The Good and the Bad

After the last post went out to get an iced coffee to celebrate our Canadian-American Secretary Alliance. We felt badly about drinking the coffee (the beans were picked by little children, our Friend Serge reminds us) from a plasic cup through a plastic straw and vowed to bring our own cup next time, but overall felt pretty great. When we got back to the office, we sensed that something was wrong. The Contessa looked pale. "Dad wants to talk to us," She said. "In his office." "You said it didn't matter if we took the wine." "It doesn't," she said. "Remember, we don't know anything about the missing wine, right?" Mom and Dad sat in the office, Dad behind his desk, Mom sitting on the couch . Mom sat on the edge of the cushion. She kept her back straight. Her hands were wrapped around each other. She was keeping something in. "We aren't getting laid off, are we?" the Contessa asked, in a jokey tone. "This isn't about you," Mom said. "I'm sick," Dad said. "What do you mean?" I asked. "What kind of sick?" "Lung cancer." The Contessa's lip wobbled. I know for a fact that when the Contessa hit a tight spot last year, and had to move out of her apartment, Dad loaned her five hundred dollars. Back then, she said, I love him. If he wasn't a gay man I'd have an affair with him." "But that's why you love him," I told her. "That's not true. I love him because he's sweet." But now we sat in that room and didn't say anything for a second. "Mom will be the acting director until I get better," Dad said. The contessa grabbed my knee.