Café Confessions

After the gift exchange winds down, they settle in for tea and nibbles. Joanna insists they all return for dinner after attending to whatever pressing matters await them, and the family disperses.

Before Eli departs, he crowds into her space just long enough to breathe against her ear, "We're having that talk later. Best have your answers ready." The warmth of his breath sends an involuntary shiver down her spine, though she's more preoccupied with wondering what exactly she needs answers for. After all, it's not as if the Chamberlain family dynamics are some carefully guarded secret.

Everyone who's anyone knows about Evander, who's about as useful as a chocolate teapot, with a vocabulary that would make a sailor blush. The smart money's always been on Maliah. Mae would bet her entire collection of vintage teacups that their father thinks so too. And Norman Chamberlain's... proclivities? Well, being a man with more money than sense tends to make society rather forgiving of such indiscretions. As for Mae herself? She's about as remarkable as beige wallpaper in a waiting room—the legitimate youngest child that nobody really notices.

What exactly did Eli think her relationship with her family was? He, better than anyone, should understand her position, given that she was literally his consolation prize when Maliah proved too precious to be traded away.

Mae shoves these thoughts into the overflowing box of 'Things to Deal with Later' in her mind and focuses on her current situation, perched on the sofa beside Joanna in the main living room, while Vince maintains his post in his armchair, appearing engrossed in his book.

Being the only one without actual employment—unless one counts "professional family disappointment" as a career choice—Mae's stuck around at Joanna's insistence. Her mother-in-law is currently rhapsodizing about Lirael's pregnancy. "A dream come true," she sighs dreamily, absently tucking a strand of Mae's brown hair behind her ear. "And soon enough, you and Eli will be giving us the good news too, won't you?"

Vince lowers his book slightly, interest piqued, and Mae feels her stomach knot. She forces out an awkward laugh, muttering something about Eli's dedication to his work, how he practically lives at the office.

The truth is far simpler. They've never discussed children. It's one of those unspoken agreements, like how Eli always uses protection and she religiously takes her pills. Some things are better left in the realm of theoretical possibilities, gathering dust alongside other improbabilities like Eli developing basic human emotions or her family suddenly becoming functional.

Joanna's disappointment is palpable, but Mae quickly deflects by suggesting they take the new car for a spin. The suggestion works like magic—Joanna bounces off to the garage, leaving Mae to follow at a more sedate pace. Before leaving, Mae drops a kiss on Vince's cheek, commenting on how well he looks.

He smiles warmly, "Quite remarkable, how the Chamberlains believed they'd short-changed us by sending you in Maliah's stead," Vince muses, lowering his book completely now, regarding her with those sharp, dusk gray eyes that hadn't dulled despite his declining health.

"I beg your pardon?" Mae blinks.

"My dear girl," his words holds a special tenderness, the kind that makes emotions well up unbidden, "I find myself grateful it was you who joined our family. You possess a quiet grace, an intelligence that doesn't need to announce itself from the rooftops." His eyes crinkle at the corners. "Joanna sings your praises endlessly, and as for my grandson—" A chuckle escapes him. "Well, Eli would have driven himself to an early grave trying to match wits with someone like Maliah. Beauty and grace are wonderful qualities, but it takes a special kind of wisdom to know when to wield them."

"I... thank you?" Mae manages, feeling like she's stumbled into some alternate reality where Vincente Parrish gives out compliments like they're after-dinner mints.

"Come now," his eyes twinkle, "surely you don't think I've gone senile? It's very much intended as praise."

Mae manages a smile, but it sits awkwardly on her face. Because how does one properly respond to being praised for essentially being the more manageable option? The docile sister, the one who wouldn't cause a fuss, who wouldn't fight back against being traded like an unimpressive baseball card. The bitter irony of being valued for the very qualities that made her family consider her dispensable isn't lost on her. She's "humble and kind meant doesn't make waves, keeps her head down, takes what she's given without complaint. 

She offers Vince one last smile before heading out, knowing he meant well but unable to shake the feeling that she's being praised for her ability to fit into the spaces others leave behind, rather than for who she actually is. 

