“Why, hello darling,” his mother replied calmly, taking a final drag of her cigarette before stubbing it out in the nearby crystal-cut ashtray. “You’re home from the hospital.”
“Yeah,” Tom muttered. “No thanks to you.”
“You have Sasha, don’t you?” his mother returned instantly. “I assumed she would take care of you.”
Tom frowned, not wanting to drag Sasha into this. “I have Sasha,” he said, “but you’re myparent. Aren’t you supposed to take care of me?”
At that, Marnie sat forward, a knowing look on her face. “Oh, you want to havethisconversation?” she asked, her tone caustic, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he was going to regret ever having spoken. “Please, Tom, why don’t you tell me exactly how a parent should care for their child? You’re clearly the expert, after all.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Tom replied, “and you’re wrong, you have it all wrong, you don’t know—”
“I know enough,” Marnie snapped back. “And I know a damn sight more about being a parent than you do, so I’ll thank you to close your mouth on the subject.”
Silence fell, heavy and oppressive. Tom kept his breathing calm, taking deep inhalations and releasing them slowly. He looked from his mother to the man beside her, who was sitting up now, staring at Tom with an air of concentration, holding his cigarette to his mouth between two manicured fingers. Distinctly uncomfortable with the man’s intense gaze, Tom looked back to his mother.
“Mom,” he said calmly, “maybe we can discuss this somewhere else. In private. I just need to tell you... the thing you were thinking yesterday, well, you were thinking wrong and—”
“I know exactly what to think,” Marnie cut in, standing up and coming to stand by Tom’s side. She smelled of cigarettes and her floral perfume, and she placed a hand gently on Tom’s cheek. “And we will work this out. We’re a family, after all. And no matter how lowly I think of you right now—”
“Mom,” Tom pleaded, but she held up a hand to silence him.
“—no matter how lowly I think of you,” she carried on. “I still love you dearly. Now, go and clean up. We’re having a special brunch today. I’ve asked Chef to throw together some smoked salmon and poached eggs, followed up by a tarte Tatin.”
“Brunch?” Tom exploded. “Brunch? Why are you so calm? You want to sit and eat fish and apple pie—”
“Tarte Tatin,” the blond-haired man suddenly interrupted, stubbing out his own cigarette and standing. “Not apple pie. Please. Let’s show a little class, hmm?”
Tom stared at him. “I don’t even knowwho you are.”
The blond-haired man nodded. “And I bet you don’t know who Caroline and Stéphanie Tatin are either, but they just turned over in their graves at you calling their signature pastry anapple pie.”
“Right.” Tom looked at his mother desperately. “Mom, please. Please let’s talk. It’s like this house has hit the twilightzone. You’re building a castle and playground outside—you have decorators upstairs and there are random British people dotted around like this is the Royal Shakespeare company. Please talk to me.”
Marnie sighed, giving Tom a small pat on the shoulder. “Oh, you mustn’t fret, Tom. Everything will work out. Besides, I’ve invited the one person who can make everything right for us.”
Warily, Tom eyed the blond-haired man next to them, who shook his head, a wry smile on his face.
“Not me, chap.”
Tom looked back to his mother, finally taking in the calm, eerily still expression on her face. She looked like she’d spent three days at the local spa, and there was a lightness to her being she hadn’t possessed the day before.
Tom felt a knot of worry begin to build in his stomach. There was only one person in the world who could ever make his mother look likethis. Only one person who could calm her and reason with her when she felt like the world was against her.
“Oh no,” he breathed out. “Just no. Please don’t tell me you called...”
“Your brother,” his mother supplied cheerily. “I spoke with him this morning and he’s hopping on the first flight he can.”
“Oh no,” Tom shook his head, “no, no, no, no, no. Mom, how could you? He’s crazy.”
“Tom,” his mother admonished, shaking her head, “don’t speak that way about your brother. He’s a man of the cloth, after all.”
“He’s a Druid,” Tom deadpanned. “The only cloth involved is made of hemp.” He rubbed his temples, which were suddenly aching. “I can’t believe you did this.”
Marnie suddenly turned to him, looking at him evenly. “There are lots of things that have recently come to my attention that I can’t believe, Tom. Now, go and clean up. Get that hospitalsmell off you. Oh, and get Sasha too. She’ll want to join us for brunch, I’m sure.”
Suddenly, the blond-haired man spoke again. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “She’ll be fitted for a dress once Luis gets here. She might not want to bloat out with food beforehand.”
“Whether or not she eats is up to her,” Marnie replied calmly, “but in my house, at meal times, we eat at the table as a family.”
