"You should try some capers with that," Cyrus says grandly, "And just a tickle of the sliced onion." Blair heaps capers on her bagel without a face or a noise: "Maybe I'm underestimating his emotional bond with Kim and Kristi from room service, but I just think that at a time like this, he should be with someone who cares about him." Cyrus frowns at her breakfast, looking at it like Eleanor used to look at things, for the opposite reason: "Not enough! Not enough!" Does he know what he's doing? It will never be enough.
"That is exactly why we are getting married, so that we can always be around to care for each other." Eleanor tickles her lover's face. They feed each other all the time. Dorota enters with the paperwork for their trip to Paris. "Christmas in Paris!" Eleanor giggles, and Blair frowns: "How can you even think of your vacation the day that we're putting Bart in the ground?" Eleanor is irritated, but Cyrus merely smiles: "Because, my dear, in the midst of death, we are in life." Eleanor kisses his head, calling him a genius. Cyrus says, "More life, Not enough, This is love." Blair says, "Less noise, Too much": Blair never says, "I love you." Cyrus says trust, eat, give in to abandon, love yourself, there are no limits. And Blair -- Blair Waldorf, whose life is defined by limits, by control, by the unsaid and the unloved and the uneaten -- says, "Maybe you are right." And it's going to kill her.
"Maybe Nate's heard from Chuck," Blair says, and heads away. She returns for her bagel, and doesn't meet her mother's eyes.
Dan knocks on Serena's door; she's wearing a sleek black one-shoulder dress and a complicated, urbane necklace full of river-stones. He's there to see her, to see how she is surviving. What she can't say is that she never liked Bart and never expected them to stay married; that this is a tragedy for other people. She'll get all the attention, because she's Serena, but she was never a Bass -- not like Chuck, not like Lily or Eric. She loves them individually, but she's never been part of a family in any grand sense. She spent holidays with the Waldorfs and the Archibalds, or under CeCe's hand; later it was the Humphreys, but never Claus, nor Klaus, nor any of the rest. She's doing fine.
Not that anybody really expects her to care. Funerals are just big enough to stir up a lot of shit, but too big to really touch you unless you're in the middle of them. Everybody else, even Eric, has other stuff on their minds, and that's how funerals work. Funerals put ritual and scripture and song and tradition between us and death; they are necessary because if we were allowed to feel loss unmediated by these things -- if we mourned in our own way, off book and with no one watching -- we would start screaming and never stop. Watch.