The Dinner Party

Vera stood by Miles’s side, embracing his arm, and knowing for certain she’d never felt so comfortable before in her life.

He softly placed his hand over hers, and the two merely stood at the edge of the balcony, watching in contentment as the fireworks shook the atmosphere, illuminating the night sky in fantastic explosions before the wild flurry of red white and blue at the end.

Then, when the final series of rapid eruptions ended, the sky fell silent once more, and the crowd of Nightingale guests down below began to clap, whistle, and cheer.

“That was so awesome,” Vera sighed, wearing a peaceful, contented smile, still gazing into the sky and wishing the moment didn’t have to end.

Miles peered over at her, his brow arched. “Better than where you came from?”

“Oh yeah,” Vera confirmed. “That was the best fireworks show I’ve ever seen.”

Miles let out a faint little chuckle, making a nod. “Well… good. Then I win.”

Vera giggled and nodded. “Yeah, you win.”

“Ah.” Miles held out his free hand, examining a raindrop that had landed on his knuckles. “And the rain makes its return, right on time.”

“At least the rain waited for the fireworks to be over,” Vera remarked.

“Quite so,” Miles agreed, turning to face her. “Well… shall we?”

Vera joined him, and the two of them marched back into the building, sliding her glass door shut before heading off to the party.

When they stepped into the elevator, she let out a heavy sigh.

“I’m gonna have to break away from you for a second,” Vera knew. “Just to talk to Nathan.”

“Why? Oh,” Miles uttered, only just remembering. “Right. I forgot you rang his wife’s bell…”

“How did you forget that?” Vera laughed. “That just happened.”

“Yes, well… I’ve been rather distracted since then,” he told her, smiling coyly.

Vera narrowed her eyes at him, still smiling as well, and the elevator doors slid open.

“Oh… wait… wait a moment.” Miles hesitated just after stepping out of the elevator, reaching into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulling out a small, artificial flower, fixing it onto his chest. “There we are.”

Vera turned back and eyed him, waving a finger at the little white flower. “You just had that sitting in your pocket?”

“Well… I just thought I’d be prepared,” Miles replied, his knowing smile as persistent as ever. “Off we go, then.”

They joined sides and marched down the hall together.

“I’m kinda nervous,” Vera admitted, clutching his arm again.

“Well… when in doubt, just remember,” Miles advised. “You own the Nightingale. So… you reserve the right to act however you like within its walls. You’re not held to any standards aside from your own.”

Vera turned her head, surveying him curiously. “You’re not all that worried about me accidentally tanking this business, are you?”

“Oh… Heavens, no,” Miles chuckled, shaking his head. “I’d be delighted if you did. Not that I don’t enjoy the Nightingale… but there are certain freedoms I miss outside these walls.”

“Well, what does that mean? I’m pretty sure you’re allowed to come and go. You could take a vacation if you wanted to.”

Miles opened his mouth, then sighed, shaking his head mildly again. “Oh, I really can’t go anywhere. Certainly not with you here.”

Vera shot him an odd look, slowing to a stop just when they drew near the dining hall.

Miles hesitated before turning around to face her. “I only meant… there are certain things I do here that only I do. I couldn’t leave all my Nightingale responsibilities resting on you.”

“Oh… really,” Vera muttered tonelessly. “Why? You don’t think I can handle it?”

“That’s not it,” Miles told her honestly. “It’s really not…”

“Then why? Because if you wanted to get away from here for a while, I wouldn’t mind doing your jobs until you got back—”

“No—that cannot happen,” Miles said sharply.

Both of them fell silent for a moment, standing alone in the hallway and saying nothing.

Vera studied him, feeling somewhat surprised at him now. He seemed incredibly insistent on this seemingly trivial matter all the sudden, and she couldn’t think why.

Miles sighed deeply, his expression deflating, staring into her with a hint of conflict in his eyes.

“All right… first of all, Madame, I have no desire to take a vacation as of now,” he stated. “And secondly… there are certain aspects of the job that I cannot hand off to anyone else. It’s not due to your level of competence, either. It’s really more of a… safety… issue.”

“What?” Vera said, now totally lost. “How…?”

“That… is a conversation for another time,” Miles disclosed, gently placing a hand on her back and guiding her toward the dining hall. “We will get to it, I assure you. But, for now… let’s get to this first.”

