Olivier shook his head. “I’ve a passing familiarity with the brand. Anyway, the mural?”
James held up one hand while the burr grinder whirred away. He scooped the fresh grounds into restaurant-grade espresso machine. “It was Laura’s idea, but it was my influence overall.” He turned on the machine and spoke in bursts as he fetched cups, sugar cubes, cream, and chocolates which he arranged on a vintage silver tray. “Elizabeth bonded with Laura instantly, as tends to happen. I took on some big contracts during the pregnancy, hoping to shore up the finances.” He sighed. “I know, WASP problems, but I didn’t come from money like Elizabeth did and I wanted to avoid feeling… lesser? The gifts that were rolling in from her extended family. A litany of cousins and aunts and uncles showering us with gifts. I missed the birth. I was in Seattle approving plans for a housing development.”
He steamed milk in a silver carafe, using the steam as an excuse to wipe tears from his face. “When I returned, I swore I would always be there for her. That was part of why I came back early from that last trip…” His hand shook from the thought nearly sloshing the hot milk. He took three breaths, steadying himself. “It’s fine, Oliver. I know. There was nothing I could have done. Anyway,” He put the carafe on the try and started pulling shots from the machine, arranging them in a tight circle at the center of the tray, “I went overboard trying to make up for that lost time. I didn’t exactly have child-rearing in mind at this stage of life, I don’t know how to be warm or silly. All I know is my work, so I would sit with her and read from an architectural text or magazine. Explaining the angles of the buildings. The supports. The importance of light and space. Anything to just spend time with her. She would often fall asleep early on and I would hold her and finish the chapter or the article, hoping my voice and intent would get through.”
He picked up the tray. “Elizabeth, we’re set here.” He nodded to Olivier and returned to the parlor. He set the tray on the end table next to his customary couch. “Please, sit, I’ll serve once Elizabeth is out. When we repainted the nursery, transforming it into a proper bedroom, we asked Laura what she wanted. She was obsessed with animals; we frequented the zoo and the aquarium often. She surprised me by asking for one wall to be about buildings. ‘I want a daddy wall’ she said.”
The washroom door opened, and Elizabeth came out. She had washed her face and put her hair up into a tight bun. Her blouse was straight and tucked. She was every bit the picture of New England old money that the house presented. She moved the pillows from the arm of her couch and rearranged them along the back before sitting down. She gave James a curt nod and then fixed Olivier with an inviting smile. “How do you take your coffee?”
Olivier took a moment to answer, weighing their pain against the veneer of normality they presented. “Americano, with a touch of milk, just enough to cut the acid,” he said.
James started preparing the coffees, pouring milk, water, and espresso shots with a practiced hand. There was a slight smile in Elizabeth, the comfort of the ritual, the admiration of her husband’s engineering proclivities. “Worried about ulcers, Mr. Kelley?”