“I’m really worried about Duckie, “ said Louis. “She’s just not eating.”
“Really?” I said. Duckie is my 90 year old mother-in-law and in the almost 25 years I have known her I have never known her appetitive to be anything less than “hearty.” But still she is getting older so I said, “I’ll try to get her to eat.”
“Please do,” said Louis who is 65, retired, unmarried and worries over his mother incessantly, which infuriates her. Today he had brought Duckie to meet me at Newark airport so I could bring her south for the holidays. Now as he hugged her good-bye he said, “Make sure you eat.”
Duckie pushed him away. “I got no appetite,” she said.
As we walked through the airport I said, “They don’t serve food on planes anymore. How about if I pick up a couple of sandwiches for lunch?”
“Don’t bother,” said Duckie. “I got no appetite.”
“Well, I’ll buy one anyway,” I said and I bought each of us a turkey and cheese sub; Duckie had consumed hers before we took off.
“That was tasty,” she said.
Ryan met us at the airport; clearly Louis had debriefed him. “I made a beef stew,” he told his mother, “your favorite.”
“I got no appetite,” said Duckie.
“Well, you better eat,” said Ryan, “I made a lot of stew.”
At our house we serve from the stove so at dinner Ryan handed his mother a plate and told her to help herself. Next Ryan filled his plate and finally it was my turn.
As I started to serve myself I was instantly annoyed to find a pot of potatoes and carrots with no meat, but just then Ryan came back into the kitchen to refill his wine glass: he keeps the wine bottle in the kitchen because he thinks he will drink less if the bottle is not on the dining room table. This has never made even the slightest difference in his wine consumption but it makes him feel better.
Before I could say anything Ryan said, incredulously, “She took all the meat. There was none left for me.” I looked at him, eyes wide. “There were two pounds of stew meat in that pot,” he said.
Soon dinner was over; Duckie’s plate was as clean as it was before she started. “How about some dessert?” I asked her. “Our neighbor sent over some stollen.” Every Christmas our neighbor sends over a stollen that is heavy with butter and sour cream and nuts and raisins: The loaf weighs about five pounds and is so rich and so dense that no one can eat more than about a bite.
“No dessert for me,” said Duckie. “I got no appetite.” She shook her head mournfully. “Getting old is for the birds,” she said as I put the stollen, a knife and three plates on the table
Duckie took a tiny little bite. “This is pretty good,” she said. “I’ll bet it’d be good with ice cream.”
I nodded and went back into the kitchen where Ryan was refilling his wine glass
“She seems to be eating pretty well,” I said.
“You think?” he said
We walked into the dining room together and as I put the ice cream down I saw that easily half of the stollen was gone. Then, in a kind of stupor we watched as Duckie ate the other half with ice cream.
When she was done, I couldn’t help myself. “Did you get enough to eat?” I asked.
Duckie sighed. “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I got no appetite.”