“Ugh… fine,” Vera groaned, feeling a spark of dread as they passed through the entryway. “I have to go find Nathan and talk to him about how I cleaned his wife’s clock. Excuse me…”

Miles laughed, giving her a wave as she wandered off.

Vera slowed her pace as she ventured deeper into the dining hall, pausing for a moment to glance around.

Most of the guests had returned to the dining hall before she or her butler did, and now, many of them were gathered around the endlessly expansive dining table, which was now covered with dinner items, a plate and a glass at every seat, and a few of the foods placed in the center already, still covered by shiny metal lids. As the adults stood or sat around the table and spoke with each other, the children were spread out more, a few playing together in the corner, two boys waging a swordfight near the end of the bar with their glow sticks. The tops of the walls were strung with red white and blue bunting, and a few orb lights hung down from nearby them, the smooth melodies of old-timey music echoing softly from the small speakers in every ceiling’s corner.

“This is so weird,” Vera murmured to herself, glimpsing back and seeing that Miles had already walked off to speak with Davies at the bar.

Her eyes landed on the wall opposite the dining table, where three paintings of the ocean were, as well as a mounted antique rifle, and beneath the firearm was a large, shapely mirror with a curved, golden frame.

Vera stared at the mirror for a second, then examined the rest of the room again, seeing that Nathan and Tony were seated at the end of the table and speaking to each other, Alison sitting quietly beside her older brother, and Wilson just across from all of them, quietly flipping through a book.

Inhaling a bracing breath, Vera broke into a brisk stride, walking past several strangers as she made her way to the end of the table. When she did, she stood by Nathan, patiently waiting for his conversation with his son to end.

Eventually, Nathan turned and blinked, spotting her there and reaching his feet. “Oh… hi.”

“Hey,” Vera uttered. “I kinda need to talk to you about something.”

Nathan nodded, folding his arms and waiting for her to continue.

Vera took in another breath, glimpsing around and seeing that most of the guests were standing in groups near the table rather than sitting around it right now, making them unlikely to overhear.

“Okay, well… when I came downstairs earlier, I heard Amy and Miles arguing about something in the hallway,” Vera explained, hushing her tone. “And, when I got there, Amy hauled off and hit Miles in the face… so…”

“Is that what happened?” Nathan said, also lowering his voice, leaning slightly closer and wearing a quizzical visage. “All she’d tell me was that someone hit her .”

“Well, yeah… ‘cause… I did,” Vera told him incredulously. “When I walked up to them, I just saw her smack him, so… I… hit her back.”

Nathan slowly nodded, still giving her a thoughtful stare.

“I’m sorry,” Vera added. “I just reacted…”

Nathan swatted the air once, his brow hardening, and he made a pointing gesture at her. “But she hit him first?”

“Yeah,” Vera confirmed.

Nathan nodded again, staring downward and gnawing his bottom lip for a second. Then, he made a shrug and nodded sideways, meeting her eyes again.

“Well, then… yeah… I understand,” he told her. “Okay. Whole damn thing makes a lot more sense to me now…”

Vera nodded as well, still feeling conflicted, unsure of how she was meant to handle this. Being the owner now, she guessed she’d have to offer them some form of compensation. Yes, she’d seen other business owners do that type of thing before…

“Ahm… is there anything I can do to… make up for it?” she muttered at a loss. “Like… something complementary, or…?”

“Oh, no… no, no, don’t worry,” Nathan replied, shaking his head and crossing his arms again. “She can’t just go around hitting everyone she doesn’t like. She’ll find that out when she can’t hide behind me anymore…”

Vera took slightly back, raising her brows at him.

“But… anyway,” Nathan said, shaking his head and offering his hand. “Thank you for your honesty. No hard feelings.”

“Oh, yeah… no problem,” Vera replied, returning the handshake. “Sorry about the whole thing.”

“Yeah, well… wasn’t your fault,” Nathan assured. “I have a maid for my townhouse back home, and I’d probably do the same if someone just decided to hit her for no good reason. Servants are people before they’re servants. Amy doesn’t seem to see that… but that’s the way it is.”

“Yeah… I totally agree,” Vera said, feeling relieved now. “Well… enjoy the party.”

“Thanks. You too.”

