam had been eating.

“Which one?” Maxine eyed her with caution.

“The one with the white fur on it? Emma's giving a party tonight,” Daphne said nonchalantly, trying to look like she didn't care, but it was obvious to her mother that she did. It was Friday, and lately there were parties almost every weekend.

“That's a pretty jazzy sweater for a party at Emma's. What kind of party? Boys?”

“Mmm… yeah… maybe…,” Daphne said, and Maxine smiled. “Maybe,” my eye, she thought. She knew perfectly well that Daphne would know all the details. And in Maxine's new Valentino sweater, she was trying to impress someone, for sure an eighth-grade boy.