Dinner was an interesting hour and a half. For the most part, Spencer ignores me, only speaking to me when I'm part of the conversation, and never one-on-one. His main focus is on Joss but he's making an effort to win over Owen, too. He's even charmed most of the women around the table, bar Éliane, but she's suspicious of everyone so can't be counted on to give an honest opinion on any newcomer to this family until past the five-year mark. When Dashiell, her brother was born, it took her about seven years to stop calling him 'It'. Even now, she will sometimes ask her parents if there's any chance of returning him.
"Éliane?" I nudge my cousin's elbow with my own just as a waiter starts to clear away the dessert bowls. When she whips her head around to face me, I notice the scowl etched on her features and almost decide not to bother disturbing her further. Instead, I tilt my head to the side gently and ask, "Are you ok? You haven't been yourself tonight and that's unusual. I'm used to you being, what's the word...?"
"A stroppy cow?" She offers, a small shrug of her shoulder indicating that this is how she's used to being described.
I shake my head. "No, I was going more for sullen. I'm used to you-"
"Sullen is a polite way to say moody," Joss offers from my left. I hadn't realised he was tuned into the conversation but now that he is, and he's offered his usual observational response to something he's deemed inaccurate, it's only a matter of time before everyone else at the table interferes.
Léa, for example, spoke up in under thirty seconds after Joss. "Who is moody and sullen?"
"You can't be both moody and sullen if they mean the same thing," Joss points out. "But I think we're talking about-"
"Vampyrum Spectrum's new album," Spencer hurriedly cuts off Joss's comment. He quickly inclines his head towards Éliane and smiles secretively, before continuing with, "Their new album, Megaderma, has this really dark, moody undertone to most of the tracks, with brooding, sort of sullen lyrics that capture the pain of a songwriter going through a personal life crisis."
Silence followed. I've vaguely heard of Vampyrum Spectrum before- they're a heavy metal rock band that Joss sometimes listens to, but even I know that Megaderma is a solid three-year-old album by this point. From the way Joss opens his mouth, I think he's about to voice the same sentiment as I am, only to be cut off by the arrival of our grandfather hovering over my left shoulder.
Despite being ninety years of age, my daideó is as sprightly now as I ever remembered him to be. His once dark hair is now fully grey and whispy, his skin is slightly more transparent than before, but the glint in his blue eyes is ever-present, as is that handsome lopsided smile of his. He apologies softly for interrupting the conversation and introduces himself to the only 'new' face at our table, Spencer, who immediately stands up and shakes his hand gently. A quick, 'Pleasure to meet you' was exchanged before my daideó holds out his hand to me and motions to the dance floor.
Without question, I accept his hand and follow him to the centre of the room. Being the first grandchild- and a girl, at that- daideó has long admitted that I hold an extra special place in his heart, just as my grand-mère will openly admit to Léa being her favourite. Every year, at the Courtenay ball, my daideó will always insist that the first dance be one that he and I share, no exceptions. Given that this is year nine of this tradition, everyone stops to watch the second that diadeó moves his hands into a Viennese Waltz hold. We've danced most ballroom-type dances over the years but this is our favourite.
"Same choreography?" I ask as I place my hand in his. Daideó nods. "And this year's song choice is...?"
He winks at me. "Patience, Sera."
Seconds later, our feet are in position, we're in a closed hold, and the strings of the orchestra come to life.
She can kill with a smile, she can wound with her eyes, and she can ruin your faith with her casual lies, and she only reveals what she wants you to see, she hides like a child but she's always a woman to me.
As a rotary dance, and twice the speed of an English Waltz, daideó and I start with the natural turn, while I'm mentally counting one-two-three-one-two-three. Treating the dancefloor as if it's a racetrack, after the first lap, we perform a quick change step and dance in a reverse turn, before another change step puts up back into natural turn. A fleckerl follows, a contra check, another fleckerl, natural turn, change step, reverse turn, change step, and finally, another lap in natural turn.
