Confessions of a Spare Part

Mae stirs from what seems like years of hibernation, half convinced Matilda might've slipped something stronger into her chicken soup. She's lost an entire day to unconsciousness, waking to find dawn just breaking over London's skyline. Then again, perhaps it's just her ordinarily buggered sleep schedule making itself known. Who's to say, really?

She treats herself to a soak in the tub, spending the better part of an hour dozing in the warmth until she's pruned. The bone-deep exhaustion from the fever has mostly lifted, though she's still achy, probably having more to do with her collection of bruises than anything else.

Knowing she can't exactly potter about in her pants and vest top all day, especially with the looming possibility of a visit to the main Parrish mansion where both Vince and the indomitable Joanna hold court for some Mother's Day do, she makes an effort to look presentable.

Eli had been wrong when he'd branded her a hermit. Mae does venture into the world, thank you very much. Even if her excursions tend toward the quieter corners of London's café scene and its labyrinth of museums. Not that his lordship seems arsed about her whereabouts, so long as she doesn't disturb his pristine existence. And for the past year, he hasn't appeared bothered by the absence of 'arm candy'—if anything, Eli's been the odd one since the whole Silvia debacle. 

By half seven, she's made her way down to the kitchen, where the staff are already buzzing about with morning preparations.

Matilda brings her tea without being asked, "What'll it be this morning, madam?" 

"Chocolate croissants, if you wouldn't mind," Mae requests, and she's almost finished them when Eli sweeps in, looking intimidating in his tailored navy suit as he verbally eviscerates some poor sod on his mobile. He makes a sharp gesture toward one of the hovering staff, and suddenly the doctor who'd examined her materializes, checking vitals and asking questions. The phone call concludes just as the doctor finishes his assessment.

"Well?" Eli barks, managing to pack volumes of impatience into a single syllable.

"Madam is on the mend, sir."

"Brilliant," Eli says, "Since you're well enough, we're off to Mother's. Apparently, Lirael orchestrated some sort of surprise." He mutters something uncomplimentary about wasting precious time with family theatrics as he strides toward the waiting car.

Mae detours to her art room, collecting her carefully wrapped painting and tucking it into a bag posh enough to pass the Parrish standards of presentation. She hands it off to Jenkins, who's maintaining a stoic vigil by the car, while Eli emanates with irritation, clearly thrilled about making what he deems a pointless trip to the family mansion when he could've just had his gift couriered to his mother. Whatever said gift might be.

"Does Lirael make a habit of this? The surprise gatherings?" she ventures halfway through the journey, having exhausted her entertainment options on mobile games.

Eli doesn't even glance up from his laptop. "No."

"Right then," she says, noting his lovely mood. And really, for someone who rises with the bloody larks and mainlines caffeine between marathon training sessions, he's remarkably consistent in his temperament.

She returns to her phone, where a message from Maliah awaits:

Pleased to see you haven't shuffled off this mortal coil

Mae: Don't tell me you're disappointed?

Maliah: Hardly worth the emotion.

Maliah: There's to be a proper do for Roscoe. He's officially joining the Chamberlain ranks. Father's collection of bastards are climbing the corporate ladder, no thanks to your refusal to help Evander with the Denise situation.

Mae: Hardly my fault if Evander can't manage basic competence. Good on Roscoe, though.

The mention of Roscoe sends Mae's thoughts drifting to their complicated family tree. His mum had been the same woman Father had taken up with after Mae's mum had passed giving birth to her—making Roscoe and Mae closest in age among the scattered Chamberlain offspring. But his existence hadn't come to light until he'd turned twenty-one, already having carved himself a decent position in the Chamberlain hotel empire. Father had been elated about that, as he always was with his overachieving progeny like Maliah.

Evander ranked a solid six on his scale of approval. Mae wasn't quite sure where she fell on that metric. Norman Chamberlain had been rather hit-and-miss in the paternal department—mostly miss, if she's being honest. But the rare times he did grace them with his presence, he'd been all warm hugs and genuine interest in their lives. He'd gifted her first paint set, always chuckling about discovering his little da Vinci who'd redecorated his study walls with ketchup. Then again, he'd also packed her off to the Parrishes' instead of Maliah, so perhaps not quite the doting father after all.

She tosses her mobile back into her handbag, turning to watch London blur past the window. Then the thing starts buzzing again, insistent as a wasp at a picnic.

"Your phone, Mae." Eli finally deigns to acknowledge the noise.

She checks the caller—Evander again, no doubt ready to spew more vitriol about the botched Deal and her refusal to play corporate matchmaker. The text preview displays an impressive array of profanities, painting her as utterly useless, no better than the other bastards their father had scattered across London like fertile confetti.

Mae: Do us both a favor and stop spamming before I block you.

She stuffs the phone back into her bag with more force than necessary, leaning back against the leather seat and closing her eyes.

The infernal buzzing starts up again, and this time Eli snaps, "For God's sake, answer the bloody thing."

"You take it," she mutters, "it's probably meant for you anyway."

"What was that? Speak up, Mae."

With a resigned sigh, she fishes out the phone and puts it on speaker, because if she's going to suffer through Evander's tantrum, she might as well share the joy.

