Molotov does not know what a "grunkle" is. It sounds like something unpleasant and ugly. But Mabel clearly likes this "grunkle" enough to name it, so Molotov restrains herself from saying anything. To each their own, she guesses.

"Oh, you have a brother," she says, patting the sofa next to her, inviting Mabel to take a seat. "He might come here someday, you never know. I am an only child, and so is my daughter, but I know that if either of us had brothers, we would keep up our hopes."