An Invitation

Dear Miss Moore,

I am thrilled you are coming for pie. I have begun inviting others.

Today, I invited Hilton Als. Do you know him? I thought he might enjoy it because he spoke of liking to make chicken with a pretty woman he knew. An eccentric, he called her. A muse. He said he appreciated a white woman, who should be concerned with her white world, but who dresses up for black men unaccustomed to power. He said he loved her. I wanted to ask whether he loved her or that she offered him her power.

Do you think we can ask him if he joins us? Might he feel put on the spot? It would not be gracious to do that. He also spoke of grace. I suppose it’s complicated. My grandmother would suggest I keep the question to myself, I feel certain. Men, she might say, do not appreciate a direct challenge.

This season is so tricky. Although it is fall elsewhere, we sweat in Georgia as if it’s high July. I hope the peaches are still fresh. If not, we shall have apple pie.

Looking forward to your visit. You might enjoy this picture. It is blurry big, but when small, it sets the stage.