“Okay well, into the fire, I guess.”
An hour later, I sat out in the last of the evening’s sun in the backyard, where a pretty patio had been set up under a pergola. Dinner was actually really good. The food, anyway. And Cora, who’d joined us by video conference, was lovely. We’d never met, despite me trying to reach her way back when. But I’d never witnessed this kind of family dynamic before.
“It’s a shame your eldest couldn’t come,” Mrs. Caplin said again. She’d said it three times tonight. She’d repeated a few other things too.
Still, each time she brought it up, a pang of guilt hit my chest at leaving Tommy behind. I’d tried to get him to come, really I had. But he’d already been in a bad mood since I’d asked him about his upcoming birthday yesterday. I think it was because he still didn’t have any friends at his new school to think of inviting to celebrate with him. When I asked if he wanted to come with us tonight he’d slammed his door in my face. I couldn’t seem to do anything right these days when it came to Tommy.
“Mom,” Cora said, grimacing. I appreciated how she’d tried to referee the conversation all night alongside Sam.
“Does he play ball?” Sam’s dad asked.
I could feel Sam flinch beside me.
God, this guy did not quit, either. Once Sam’s dad had been made to turn off the game on his radio earlier in the meal, baseball was all he’d talked about, and it was mostly only to Sam. I wondered if he’d always been like this. If he’d never talked about a single other thing with his son. If he’d always ignored the rest of his family.
“No,” I said. I was annoyed on Sam’s behalf. And somehow, Tommy’s. “Tommy never showed an interest in baseball.”
“All boys like baseball.”
Great, so he was sexist as well as clueless?
“Dad,” Cora said. “What if he was a girl?”
I internally cheered Sam’s sister.
Sam had been nuzzling Henry’s tummy with his head, letting Cora handle this round, but he set him down now.
“Tommy’s into other things,” he told his father. “Like art.”
I blinked. Sam knew about that? Tommy didn’t show his art to anyone. He carried a sketchbook around with him, but never talked about his work.
“Can’t make a career out of art.”
“And I didn’t make a career out of baseball.” Sam’s voice was terse, his expression harder than I’d seen it in a while.
Sam’s dad turned pink at the neck, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. If he hadn’t, I might have said something that wouldn’t endear me to this family. Not that I was here to impress them, but Henry deserved a good relationship with his grandparents.
“Hey,” I said to Cora, “Do you guys prefer the chocolate bananas in Singapore or London?”
Cora, who’d been looking tense on screen, relaxed. “Singapore, definitely. They come frozen. They’re delicious.”
I was surprised she’d responded without missing a beat. But of course, she and Sam had likely been here before. Probably hundreds of times.
“What is with you young people’s obsession with chocolate bananas?” Sam’s mom asked. Though she, too, looked relieved to have the conversation shifted.
“Do you want a tour of the house, Ellie?” Sam asked me.
“I thought you’d never ask,” I said without hesitation.
“I did offer her one when you first arrived,” his mom said, sounding wounded.
“The food just smelled so good,” Sam said, mollifying her a little.
“Maybe you’d like to hold Henry while we walk around?” I asked her.
This had been the right thing to say, because she lit up. “Oh, I’d love to!”
Luckily, Henry let us go without too much of a fuss.
