“Which one?” asked Alice.
“It is a late work by Carlos van Thacter, a Transylvanian artist,” Mr. Vega replied. “An enormous black granite spike rises from the floor, as if from the center of the earth. And then it bends gracefully, almost like a blade of grass. For me, it illustrates the struggle between the natural and the unnatural.”
“You mean that big black thing by the elevators?” Alice said. “I’ve always found that cold and boring.”
“Cold and boring?” Mr. Vega repeated. “Well, it might not be one of those cartoon collages on the second floor that everybody—”
“My friend, Marie, made those,” Alice interrupted.
Olivia slipped back into the kitchen.
“Why are they fighting?” Ivy demanded.
“They’re not fighting,” Olivia said, though she wasn’t sure. “They’re having an intellectual debate.”
“Well, you have to stop them!”
“What do you want me to do?” Olivia asked.
“Clear their plates and change the subject,” Ivy commanded and pushed her sister back through the swinging door. Olivia almost stumbled right into the back of her father’s chair.
“May I take that?” she panted, gesturing to Mr. Vega’s bowl. “So, Alice,” she said, searching her mind for a harmless subject for conversation, “how long have you lived in Franklin Grove?”
“Three and a half years,” said Alice. “I used to live in Paris. I just love Europe!”
Olivia couldn’t help wincing. A pan clattered in the kitchen.
“It’s nothing!” called Ivy.
“Oh?” said Mr. Vega to Alice, clearly interested in hearing more.
The two of them spent the entire main course talking about Europe, pausing only to rave about Ivy’s lasagna. In the kitchen, Olivia whipped heavy cream with sugar and vanilla in a ceramic bowl. “It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine,” she chanted to herself as she whipped.
“Will you please stop saying that?” Ivy said in a deflated voice.
“It’s true,” Olivia answered. She was determined to remain optimistic.
“If the whole purpose of tonight was to convince our father not to move to Europe,” Ivy said, “how is them talking the whole time about Europe fine?”
“Because it shows just how much they have in common,” said Olivia. If they like each other, she thought, he’ll stay. He has to!
After she cleared their main course plates, Olivia prepared to bring out dessert. “Lesson of Love Number Three,” she announced, “set the mood.” She turned down the lights in the dining room and put some harp music on the stereo. Then she carried out a big bowl of grapes, plus the two dishes of blood Jell-O, topped with her special whipped cream.
“Dessert is served,” she said smoothly, placing the dishes carefully on the table.
“You girls have really outdone yourselves,” Mr. Vega said, seeming genuinely impressed. He took a bite, and his eyes lit up. “This topping,” he said. “It’s cream, with sugar and vanilla, right?”
“Made it myself,” Olivia answered proudly.
Mr. Vega looked at the dessert longingly. “I once knew someone who would have loved a sweet topping like this. I haven’t had anything like it in years.” He fixed Olivia with a pained smile. “Thank you.”
“Enjoy your desserts,” Olivia whispered. She knew, somehow, that he had been talking about her mother.
She took a deep breath as she reentered the kitchen.
“How’s it going?” Ivy asked.
“They’re totally falling for each other,” Olivia said, trying to convince herself. “There’s no way he’s going to want to move now.”
Suddenly a huge crash sounded from the dining room. Olivia and Ivy looked at each other and rushed through the door.
Mr. Vega was standing behind Alice, his arms wrapped around her in a bear hug. Alice’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her head.
Is this some strange vampire hugging ritual? Olivia wondered.
Mr. Vega squeezed, and Alice emitted a sickly sound that culminated in a pop. A small purple orb the size of a marble sailed out of Alice’s mouth and splatted on the wall behind Olivia’s head.
Alice breathed deeply. “If I were human, you would have just saved my life!” she said, turning and throwing her arms around Mr. Vega’s neck.
He looked at Ivy and Olivia over her shoulder. “Alice choked on a grape.”
“Are you okay?” gasped Olivia.
“We never should have served grapes,” Ivy blurted.
“No, no,” Alice said. She shifted Mr. Vega awkwardly, her arms still around his neck. Now she was facing them over his shoulder. “I’m not upset.” She smiled beatifically. “This man is my hero!”
Olivia exchanged openmouthed looks with her sister. We did it!
A half hour later, she and Ivy were peeking around the corner at the foyer, spying on Alice and Mr. Vega again.
“Thank you, Charlie,” Alice cooed. “I had such a terrific time. You have very strong arms, you know.”
“It was certainly an eventful evening,” Mr. Vega answered.
“Maybe some time we can go to the museum together and I can teach you a thing or two about art,” Alice suggested.
Mr. Vega gave one of his close-lipped smiles.
Alice came right up close to him.
Kiss her! Olivia wanted to yell. Kiss her! Instead Mr. Vega said, “Bye now,” and gently pushed Alice out the door. Beside Olivia, Ivy slumped to the floor in defeat.
Mr. Vega turned toward where they were hiding. “You can come out now, girls,” he called.
Uh-oh, thought Olivia. She recognized the tone of his voice: it was the one used by parents everywhere to indicate when you’re in big trouble. “Thanks for participating in our art project, Mr. Vega,” Olivia said hopefully as she and Ivy came out into the open.
He walked toward them. “If this were an art project,” he said, “you two would get an A. Tonight was creative, unexpected, and memorable. And really, Ivy, the lasagna was superb.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Ivy said.
“But as a date”—he sighed—“I would have to give it an F. Even without the Heimlich maneuver.” He looked at them sternly. “This wasn’t an art project, was it?”