Nathan reclaimed his seat, and Vera walked away, much more at ease. She glimpsed to the side as she crossed the room again, seeing that the Hernandez family were seating themselves around the table alongside the Sindacos now.

Max climbed into a chair beside his father, staring glumly down at the dinner plate in front of him and remaining quiet, unlike the rest of his family. Jorge and Rosa struck up a conversation with Nathan and Tony right away, and Maria jumped out of her chair seconds after sitting in it, hurrying off to join the other children.

Meanwhile, Wilson continued to read his book at the table, and Miles appeared behind him, hands behind his back as he peered down at the book from over his shoulder.

“Just getting to the good parts, I see,” Miles remarked.

Wilson barely turned his head, perking his brow at him. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Why… do you expect to be waited on even now?” Miles replied with a curt half-smile. “The entire kitchen staff will be bringing your meal to you this time. I expect you knew that already, unless your mind is starting to go.”

“The day my mind is unable to comprehend your snarky-ass remarks anymore is the day I’ll finally cry halleluiah,” Wilson retorted, smirking snidely as well. “But that day ain’t quite here yet, Mister Miles.”

“Pity,” Miles muttered.

Vera glimpsed across the room, seeing the Sindacos conversing with the Hernandez family, Miles and Wilson chatting just across from them, and the wide glass doors leading out to the pool area showed that the nighttime sprinkle of rain was evolving into another downpour.

Then, she leaned against the bar, tapping it a few times and waving her finger, gathering Davies’s attention.

“Heeey… you enjoy the fireworks?” Davies asked her. “Miles went all-out on it this time.”

“Yeah… I did,” Vera replied. “But I wanted to ask… what’s the strongest drink you have that goes down smooth?”

Davies cocked his head at her. “Damn. You having that bad of a night…?”

“No… just nervous,” Vera told him truthfully. “Just wanna take the edge off. Just one drink.”

“Okay… but being nervous is kinda pointless for you,” Davies figured, pulling out a glass and preparing her drink. “Seeing as how you’re the only person here who can’t get fired.”

“That doesn’t mean I wanna show my ass here,” Vera replied. “Some more…”

Davies filled the tall, curvy glass with a nice pink liquid, then plopped a slender green straw into it and handed it to her.

“You want my advice?” he asked, leaning on the bar.

Vera swirled her drink around with her straw, giving him a flat smile. “No.”

“Well, too bad. My advice is… just do whatever you feel like,” Davies stated. “Because as far as I can tell, you have a good heart, but you also take no bullshit, and that means your instincts are on point. Following your gut is gonna lead you right. And… since you’re in charge… it’s gonna lead everyone else right, too.”

“I can only hope you’re right,” Vera said, raising her glass at him and turning to walk away.

Davies waved her off.

Vera sipped on the beverage, a cold, sweet one with little taste of alcohol, something she quite enjoyed. She passed by a few small groups of people speaking with each other—many of them being people she didn’t quite recognize—and she slowed to a stop near the wall, just in front of the gold-framed mirror.

Her eyes traveled across the entire scene, the groups of twos, threes, and fours, all in nice suits or beautiful dresses, standing in various areas of the dining hall and talking casually. A couple of the small groups began to claim the round tables or the booths along the wall, and the large families continued making themselves comfortable at the big table as the hum of smooth, comforting music carried on in the background.

Vera smirked calmly at the scene before her, feeling her anxiety slowly begin to fade away. She’d met plenty of decent people here, and she quite liked what she knew of them so far. Perhaps Davies was right. There was no point in being nervous at all.

Sighing peacefully, she turned away, taking another sip of her drink as she faced the mirror. The reflection showed just the same scene, but the obverse of it all, and she was able to see the Sindaco and Hernandez families up the entire side row—one of them catching her eye.

The reflection of Max looked out of place, sitting between Jorge and Maria’s empty seat; Max was hunched over, head tilted at a bizarre angle, mouth unraveled in an unnaturally wide smile, his hands clasping and clawing rapidly at the top of the table cloth as he jerked and convulsed—

Vera whipped around, inhaling sharply as her heart made a painful sudden jolt.

Facing away from the mirror and gazing across the crowd—everything appeared ordinary, including Max, who simply sat there, fidgeting mindlessly with the edge of the table cloth, not hunched, smiling, clawing, or shaking, doing nothing strange whatsoever.