The car ride proves to be exactly what she needs—the wind whipping through their hair as Joanna pilots the obscenely expensive vehicle around the vast property. They eventually venture onto roads, the stereo blasting as they belt out everything from ABBA to Queen until their voices are shot. When they finally pull into a quaint café, Mae's cheeks hurt from genuine laughter. 

They pull into Mae's preferred café, a charming little establishment that has Joanna's eyebrows attempting to climb toward her hairline. The contrast between them couldn't be more stark. Joanna in her designer ensemble, while Mae's opted for a modest woolen jumper tucked into a sensible midi skirt. 

"Trust me on this one," Mae says, noting Joanna's skepticism. "Best scones this side of London, and the tea's exquisite."

Joanna acquiesces at the mention of tea. Mae orders for them both, adding a few extra treats that have Joanna eyeing them with curiosity. They settle by a window where cascading bougainvillea creates a natural privacy screen from the street.

"You know," Joanna begins, fiddling with her jade pendant, "I've just realized I do monopolize our conversations. Always nattering on about myself while you just sit there patiently. It's hardly fair, is it? I'd love to hear more about you, darling."

Mae can't help but laugh as she reaches for a scone. "Surely you know everything worth knowing already, Mother? Vince mentioned your glowing reports."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Joanna waves her hand dismissively. "That's not what I mean at all. Here I am, having bent your ear about everything from meeting Alaric to Lirael's first steps, even poor Carlisle's falling out with Vince—which I swear happened in slow motion. I want to know about you.The real you, not just the perfectly lovely daughter-in-law who listens to my endless prattling."

"Why the sudden interest?" she manages, sounding more defensive than she intended.

Joanna's expression softens. "Is it so strange that I'd want to know you better? You're like a daughter to me." She pauses, choosing her next words carefully. "I... perhaps I shouldn't say this, but you seem to think very poorly of yourself. It breaks my heart, truly it does."

Mae shifts uncomfortably. 

"I gave Eli quite the tongue-lashing, you know," Joanna continues, her tone carrying indignation. "Dragging you to that meeting while you were ill— unconscionable, really. He wouldn't have appreciated me scolding him in front of you, but I wanted you to know I said something."

Mae's chest fills with an almost mortifying wave of warmth at her words.

"Right then," Joanna declares, picking up a scone, "I'm going to stuff my face with this allegedly magnificent scone, and you're going to talk. No more deflecting."

She shakes her head with a reluctant smile. "What would you like to know, Mother?"

"Hmm," Joanna holds her scone aloft like a conductor's baton. "Your academic records, actually. Now don't look so alarmed— we did our due diligence before the marriage. And by we, I mean Vince and myself, since Eli was being beastly about the whole affair." She takes a delicate bite before continuing. "The records painted a peculiar picture. Terribly introverted, always on your own, a few forgettable romantic entanglements in sixth form. Some obvious tension with your siblings, but that's hardly surprising in your circumstances. But what caught Vince's attention—and mine, if I'm being honest—were your marks. Perfectly, almost surgically, average. As though you'd calculated exactly what was needed to remain unremarkable. If a paper was worth a hundred points, you'd score precisely fifty. The pattern was rather... deliberate."

Mae feels her pulse quicken. Of all things…

"Vince declared right then and there that you weren't nearly as dull as you presented yourself. Lacking ambition, perhaps. Withdrawn, certainly. But not stupid." Joanna's lips curl into a rueful smile. "I'll admit, I was difficult at first. Kept harping on about how Maliah had that certain... spark that would match Eli. Looking back now, that would have been like throwing petrol on a bonfire, wouldn't it?"

Mae takes a measured sip of her tea, trying to wash down the familiar bitterness of being the 'sensible' choice. She neither confirms nor denies Joanna's analysis, falling back on her time-tested strategy of silent observation.

Joanna's hand reaches across the table to cup Mae's cheek, her thumb ghosting beneath her eye with surprising tenderness. "I'm sorry if I ever made you feel lesser. I'm getting on in years—tend to run my mouth without engaging my brain sometimes."

She covers Joanna's hand with her own, giving it a gentle squeeze. "It's fine, Mother."

"Of course you'd say that," Joanna shakes her head fondly before stuffing her mouth with a scone, her eyebrows wiggling encouragingly at Mae.

