andhiswife | (Reply)

It is impossible to take offense at Thomas's inability to maintain much of a conversation. In part, that's because she doesn't expect much in the way of dinnertime conversation to begin with. The most she can usually do is ask Saoirse yes or no questions, and she's such a little thing that Greta doesn't want to distract her from eating, so meals are usually quiet affairs. But more to the point: if her cooking is so good that it interferes with Thomas's otherwise unassailable good manners, that's really the highest compliment she could receive.

"It is my job," she reminds him with a pleased, bashful smile. "I spend more time on it than most. But thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed it." More than she can say, really; she would've died of mortification if he hadn't liked it.

As Thomas and Saoirse clear the table, Greta takes the dogs out for a minute -- better to do it now, before they get distracted, and before it gets even colder -- then turns on the television and finds a channel covering the festivities at City Hall. She keeps the volume low enough to be unobtrusive, not wanting to actively watch it as much as she just wants to keep half an eye on the proceedings. She doesn't expect anything noteworthy to happen until midnight, if anything happens at all. But if something does go awry, she'd like to see it on the television before it ends up on her doorstep.

"Nothing so far," she informs them both as she goes back to the kitchen to check their progress. Her tone suggests to Saoirse that she's not missing anything exciting on the television; her slightly arched eyebrow tells Thomas that it'll be a minor miracle if things stay that way. "What would you like to do next?" she asks Saoirse. She doesn't really expect her to make it all the way to midnight, still some hours off, but that's all the more reason to do something she enjoys while she's still chipper. "We could read a story, or play a game...?"