Vera stood stock still, rooted to the spot, her hand tightening slowly around her cold curved glass, her expression hardened, painted with grave perturbation. Her heart throbbed against the back of her ribs, and she took in a slow, deep breath, staring across the big table for what felt like hours, waiting for anything bizarre to appear in her sight, though nothing ever did.

Max sat still and stayed quiet, everyone else at the big table continued to trade conversation with each other, and all the standing people were slowly moving to their seats across the dining hall, preparing for the dinner. Things were as normal as could be.

“What the… fuck ,” Vera breathed, looking down, running her free hand down her face. “The fuck is wrong with this place…?”

She took a moment to collect herself, standing with her back facing the mirror, feeling incredibly hesitant to turn around and look at it a second time.

She almost wanted to examine the reflection, to see if anything bizarre would appear in the mirror again, but her body refused to cooperate with her, and she made a gentle shake of the head, glaring down at the floor and deciding not to look at the mirror again right now.

“Madame,” Miles spoke from behind her, almost making her jump. “Dinner is about to be served, if you’re ready.”

Vera sighed with disdain, facing him and still wearing a visage of disturbed conflict.

She couldn’t bring it up now—and she couldn’t possibly explain it to him even if she did.

So, she simply let out a huge cloud of breath, upturned her glass, and drank the entire thing in a few swift gulps. Then, she handed the glass off to him, wiping her mouth and making a nod.

“Now I am,” Vera said, marching toward the table.

Miles gave her an odd look, then strode briskly forward and grasped her by the arm, gently holding her back.

Vera turned and squinted at him. “What?”

“If you look to your right—indiscreetly—then you’ll see a full booth of single young bachelors from LA,” Miles told her in a low, firm tone. “And every single one of them has their eye on you right now.”

Vera’s mouth drifted agape, resisting the temptation to simply whip around and face the men.

She glimpsed briefly to the side—seeing that the final booth in the row was occupied by five men in various colors of suits, all slacked back in their seats, all eyeballing her, and all with the same wanting smirks on their faces.

“So,” Miles said, still holding her wrist and leaning slightly closer, giving her a look. “Do you want to appear as if you have a date, or don’t you?”

Vera stared, her mind racing with a million conflicting thoughts—the wildness she’d seen in the mirror, the worry she felt at the idea of Amy Sindaco suddenly arriving to this party, and now, the discomfort she felt with so many LA men ogling her so hungrily nearby.

Then, she nodded, clasping him by the arm and pulling him closer.

Vera locked both of her arms around one of his, much like they did on the balcony, and she and Miles strolled forward together, approaching the table as everyone else in the dining hall took their seats.

A few of the people further down the big table—who she didn’t know—gave her glances in passing, and she did her best to ignore it, which was admittedly growing easier by the second, as the alcohol was setting in, and her worry was suddenly beginning to waver.

Miles led her to the head of the table, stopping at the empty seat there, and he made a subtle gesture to her, motioning for her to sit. Vera slowly sank into the head seat while Miles claimed the one to her right, and then, the swiveling doors to the kitchen opened up, and many members of the staff marched out.

Dino—his blond hairs combed back beneath his chef’s hat—sauntered out first, holding the doors open for the other cooks. They all stepped out with carts of foods, fresh cheeseburgers, fries, hot wings, lobster, salads, coleslaws, and more. The vast, endless supply of various different foods was placed up and down the enormous table—and much of it was placed across the bar as well, just so those at the smaller tables could stand and gather whatever they liked.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Miles said, standing and gesturing to all the foods. “Here we have an array of the most American foods one could ever crave—as well as the more posh dishes that some of us have grown accustomed to here in the Nightingale. Happy 4th of July, and please, do enjoy.”

He sank back into his seat, and everyone up and down the table began to collect whatever foods they wanted, filling their plates and chatting while they did.

Vera showed no interest in the foods yet, merely leaning against the arm rest of her fancy chair, her gaze wandering aimlessly across the numerous people up and down the table.

Her eyes landed on Jorge and Max.

“Whaddo you want?” Jorge asked, lifting Max’s plate and muttering to him.

The boy simply shook his head.

“Why do you keep not eating?” Jorge said softly. “You haven’t eaten all day, son. You need to.”

Max shook his head again, then lowered it, hiding behind his bangs.