"I did fake my grades," Mae admits quietly, wrapping her hands around her teacup. "Ambition... it's never been my driving force. Still isn't. The corporate world, all this business malarkey—it's about as appealing as a root canal." A small, wistful smile plays at her lips. "I'd rather lose myself in art, in creating things with my hands. If I'm dreaming impossible dreams, I'd fancy a quiet farmhouse somewhere, no people about. Just... peace."

She traces the rim of her cup, gathering her thoughts. "After my mum died having me, it was just nannies and staff. Evander and Maliah... well, they weren't thrilled about their father's 'other woman dying and leaving behind yet another reminder of their parents' divorce. You know what Father's like—any scandal's a good scandal in his book. So I learned to make myself small, unremarkable. Survival, really."

A slightly hysterical laugh bubbles up. "Bit weird, discussing this with you, mother, but my situation with Eli... we're compatible in some ways," she feels her cheeks heat, "but beyond that, we operate in different orbits. I stay clear of his path, do my own thing. And Eli, for all his..." she searches for a diplomatic word, "ways, he's given me something invaluable—sanctuary from my family's drama. Bit mad, really, how an arranged marriage turned out to be something of a blessing in disguise." She finally meets Joanna's gaze, finding not judgment but understanding in those shrewd eyes. Right now, it wasn't Eli's mother sitting across from her, but a woman who's navigated her own share of society's expectations.

"You want to hear something amusing?" Joanna sets her cup down with a gentle click. "When Eli stepped into the CEO role, he was dreadful with people. Oh, his intelligence was never in question—sharp as they come—but his interpersonal skills were about as warm as a midwinter storm. The board actually wanted to bring in an image consultant." She gives an elegant little scoff. "Picture that, would you? Someone trying to teach our Eli how to seem... friendly?"

Mae can't help but picture it—Eli suffering through lessons on how to smile without terrifying people. "Did he make them cry? The consultant, I mean."

"He made three of them quit." Joanna's eyes sparkle with mirth. "But here's the thing, since you arrived, he's... different. Oh, he's still our Eli, heaven knows nothing short of divine intervention would change that. But he's less..." she waves her hand, searching for the right word.

"Homicidal?" Mae suggests helpfully.

"I was going to say 'rigid,' but yes, that too." Joanna reaches for another scone, breaking it delicately. "You manage him well, you know. Better than anyone else has."

Mae nearly chokes on her tea. "Manage him? I avoid him."

Joanna's expression brightens with vindication. "Exactly. You give him space. You don't try to change him or make demands. Do you know how rare that is in our circles? Everyone's always wanting something from him."

"Well, I already got what I needed, didn't I? A roof over my head, distance from my family—" Mae stops short, realizing how mercenary that sounds.

But Joanna just looks thoughtful. "You know, when Alaric passed. I was utterly lost. Not because I couldn't manage without him, mind you. I had my jewelry line, the children were nearly grown. But there was this... expectation. Everyone watching, waiting to see how the widow Parrish would carry on." Her voice takes on a harder edge. "The number of 'well-meaning' suggestions I received about selling the business, about how I should conduct myself... it was suffocating."

Mae leans forward slightly, captivated. This isn't the usual Joanna she knows—the society maven who orchestrates charity galas and family gatherings.

"So I did what you're doing now," Joanna continues. "I carved out my own space. Let them think what they wanted. Sometimes the best way to survive in this world is to let people underestimate you." She gives Mae a knowing look. "Those perfect fifty percent scores weren't just about staying unremarkable, were they? They were about control."

The observation hits uncomfortably close to home. Mae finds herself studying the dregs of her tea as though they might offer an escape from this conversation.

"Your secrets are safe with me." Joanna signals for a fresh pot of tea. "Though I do hope you'll consider sharing your actual talents someday. That painting you did... it wasn't just technical skill. There was feeling there. Understanding."

Mae feels her face heat. "It was just a simple piece..."

"Nonsense. You captured a moment I'd nearly forgotten. Made me remember what it felt like to hold my children when they were small, before everything got so... complicated." Joanna's voice softens. "That's quite a gift you have."

The praise makes Mae squirm in her seat, unused to such direct appreciation of her work. She's saved from having to respond by the arrival of fresh tea, giving her hands something to do as she pours for them both.