her ensemble; the look she spent the last hour crafting was stunning. She wore impeccably tailored cream-colored leather pants, cropped at the ankle to show off, to maximum effect, her matching colored patent leather pumps with four-inch heels, and topped off with a long-sleeved, hand-knit, fuschia sweater made of Scottish mohair. The sweater came high across her neck, but in the back swooped low to reveal taut muscles and to create several layers of draped material that bounced every time she moved. It was magazine-perfect. No, her daughter was commenting on her hair.
“Saoirse’s right, Mum,” Ronan said. “Why’d you go and switch colors again?”
Posing beneath the oversize painting of the two male swimmers she so adored, Edwige tried to think of Ronan as one of the idealized figures in the artwork and not as the son who was questioning her appearance. “I woke up this morning and realized I was bored with being a blonde,” she said. “So I rang up Marcel, and he restored my natural beauty.”
“I think it looks beautiful, Ms. Glynn-Rowley,” Phaedra said. “It’s almost like you’re standing underneath the moon in the painting, it’s so shiny.”
Edwige had no idea how to respond to a style comment from a girl who, to her eye, never used a hair-care product in her life, so she simply smiled and then, of course, instructed her to call her Edwige. Unlike Phaedra, Saoirse wasn’t as kind. “Come off it, Mum, you dyed your hair black again because you couldn’t stand the competition,” she said, twirling around so her own long blond hair swung like a yellow pinwheel.
This is only good-natured teasing, harmless, normal, Edwige thought. Then why do I wish they would all shut up and disappear?
Noticing Edwige’s discomfort, Michael interjected, “Are you looking at the same woman? Your mother doesn’t need to worry about competition from anyone.”
That’s lovely. The outsiders compliment me, my own flesh and blood don’t even have the decency. Clearly, Ronan has chosen well this time. “Thank you, Michael,” she said. “You are indeed a welcome addition to the family.”
Beaming, Ronan led a round of applause that only turned into another chorus of laughter when Saoirse, plopping onto Ciaran’s lap, asked her mother why she couldn’t pay as much attention to food preparation as she did to her wardrobe. “I still can’t get this disgusting taste of curry out of my mouth!”
Shaking his head, Ronan couldn’t believe how effortlessly sassy his sister could be. Whatever she thought just rolled off her tongue. It was a trait he mostly admired but, in the presence of his mother, made him nervous. The combination of his sister’s sass and his mother’s quick temper could be volatile. So far, Edwige seemed to be in a pleasant mood.
“Sorry, dear,” she said. “I attempted to make some homemade dishes, but after that one failure, I decided it was best to cater.”
“If you knew the dip was goppin’,” Saoirse said, “why’d you leave it out for us to eat?”
A smile formed on Edwige’s lips that made Ronan reconsider her pleasant mood was just a facade. “Darling, you know how I hate to waste food.”
After dinner, it was clear there was no risk of that. The dishes of those who had eaten were wiped clean. “That was delicious,” Phaedra remarked.
“Yeah, you sure picked a great caterer,” Ciaran added.
Lifting up his glass, Michael toasted the hostess. “And this is the best water I’ve ever tasted.”
And you, Michael Howard, are the best boyfriend ever. Ronan telepathically welcomed Michael to his nonconventional family and thanked him for his compliments to Edwige. They seemed to be keeping her calm, which in turn helped Ronan relax. After he’d convinced his mother to throw a family gathering, he wondered if it was a smart thing to do. Maybe a family should be left alone to coast and exist within its framework, each playing the part they’ve come to portray so well instead of being forced to acknowledge that the framework could use some reinforcement and that their roles needed to be reexamined. Maybe Ronan’s own personal desire for growth had made him think the rest of his family wanted the same. Well, things did seem to be going smoother than expected, but they still had to get through dessert.
“Be honest, Michael,” Saoirse said, stabbing the middle of a cream puff with her finger. “You can’t tell me you don’t miss eating dessert.”
Watching Saoirse devour the filling, Michael replied, “I never really had a sweet tooth.”
Ciaran stuffed the rest of his second cream puff into his mouth and swallowed hard before adding, “C’mon, mate, there’s got to be something you still crave.”
He thought a moment and then replied, “French fries.”
“Really?” Ronan asked. “You fancied chips that much?”
“Yeah,” Michael replied. “That’s the only food that I really miss eating.”
Her eyes bulging, Phaedra understood. “I love French fries! Just the other day at St. Martha’s, Fritz made me a plate smothered in cheese and brown gravy. I told him I could eat them every day.”
Edwige rose from the table. “Not a wise idea, darling, if, of course, you want to maintain your figure,” she stated. “Excuse me.”
After she left the room, Saoirse told Phaedra not to mind her mother and whispered, “She’s just jealous ’cause she’s old and doesn’t have our metabolism.”
A minute or so later when Edwige hadn’t returned from the kitchen, Ronan thought he should check on her. Before he entered the room, Edwige peered out into the hallway and said, “Go on back to our guests. I’m preparing a little surprise.”
A surprise? The idea should have filled Ronan with joy, but instead he was filled with terror. A surprise from Edwige had the potential to be a disaster. When Ronan informed the others what Edwige was up to in the kitchen, his opinion was shared.
“Maybe she’s planning on poisoning us all,” Ciaran whispered.
Hysterical, Saoirse grabbed her two brothers by the hand and dragged them onto the sofa. “Before she makes us drink the Kool-Aid, let’s have some sibling bonding time.” Squashed in between Ronan and Ciaran, she called out, “You guys don’t mind, do you?”
From across the room Michael shook his head. “Not at all.” In fact it was perfect. He had been dying to talk to Phaedra privately all night. Since the evening started, he had been trying to figure out what was different about Phaedra, when she stood under the crystal chandelier that hung near the minibar and was illuminated by the harsh light, he thought he had his answer. “Riddle me this, efemera,” Michael whispered. “How’d you manage to get a tan in April in England?”
Glancing in the mirror, Phaedra touched her cheek. It was true, her usually pale complexion had a darker undertone, not quite brown, more reddish. “You’ve noticed too.”
Michael looked at Phaedra’s reflection, then at the girl herself examining her skin tone. “You’re not as fair, all right, even your arms,” Michael said. “Oh my God, do not tell me you found a tanning salon in Eden? I know those things are deadly, but I could use a jump start on my summer tan.” Phaedra tried to interject, but Michael kept rambling, “Wait a sec, what am I talking about? A few ultraviolet rays can’t hurt me now. I’m no longer human!”
“I think they could hurt me,” Phaedra said quietly.
It took Michael a few moments for Phaedra’s comment to penetrate his laughter. “What exactly are you trying to say?”
She had to tell someone. She couldn’t keep it to herself any longer. “I’m changing,” Phaedra replied, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one could overhear. “I think I’m turning human.”
Stunned, Michael wanted to say that was impossible, but he knew better. Double A had taught him many things, mainly that anything was possible and he was about to learn something new. “When an efemera falls in love, she has to make a choice,” Phaedra explained. “Return that love and become human or deny it and remain as God intended.”
Bypassing all the metaphysical implications, Michael cut to the crux of the situation. “So you are in love with Fritz.”
When Phaedra blushed, the color of her skin grew even darker. She thought of a line from an old Greek play she just read in class, the character with the same name as hers asks, What do people mean when they speak of love? She had no idea. “I must be,” she said. “Otherwise this wouldn’t be happening.”
Michael was excited for his friend. “Well, that should make your decision pretty simple, shouldn’t it?”