Vera frowned as she watched them.

Miles left his seat again, moving over to Wilson’s side and hunching over him, seeing that he was still reading his book.

“Mr. Abernathy… far be it from me to discourage one from reading,” Miles mumbled to him. “But do tell me what you want so I can collect it for you, rather than simply standing here and gathering dust as I wait.”

Wilson chuckled, flipping his book shut and making a few nods at the foods far away from him. Miles then took his plate and traveled around the table, collecting lobster, coleslaw, and caviar, filling Wilson’s plate before placing it in front of him again.

“So,” said Cindy, the wife of the congress family, who sat just beside Wilson. “Where is Mrs. Sindaco now? She’s missing the party.”

Nathan raised his head, already chewing on a mouthful of cheesy potatoes, and he quickly swallowed them before replying. “Ah… well… she’s not feeling well tonight, so she decided to skip dinner.”

“Aw,” Cindy frowned, tilting her head in a pitying sort of way. “That’s too bad.”

Tony, sitting beside his father, snickered breathlessly and shook his head down at his plate.

Nathan glanced over at him, shooting him a forbidding sort of look.

Tony missed the message, looking to Cindy and chuckling. “Her face isn’t feeling well.”

Cindy stared blankly at him.

Vera’s mouth began to curl into a smile. She placed her hand to her face, hooking her finger around her mouth and hiding the grin best she could.

Miles gave her a glimpse, his half-smile on full display now.

Vera squinted down the table at Tony, but her smile quickly faded, only just noticing that Tony’s laughter had suddenly stopped. He was staring downward now, grimacing heavily, gazing into his plate of food with a disturbed mile-long stare.

“Well… I’d like to make a quick toast, if you all don’t mind,” Wilson said, raising his glass and gently clinking his spoon to it.

“By all means,” Miles permitted.

“Okay. First… to America, and a happy 4th of July to us all,” Wilson announced, gently raising the glass. “Second… to all of us here, of all walks of life, from various creeds, cultures, backgrounds, and places… here we sit, sharing a dinner without a hint of division among us. And, third… to Miss Vera Nightingale, who’s been the great big breath of fresh air that this place has needed for a real long time now.”

Wilson motioned to her with the glass, then withdrew it, giving her a wink and taking a sip.

“I’ll drink to that,” Jorge grinned, tapping his glass to Rosa’s before upturning it.

Everyone else raised their glasses as well, toasting in agreement with him, many of them turning their heads and giving Vera a series of smiles. Tony managed to break out of his apparent trance for long enough to toast to her as well, and Max reached up above his head, trying to hold his glass as high as all of the adults were.

Vera’s heart fluttered, and she simply returned their smiles, blushing and feeling a wave of embarrassment overcome her.

“Yeah, so… I have a question,” someone else chimed in.

Everyone turned their heads, seeing that one of the LA men from the far booth had approached the table, holding a drink and giving Vera a curious look. The man wore a sleek blue leisure suit, his hair short and black, spiked upright with hair gel.

“We’ll do our best to answer it if we can, Mr. Lloyd,” Miles told him.

The man—Harrison Lloyd—smirked and tilted his head, eyeing Vera closer now. He extended a finger from his drink, waving it between her and the butler.

“Are you two an item?” Harrison asked. “’Cause it looked it a minute ago.”

Miles’s mouth eased open, but rather than answering, he turned to her.

Vera—now intoxicated into a full-blown comfort zone—merely slumped her head to the side, narrowing her eyes pensively at Harrison and choking out a strange little laugh.

“Is that some of your business?” she chided.

Instantly, an air of tension overcame the dinner party, as well as a span of silence. Many of the guests looked to Harrison for a reaction.

Harrison stared at her, his confident smile slowly beginning to wane.

“Wow,” he uttered, scoffing and making a face at her. “Bitchiness just runs in your family, doesn’t it? Jesus Christ.”

“Hey… young man,” Wilson spoke up, turning his head and raising a finger at him. “We’re in the middle of a nice get-together, here… so why don’t you just sit back down, eh? None of us want to hear it.”

“Why don’t you mind your own damn business , old man?” Harrison snapped, storming around the table and advancing on Wilson. “Just because you lived a long life doesn’t mean it can’t come to a short end.”