Raw anger crackles across the line, "Oh, look who finally deigns to answer. Bloody brilliant timing as always, sister dear. Have you heard the latest? Roscoe's being welcomed into the fold proper—new surname and all. And that's just the start, isn't it? That Yank Timothy's next in line, then Ardere and Sera, the whole bleeding lot of Father's spare parts getting their golden tickets while the legitimate heirs get shafted. And why? Because you couldn't be arsed to secure One. Sodding. Deal. A deal that would've been child's play if you'd pulled your weight for once and asked that ice-blooded husband of yours for help. But that would require actual effort, wouldn't it? Something beyond sitting in your ivory tower, splattering paint about like a brain-damaged toddler."

"Sometimes I wonder if you're actually thick or just determined to be bloody useless." His voice coils into something venomous. "Should've known, really—take after your mum, don't you? That Irish tart who couldn't even manage to stay alive. Speaking of which, Maliah tells me you were choking on your own sick the other day. Gave her quite the turn when she gave you a kick and you went down like a bag of wet cement. Shame she got cold feet about the whole thing—if I'd been there..." He lets out a laugh, "Well, let's just say I wouldn't have stopped at one kick. Might've done us all a favor and finished what that fever started. One less parasite dragging down the Chamberlain name."

Mae watches Eli's expression darken to something ominous, his knuckles going white around his mobile. She adopts her best unbothered tone, the one that never fails to wind up her family. "Right then, big brother, before you start planning my funeral arrangements, might want to know you've been treating Eli to this charming performance. You're on speaker. Suppose you've made your point about needing his help to prove your worth to Father. Next time, skip the middleman and ring him directly, yeah? I'm blocking your number indefinitely."

"Wait, what—Mae!—Mr. Parrish—" She cuts the call and blocks the number with a few taps.

She offers Eli a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Well, that was refreshing, wasn't it? Now you can decide whether to help him without me playing telephone operator. Everyone wins."

Eli snaps his laptop shut with enough force to make her wonder if the screen was still in tact. The temperature in the car seems to drop several degrees. "What the hell was that?"

"The Denise deal?" she asks with a tilt of her head. "Evander needed help with some contract that Roscoe—my half-brother who's being inaugurated as an official Chamberlain now—managed to secure instead. Rather competent, that one. Evander's been harassing me to ask for your intervention, which is ridiculous on multiple levels, and he's been spamming my phone non-stop. Thought it was time to put a stop to it."

She catches Jenkins shooting her a pitying glance in the rearview mirror before he quietly raises the privacy screen without being asked. Smart man.

"I don't mean your fucking buffoon of a brother or whatever this Denise deal is supposed to be," Eli says brusquely, "Is that how he always speaks to you? And Maliah kicked you to the floor? What possessed you to keep that detail to yourself?!"

"Uhm, yes, yes, and why does it matter?" She blinks at him, truly baffled by his focus. "Bit random to fixate on that part, isn't it?"

"That's not—" he cuts himself off, fixing her with a glare so intense she feels like a bug under a microscope. She hasn't the foggiest why he's so riled up.

Before he can unleash whatever storm is brewing behind that ominous expression, the car rolls to a stop. She could kiss Jenkins for his impeccable timing. "Oh brilliant, we're here. Your mother must be waiting." She vaults out of the car before he can regain his composure, leaving whatever tirade he's building up to die in the morning air.

"Madam, I can get your gift—" Jenkins starts.

"No, you can fetch Eli—he seems to be glitching in there. Odd fellow."

"Right," Jenkins says, grimacing slightly for reasons unknown to Mae.

As it turns out, Jenkins doesn't get the chance to escort either of them because Eli emerges from the car like a sword drawn from its sheath. Mae lets out a undignified squeak as she ducks behind one of the marble columns. She's not sure what's compelled him to suddenly care about her family dynamics, but she's not keen to find out. Especially not when he's looking at her like that.

She takes a step back when he reaches for her, then decides that dignity is overrated and breaks into a sprint up the stairs.

"Mae!" he thunders after her.

"What?" she calls back, already plotting her escape route through the mansion.

"Stop running, woman!"

"Stop chasing me!" 

And now they're both running, because apparently this is what her Sunday morning has devolved into. The house staff cast bemused glances their way as she pelts across the marble floors, gift bag clutched to her chest like a shield. At the first turn towards the main living room, she nearly collides with William and Lirael, who look equally startled by the spectacle she's making.

"Mae!" Lirael's eyes widened with surprise.

She manages a slightly breathless, "Will, Lirael, lovely to see you," before shooting off again.

"Maeve Theodora Parrish, stop this instant!" Eli's voice echoes through the corridors.

"Stop following me!" she shouts back, finding the situation both terrifying and somewhat hilarious. She narrowly avoids a collision with a kitchen staff member carrying a tray of champagne, tossing a hasty "Sorry!" over her shoulder before diving down the second corridor that leads to the main living room where all intimate gatherings were normally hosted.

The room's already occupied. Vince seated in his favored red armchair, looking cheerful as Theron sits beside him sharing what must've been a decent joke. Even Delphine's there, locked in an aggressively polite conversation with Joanna, both wearing expressions that suggest they'd rather not be in each other's company.

Mae speed-walks across the room with a smile that's only slightly manic, making a beeline for Joanna. "Mother!" she calls out, throwing herself into the woman's personal space. She pulls her mother-in-law into a hug, whispering urgently, "Your son's trying to murder me for some reason. Please protect me."

"Why would—" Joanna starts to ask, but then Eli enters the room. "Oh, I see. Don't worry dear, I've got you." There's genuine amusement in her voice as she returns the embrace.

They break apart, and Mae positions herself behind Joanna while Eli fixes her with a look that clearly says the conversation was far from over.