"More towers than Trump, more bucks than Bloomberg... Bart Bass definitely made his mark on Manhattan. The passing of a public figure can shake a whole town, but the real story is always the one happening in private, away from the headlines, at home."

But what's home? Home was the Palace: that was where they made their family, and that was where it fell apart. Now home is just another rental apartment, where Lily runs when she's deciding. Bart's home was divided. At home, in the Palace and at Lily's second apartment, there are funeral flowers, and the staff set out the clothes for the bereaved: a suit for the mourning son at the Palace, a black dress for the widow in her other life. The widow's mother sits at the breakfast table, surrounded in bounty and tasting nothing, reading the New York Journal while my favorite Bloc Party song, "Signs," plays. It's about the year of magical thinking, our desperation in the wake of loss:

Two ravens in the old oak tree and
One for you and one for me and
Bluebells in the late December
I see signs now all the time

Half of bargaining isn't about getting him back, it's making sense of the world he left you stranded in.

The mother of the widow calls her grandchildren to the breakfast table, and they demur; nobody's hungry these days. She gives them that wise look they all share, their Rhodes-side birthright. She speaks in epigrams and riddles; like every mother and every father she gives with one hand and takes with the other, watch: "In times of great uncertainty, it's even more important that we continue our daily rituals." Serena protests that she hasn't eaten so much as a Cheerio since arriving; Eric blurts that they all know she's got gin in her coffee cup. Serena giggles with him, giving him a tiny shove, and CeCe smiles that secret Rhodes smile. "My point exactly. Life must go on, as it always has." Serena brings her brother to the table and asks after their mother.

Lily isn't eating much, or sleeping; she hasn't been in the days since the Snowflake Ball, when her husband died. "All she does is make lists and yell at people," Eric says, and they all shiver blondely, visions of Waldorfs dancing in their heads. "People mourn in their own ways," CeCe says, and thinks about her future.

"What happens tonight," asks Serena, "When it's all over and there's nothing left for her to do?" What happens when the rest of the world comes crashing back in, loud into the silence? What happens to their family? Eric's thinking ahead: "Maybe she'll move into the Palace and hole up with Chuck." He's mourning in his own way: "Ah yes," CeCe snorts. "The bottomless minibar and the comfort of the twins in room service. It's a scandal!" Lily enters, looking productive and quoting with a Rhodes smile: "People mourn in their own ways, Mother. I've been assured by the hotel that if Chuck isn't alive and ... well, well, at least he's alive." At least he's alive, seeing signs everywhere. Bargaining.

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