“It’s what people do when they have dinner parties, right?” he said, showing me the bottle. “I think it’s red with dinner. But I’m not sure.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been to a dinner party.”
I added it to the list of rules in my head: for dinner parties, bring wine, probably red. “Are we going to drink wine?” I asked.
“We don’t have to,” Gert said. “I know you have a rule about that stuff.”
Because of what happened to Mom and how she drank too much, I decided I was never going to drink, ever. It was a rule for myself. But Vikings drank, especially when happy and at a gargantuan feast, and I was feeling happy and going to a feast. Maybe there are different rules for feasting at dinner parties.
Vikings always drink mead and wine at powerful feasts, but they do not drink mead and wine at any other time. You cannot do battle if you have too much. I asked Gert if that was one of the rules of dinner parties—that you needed to drink mead.
“I mean, it’s what happens a lot. Not mead. Nobody drinks that anymore.”
“Then we can have wine. But only while eating.”
We walked up the stones in the ground in front of Marxy’s house, through the metal gate, and past flowers and a large tree.
Gert rang the doorbell and Marxy answered the door. He had a nice shirt on, dark blue, and nice brown pants, the kind with the line in the middle which is called a “crease.”
“Hello,” he said. “Welcome to my house.”
Pearl came up behind him. She was wearing a yellow dress and a gray cardigan over it. “Right on time. What’s this?”
Gert handed over the wine. “I wasn’t sure what to bring, so I got this merlot stuff.”
“Gert isn’t a big wine person,” I said. “He likes beer.”
Pearl smiled and stepped aside. “Well. It was thoughtful. Come on in. Kick off your shoes.”
“We have that rule too,” I said, closing the door behind us.
I had only been to Marxy’s house once, when neither of his parents could drive him to the Community Center and AK47 had to pick him up. That time I stayed on the bus. Now that I was inside, I saw pictures of Marxy as a baby on the wall, wearing a sailor’s outfit, and also his family. There was a painting on the wall of a ship at sea, and the house smelled very nice and soft, like laundry that comes right out of the machine.
The dinner table was already set up. Pearl was serving chicken and mashed potatoes. We sat with Pearl at the head of one side, and Gert on the other. Marxy and I were across from each other. Pearl asked if I wanted some wine. She opened the bottle with a corkscrew and poured herself some.
“Yes, please,” I said.
“Me too,” Marxy said, and Pearl told him he could have a little bit but not more than a glass. “He got into some coolers I had in the fridge one time, and let me tell you,” Pearl said, “that was a handful.”
“I puked all night,” Marxy said.
“Lesson learned,” Pearl said. “Is anyone religious here? We’re atheists, but I’m happy to say grace if that’s what you do.”
“We’re fine, right?” Gert said.
Marxy turned to me. “Zelda can say the Viking thing.”
I cleared my throat and closed my eyes to remember the Viking blessing from Kepple’s Guide to the Vikings. “Odin and the other gods, bless this bounty set here before us and have some yourself and enjoy it.”
Pearl smiled. “Odin, huh?”
“I used to go to Catholic school,” Marxy said, poking the chicken with his fork. “But I hated it.”
“The teachers there were puritanical. Here, honey. Use this.” She handed Marxy a sharper knife with the crinkly end, the kind you use to cut power meats like steaks.
Marxy turned to Gert after cutting up his chicken. “Did those hurt? The writing on your arms?”
Gert had rolled up his sleeves before dinner and you could see some of his muscles and tattoos. “My tattoos?”
Marxy nodded his head. “Is it like drawing with a pen?”
“No. It’s more like a needle.”
“I’d like a tattoo, please,” Marxy said.
“Ha.” Pearl nearly spilled her wine. “Fat chance of that. Though Marxy’s father has one.”
“It’s a name on Dad’s arm, right here,” Marxy said, patting his own arm between his shoulder and elbow.
“And not mine.” Pearl sighed. “Young love.”
Gert wiped his lips on his napkin and started cutting up more of his chicken on his plate very loudly.
“Marxy tells me you’ve started calling him something,” she said to me. “What was it, Marxy?”
“Fair maiden,” Marxy said.
I nodded. “All Viking heroes have fair maidens,” I said. “And before anyone says that only girls are allowed to be fair maidens, I think that those rules are old and we need new rules where anyone can be fair maidens.”
Gert laughed.
“I think it’s cool,” Marxy said. “Why are you laughing at me?”
Pearl reached over and patted his arm. “Honey, it’s okay. Nobody is laughing at you. Right, Gert?” She gave him THE LOOK.
“I’m sick and tired of people laughing at me,” Marxy said.
I kicked Gert under the table and he put up his hands. “Okay, hey, I wasn’t laughing at you. It’s just not something you hear guys called a lot. That’s all.”
“Well, Zelda can call me it if she wants,” Marxy said, picking up a bite of chicken with his fork.
Nobody said anything for a little while. I decided to fill the silence with my announcement.
“And another thing is that I want to have sex with Marxy, because Dr. Laird says it’s normal for people our age to express our love for each other physically,” I said. “I have also got my period.”
“Jesus,” Gert said, putting his fork down. “Can we not talk about fucking periods, please?”
“I know all the rules about sex,” Marxy said.
Pearl poured herself some more wine and laughed. “Well, hello there, awkward dinner conversation topics.” She turned to Gert. “But I’m glad the subject came up, Gert, because this is the reality. They’re not children anymore. They have functioning reproductive systems, sex drives.”
“You’re talking about me like I’m not here again,” Marxy said.
“And me,” I added.
Pearl smiled and dabbed her lips with her napkin. “I apologize. To both of you. Feel free to add anything.”
“We’re in love,” I said, and reached and held on to Marxy’s hand from across the table, almost getting my arm in the bowl of mashed potatoes.
Pearl nodded. “Marxy knows about sex. He masturbates.”
“Mom!”
Pearl shrugged her shoulders. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. We all masturbate.”
“I do,” I said. “Dr. Laird says the same thing. And Gert does too. I caught him once.”
“Jesus Christ,” Gert said, his face getting red. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
I wondered if all dinner parties ended up with people talking about important things. Gert did not like talking openly about things the way Pearl did.