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jeweler, and after Theodore dropped the jewelry business for optometry, she took to beginning her sentences, If you’d only gone into the jewelry business . . . In Theodore’s better days, he often finished it for her. I wouldn’t have been as happy, Mother. Vivian generally replied with an uncomfortable chuckle. Oh well, yes, of course, but still . . .
    So if Vivian’s about to launch into a story about a member of the family, chances are it happened when that person was a baby. Priscilla, for instance, is way beyond tired of the story about how quietly and perfectly she laid on a blanket as a baby. (All Priscilla can figure is that her great-grandmother repeats the Priscilla Lays Quietly On A Fucking Blanket story because it didn’t happen often. Even Priscilla knows that much about herself. But it’s only partly the case. Vivian does repeat it because she’s easily impressed by well-behaved children, and on that day, Vivian had found Priscilla laying on this baby blanket about twenty minutes after she’d exhausted herself screaming. Vivian hadn’t witnessed that part of it, and was charmed by Priscilla’s momentary fascination with a crystal paperweight and the reflections it was making around the room. Still, Priscilla thought, had she done nothing that her great-grandmother admired since lying still on a blanket before she could even walk? Not even fucking walking ? Gah .)
    Otherwise, Vivian’s stories tend to be about Vivian. She has about fifteen stories in permanent rotation, and the grooves have worn deep. Was a minister’s daughter, positively hated Sunday services, hated moving around, hated not knowing where they’d be from one year to the next, went to twelve schools in ten years. The year she was six, her father moved ahead of the family; she came home from school one day and her father was gone, and all she was told was that he’d been “called” and that they’d meet him soon. Never went to church again after she got married, never moved again once they bought their own home. Has wonderful memories of childhood, wonderful memories, oh yes, they didn’t have very much money at all, you see, on her father’s salary, but they made do, raised their own chickens, her mother taught her to bake. Only had one birthday party ever, her seventh. Was engaged twice before she met her future husband, Baron, gave the rings back, of course . Heavens. No proper young lady would keep such things. Was on the women’s swim team in college. Was a teacher in a one-room schoolhouse. Jean has been seen mouthing the words to Vivian’s stories along with her behind her back.
    Despite her age, Vivian is as fast on her feet as ever. If she decides she needs something in the other room, she’ll be there and back in a blink, as if she has her own little high-speed conveyer belt. She’s a little slower with other things, like cooking, but still gets it done. Keeps her part of the house tidy, neat as a pin. Has a cleaning lady come in once a week to do the sweeping. Sometimes forgets that the word “Negro” is no longer in favor ( Oh, I can’t keep up with that ). Watches her weight. Collects antique valentines and little windup toys, the kind that do things, ducks and penguins that waddle and flip over, bobble-head dolls, tops that open up and fan out when you spin them, finds them endlessly amusing. Not super interested in her great-grandkids now, hasn’t been since they were toddlers. Thinks Otis is a little off, does not approve of Priscilla’s: hairstyle, manner of dress, attitude. A little obsessed with a nephew who graduated from Princeton. Photos of him on her fridge. (Don’t get Priscilla and Jean started about this.) Is always prompt for engagements and expects promptness from others. Always sends handwritten thank-you notes. It’s just proper etiquette.
    Oh, and one more thing: has never in her life driven a car. Oh, my word, no. Prefers to be driven. Her husband used to do this, then Theodore, but