As we dance, I can feel dadideó's chest moving up and down as he struggles to contain his delightful laughter, and soon enough, despite the exuberance and freedom of dancing, I find myself barely able to contain my smile. As we reach the last verse of the song, and possibly the last lap of the dance, the turns come faster and faster, slowing us almost to a stop by the last note of the song.
We inch apart. Daideó bows while I curtesy, and the audience applause rings in my ear. The next song starts to play and I watch as Sophie and Daniel take to the dancefloor and wave at others to join them, indicating that the party had officially started. A famous singer takes to the stage and starts belting out their most recent hit, but I don't have a clue who she is and I've only ever heard the song once and that was by accident when my Musica app was on shuffle.
Daideó deposits me back at my table and thanks me for giving him the honour of the first dance, but sweetly says, "The honour of the second dance goes to Éliane." Just as he'd done with me, he reaches out his hand to his granddaughter. Although blushing from embarrassment of having to dance, Éliane takes his hand and nod. Daideó then looks at Léa and Madeline. "You two are next, and then India and Hero."
I watch as daideó heads back to the dancefloor, a grin on my face. I retake my seat at the table and turn to see Spencer shaking his head in amusement before he inches closer to me and whispers, "Just to warn you, I can't dance like that."
"Oh?" I tease him. "Well, how about you show me how you can dance and let me be the judge of it? Also, I think you and I need to-"
"Sorry to interrupt," an Australian accent interrupts my flow of words. I groan and look up to see my father staring down at Spencer. Oh, dear Lord, is this really the right time for Dad to meet Spencer? I mean, barely two hours ago, Spencer was practically saying that he wants to date me, and if Dad gets hold of him before I can ascertain exactly what he meant by his words, Spencer will be running for the doors in three seconds flat. "That's a lie. I'm not sorry at all. I came to get my wayward sons so we can participate in the family tradition of hiding from the women rather than getting dragged onto the dancefloor, and I thought, 'fuck me, wouldn't it be an awesome time to make my presence known to the guy trying to get into Nugget's pants' and so, here I am. Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. Professor Isaac Fletcher, Lead Consultant in Specialist Neonatal and Paediatric Surgery at Great Ormond Street Hospital. Who, exactly, are you?"
I love my dad. Truly.
I also hate my dad. A lot.
When the tiniest of protests leaves my lips, Dad raises his hand and sushes me. He used to do this when I was a a kid and I hate to admit that it works, but it does. When my dad tells me to butt out, I butt out. Then I go to Mum, rat Dad out, and she does all the work for me.
Watching as Spencer stands up, I'm mildly amused that he's an inch or so taller than Dad. From the way Dad looks down at Spencer's feet and then drags his gaze upwards to the top of his head, I'm guessing that my father isn't as amused as I am about this fact. Instead, Dad draws his shoulders back and puffs out his chest slightly before silently nodding towards the nearest exit. He turns back to Joss and snaps his fingers in Owen's direction, gaining both their attention. Joss groans at the prospect of socialising with others, while Owen gleefully runs after Spencer, saying something about whiskey sours.
"Dad, be nice to Spencer, ok?" I plead with him. He stares at me. "I mean it."
"When am I anything but pleasant?" He retorts. From behind him comes the unmistakable voice of Dad's favourite person in the world, and she cuttingly says, "From the moment you wake up, tho the moment you fall asleep. But then, my sister tells me that you often sleeptalk, so not even when you're asleep, I imagine."
Dad rolls his eyes. "Sophie, it's always nice to see you at this event. I have fond memories of our first Courtenay Ball. Afterall, it's where Léa was born. And also, where I-"
"Finish that fucking sentence, Fletch. I dare you," Sophie threatens. She narrows her eyes on Dad and jabs a finger against his chest. "And don't think I don't know where you men all scutter off to like the cowards that you are. You have fifty minutes to find your testis and get back out here, or I swear on all things precious that I will hunt you down. Am I understood?"
"Perfectly," he mutters. "Although, it may take Daniel longer to find his balls, since you keep them hostage in your vice-like clutches."