Before anyone else could reply—Vera’s hand slammed down onto the end of the table so hard, it made everyone’s silverware make a loud, sudden jolt.

All eyes shot up the table at her—and she did it again, then once more, slapping the table harder and harder before she pushed off of it, now reaching her feet.

She planted her hands down, leaned forward, and gave Harrison a deep, predatory glare.

“Hey. Buddy. Whaddo you do for a living?” Vera asked him.

Everyone stared, Harrison ogling her as if she’d changed colors before his eyes.

“What…?” he muttered.

“I asked you a question,” Vera stated, blowing a strand of hair from her eyes. “What—do you do—for a living?”

Hundreds of eyes coasted between Vera and Harrison, and the tension in the air grew thicker than ever.

“I’m an actor,” Harrison told her, tossing up a hand. “Does it matter—?”

“ Hah … an actor,” Vera grinned, laughing and shaking her head at him. “You’re an actor. Okay. Well… d’you know what I do for a living?”

“Yeah. Obviously,” Harrison replied tonelessly, gesturing to the room all around him. “You’re the owner of the freaking Nighting—”

“ Nope —wrong— answer ,” Vera shouted over him, hitting the table once more. “I babysat for a living. I watched pets for a living. I worked at flea markets for a living—and I lived on the road making a living.”

“Who the hell cares ?” Harrison griped at her.

“Yeah… well… exactly,” Vera mumbled, nodding and waving loosely at him. “People like you never do. People like you just wanna get what you want, and rage out on everybody else when you don’t get it. People like you used to give me shit all the time. People like you used to get guns pulled on them… and tazed… and stabbed. All the time .”

If possible, the tension in the room deepened even more, and Vera slowly hunched closer, leering into Harrison with a mad sparkle in her eye.

“So you go right ahead and threaten somebody at this table again,” she hissed with serpentine rasp. “ And see what happens .”

A rough, palpable anxiety spread over the entirety of the dining hall as the two of them maintained their hateful interlocked stare.

Miles watched attentively, his expression grave, his hand tightening around his steak knife. Wilson leaned back in his chair, giving Harrison an expectant look, and Nathan and Jorge were glaring at Harrison intensely, each of them having just scooted their chairs back, as if they were prepared to leap up from them any second. Rosa and Cindy gave Harrison a series of disgusted looks, and all the uncles of the congress family—who’d been seated farther down the table—slowly began to rise from their chairs.

Vera raised her brows and gently cocked her head at Harrison, waiting for his response.

Then—Harrison moved back several steps, scoffing and cursing under his breath. He turned on his heel and quickly marched across the dining hall, storming out of the room and vanishing from the scene.

Vera sighed conclusively, plopping back into her chair and giving the rest of the dinner guests a dismissive sort of wave. “Okay, show’s over, carry on with dinner now…”

Everyone remained still for a second, many of the adults glimpsing between themselves and Vera. The kids did much the same, and—far across the room—Davies let out a loud, shrill whistle, beaming and applauding from behind the bar.

“Look at that!” Davies hollered across the echoing room. “She saves kids from drowning in the pool—she helps every single employee here with anything they need—and she takes out the trash without a hint of hesitation! Yeeeah !”

Miles chuckled, nodding and clapping for Vera as well.

Wilson let out a laugh and did the same.

Suddenly—a great wave of applause broke out up and down the big table, and it spread across the whole dining hall, everyone in the room clapping vigorously, a few of them shouting their remarks of praise at the Nightingale’s new owner.

The deafening sounds of approval overtook the scene—and Vera stared back at them all, stunned to speechlessness, and suddenly feeling as if she was living through a dream.

So strange, bizarre, and unthinkable, this place was.

Never before had she gotten showered with praise for revealing the most crass and unlikable sides of herself.

But these people, here—they simply adored her. For whatever reasons, they just did, and they seemed to respect her lack of hesitance for dealing with undesirables. Perhaps that was a trait that was necessary for a leader of any kind, even a simple business owner—but she could still barely wrap her mind around it, all these applauding hands and smiling faces, loving her so much for doing something so trashy, at this place she presumed to be as far from trashy as could be.

But—as Vera gazed across the room, flushing, her eyes landing on the gold-framed mirror—she remembered exactly what Miles had said, and now, she couldn’t agree with him more.

The Nightingale was not a place that anyone would ever consider normal.