Knowing exactly what was about to happen- all out ward of words- I move along the table until I find myself next to Madeline. She and Léa are gossiping about something or nothing, while Bronwen sits silently next to them, observing the two older women. I grasp quickly what they're talking about- Doré's upcoming fall/winter collection- but in all honesty, I have about as much interest in this topic as I do for the mating patterns of praying mantis.
I motion at Bronwen to follow me to the bar, taking the opportunity to check that she was ok and enjoying this evening. Being wedged between Léa and Joss for dinner can't have been thrilling for her, especially since Léa was preoccupied with Madeline, and Joss with Spencer. Bronwen, however, insists that she thinks tonight has been 'wonderful' and has so far lived up to all her expectations.
"I have one question, though," she timidly says. She quickly looks at her surrounds, making sure that no one is listening in, before she asks, "Have I done something to upset Joseph?"
I frown. "No, I don't think so. I mean, you're the least offensive person we know; I can't imagine how on earth you could have upset him. You haven't insulted his favourite band have you? He got upset when Levi did that one year."
"I don't even know who his favourite band is," she replies. Biting down on her lower lip, she starts to frown, before moving her big brown eyes to meet mine. "Who is his favourite band?"
"Pink Fairy Armadillos," I tell her. It's hard to keep my face straight when I say that name, but it's true. Bronwen smirks. "I know, stupid name. Now, let's drink. We need to be sufficiently drunk before we're dragged into the bathroom in about-" I reach into my clutch bag for my phone and frown. It's not there. Thinking about when I last had my phone, I sigh and feel my shoulders deflate. "Spencer has my phone in his jacket pocket. Damn, I forgot. Anyway, I think we have about another hour before Léa's birthday. So, as I was saying, let's drink."
For the next however long, Bronwen and I drink and mingle. We dance everytime we hear a song that we like, and we laugh a little too loudly whenever Martha, Keira and Nia try to imitate whatever we're doing. I've always found it strange to get drunk with my parents, but Bronwen and Nia don't seem to care.
Speaking of my parents, when I spot my mother, I relay to her everything Dad did earlier when he came to shepherd Spencer away, including the part where he shushed me. Mum rolled her eyes and said, "Leave it with me, I know exactly how to get payback." When she giggles like a school girl, I mentally make a note to make sure Joss comes home with me and Léa tonight. He's not going to be able to look anyone in the eye for the next week if he has to stay in his childhood bedroom tonight.
Talking of my brother, from the corner of my eye, I spot him, Spencer, Owen and Levi heading back into the main room, Owen gesticulating in a way that makes the others laugh, even Joss. When they see me staring at them, they make a beeline to where Bronwen and I are dancing. Owen and Levi instantly go to Bronwen and insist on dancing with her. Interestingly, the second Levi opens his mouth, his girlfriend is at his side, insisting that he dance with her first.
"I'm sure Bronwen won't mind not dancing with you," Rebecca comments. "She hasn't danced with anyone all night, other than your sister."
Someone's hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me back the second I feel my body gravitating towards Rebecca, a ferocious growl emanating from my throat. Levi, knowing when his girlfriend is in danger, quickly ushers her away. He knows as well as I do that no one gets to make unkind and unnecessary comments about my family; Bronwen may not be family by blood, but as Uncle James's daughter, she's family to me in all thee ways that matter.
I turn to look at Bronwen and see that her gaze is fixed on the floor, her cheeks bright red. Owen and Joss silently look at each other before the oldest Fletcher brother steps forward and says, "I don't have the social skills to deal with this. Owen will dance with you."
Two voices simultanswously say, "Fuck," at hearing Joss's heartless remark. One of those voices is mine, the other is Spencer's. Quickly, Joss scuttles off to the bar, while Owen offers his hand to Bronwen. She shakes her head and says that she doesn't want his pity and, "More than that, I don't want to dance anymore."
I'll confess, I'm impressed with the amount of dignity Bronwen mustered as she held her head up high and walked off. When she passes Martha, my sister frowns and then makes her way over to me, demanding to know what happened. I point at Joss, propped up at the bar, staring off into the distance, totally oblivious to the hurt he's caused. Martha looked at her phone and swore.
"We've got ten minutes before the bathroom lock in," she informs me. She looks over at the bar and scowls. "I'll deal with him. Sera, you gather the others up. God knows if anyone is late, her Ladyship will freak the fuck out. Oh, hey, Spencer. Nice jacket."
When Martha departs, Owen and I agree to split up and gather everyone for Léa's birthday gathering. Every year, she makes us all head to the ladies bathroom, drink in hand, so we can help her celebrate her birthday, on the exact minute she was born. Five minutes before that, however, my father insists on toasting the exact moment Daniel fainted when he found out his wife was about to give birth. And about three minutes before that, Mum likes to toast the moment that Sophie found out she was pregnant, and in labour.
Honestly, it's a whole event.
With five minutes before the deadline, I herd Madline, Christian, Levi, Rebecca and Hero into the bathroom, quickly followed by Spencer, both my parents, Lucas and Milli, as well as Freddie, Éliane, and Lyanna Taylor. Owen arrives seconds later with Sophie and Daniel, Emma and Hugo, our grandparents, India, Michael Taylor, Elias Marshall, and James Saylor. Rouding up the remainder of the privileged guests is Martha, escorting in Joss, who was sheepishly looking around for someone who's yet to arrive.
Seconds later, the bathroom door is thrown open, and in walks the birthday girl herself, Bronwen hot on her heels.
"Aw, look at you all, here before me. I feel so loved," Léa grins. "Where's everyone's drinks?"
As if on cue, the bathroom door opens and in walks Samuel, holding the door open for a queue of waiters, carrying shot glasses on trays. Everyone reaches forward and takes a glass, holding them as if they're grenades, and then look back at Léa, waiting for her to start her speech. She gives one every year.
"Thank you all for coming to another of my birthday parties," she smiles. I bite my tongue whenever she says these words because of the sheer audacity this girl has, thinking that this shindig is all for her. "Usually, I share the stage this evening with my dearest aunt, Evie, since we share a birthday, but this year, she's unavailable. Last I checked FlightMap, her plane was just taking off from Vancouver, but she did text to tell everyone to enjoy tongith without her.
"But back to me," Léa continues. "It's always wonderful to have you all here to help me celebrate my birthday. I'm awed to see so many of you gather and I want to say how touched I am-"
Dad's loud sigh stop's Léa mid sentence. When everyone looks in his direction, Dad simply shurgs his shoulder and says, "I've heard this self-serving speech a million and one times, and all I can think of is how much I really want to down this shot, have a dance with Lottie, and then go home. So can we skip to the good part?"
"Isaac," the birthday girl groans in annoyance, but then she rolls her eyes and says, "Yeah, fine, shots it is, but then your all singing happy birthday to me and then we're dancing. On tables. Bottoms up, bitches."
Following Léa's lead, everyone downs their shot. From the mix of responses, I'm guessing that everyone is either not a fan of tequila, or is immune to the burning sensation. I fall into the former category, Spencer, it seems, falls into the latter.
Léa leads the exodus from the bathroom, but I stay back, my hand clasped around Spencer's so he can't leave, at least not until we've finally had a talk about his comment from earlier this evening. His eyes dart down at where our hands connect but then in one swift move, his eyes burn against mine. The second the soft slam of the door indicates that everyone has left, Spencer takes a step closer to me.
"Yes, Seraphina?" He asks, his voice heavy with some emotion that I can't quite place, but if I had to guess, it would be desire.
"Earlier, you said something that I think we need to talk about," I tell him.
He smiles softly. "I believe that you're referring to the part where I said that I want to date you." When I nod, Spencer lets out a long breath and shrugs is shoulder. "I think the words were pretty clear. I want to date you."
"You do?"
"I do."
I frown. "But you haven't asked me out."
"Yet."
"Excuse me?"
Spencer grins at how confused I appear to be. "I haven't asked you yet."
"'Yet' usually indicates that you will ask me."
"Correct."
"So you're going to ask me out?"
Spencer nods. "I am."
"When?"
He laughs. "Wouldn't you like to know."