Carl entered with a plate, bringing it to Andrew. “Pancakes, sir.”
Andrew frowned. “I’m not a sir.”
Carl’s lips twitched. “The cook tried to make them look like cats.” He set the plate down.
Andrew looked closely and then grinned. “They do look like cats. My mommy makes clowns.”
It was silly to feel annoyed by that. Of course, he’d talk about his mom. She was all he knew. Still, I felt ripped off. I’d missed so much time.
“Sir?” Carl looked at me. “Shall I find something for Young Master Andrew to sit on?”
“Oh goodness, Carl, is Mom Downton Abbeying you too? Young Master…” Bri rolled her eyes.
Carl shrugged.
“Yes, if there’s something for him to sit on that would be great, Carl, thank you. Are they coming down?”
“They’ll be here shortly.”
“Have you warned him about her?” Bri asked sitting across the table from us.
“No. And I’d appreciate it if you’d behave too.”
She looked at Andrew. “I always behave.” She winked.
Andrew grinned and then looked up at me. “I don’t have a sister.”
“You’re not missing much.”
“Hey!” A piece of toast came across the table, hitting me in the chest.
“See, she’s not house trained.” But I glared at her. If she set Mom off, it would be a difficult morning and I didn’t need that for Andrew’s first day.
My parents entered together, which wasn’t normal. I wondered if my mom wanted to make a grand, master and mistress of the house, entrance, or if my father was keeping my mother in line.
I stood and leaned over to pick up Andrew. “Mom, Dad, I’d like to introduce you to Andrew.”
They moved toward us, my mother’s hard eyes staring at Andrew. Jesus, he was going to think she was the Wicked Witch of the West.
As they got closer, Andrew held out his hand. “I’m Andrew.”
“At least someone has manners,” Bri quipped from her side of the table.
My father took his hand. “You can call me grandfather.”
My mother gasped and looked at my father like he’d grown a third eye.
“It’s very nice to meet you, young Andrew,” he said ignoring my mother.
“It’s nice to meet you too.” Andrew extended his hand toward my mother. She looked at it like it had cooties. “My mommy says it’s good manners to shake hands when you meet someone.” I guess he thought she didn’t understand what he was doing so he was explaining it.
“His mom has manners too. Imagine that.”
I glared at Bri.
“Mother.” I hope she read in my eyes that I was telling her not to be such a jerk.
“I’m Mrs. Roarke.” She gave his hand a quick shake and then went to her seat.
Andrew leaned closer to my ear. “Is she your mommy?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t she Grandma then?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Carl entered with two thick books. “This should work for now,” he said, putting them on Andrew’s chair.
“What’s that for?” my mother snapped.
“So he’s tall enough to sit at the table, madam. Can I get you some orange juice?” Carl asked. “Cook is nearly finished with your omelet as well.”
“Yes, thank you, Carl.”
“So kid, you in school?” Bri asked.
“I’m four. I go to school when I’m five.”
“What? That’s too late,” my mother said, looking horrified. “He should be in pre-k.”
“Andrew here wants to be a pilot when he grows up,” I said giving Andrew a pat on the shoulder.
“You can kiss that dream goodbye,” Bri quipped.
“Bri.” I gave her a warning.
She shrugged. “First born Roarke boys don’t get to pursue their dreams.”
“My daddy took me in an airplane. We went so high and so fast, didn’t we Daddy?”
Everyone else at the table stopped and looked at me.
“We did.” I frowned as I wondered what was up. “What?” I mouthed to Bri.
“It’s so freaking weird to hear him call you Daddy.”
“It’s premature, if you ask me,” my mother said under her breath.
“Katherine, we have a guest,” my father reminded her.
“If you’re not in school, what do you do?” my mother asked.
I rolled my eyes. I was sure this was one of her sneaky ways to interrogate him about Serena. While I was angry with the woman, it wasn’t my mother’s place to probe Andrew for information to use against her.
“If my mommy is home, we go to the park or the library. When she’s at work, I go to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. We play games and read. I help my grandma cook too.”
“What do you cook?” Bri asked.
“Cookies and stew.” He looked up at me. “My grandma gave me the stew recipe for you.”
“What stew recipe?” my mother’s eyes narrowed.
“Daddy came over for dinner once and he loved my grandma’s stew. She thinks he should serve at…” He frowned and looked up at me. “I don’t remember.”
Inwardly I winced because I knew this wasn’t going to go well. “The Roarke.”
“Yes. It’s a fancy restaurant. That's what my grandma says.”
“It is fancy,” my mother said. “Too fancy for stew.”
Taking a page from Andrew’s books of naive honesty, I said, “It was true authentic Irish stew. More Irish than what is served there now.”
“And I suppose you plan on changing that when you steal away the company from your father.”
Everyone at the table quieted. Andrew looked up at me, his eyes wide with fear. “Is she mad?”
“No, honey, that’s how she always is,” Bri said.
I closed my eyes because I knew all hell was about to break loose.
“When I’m mad, my mommy tells me to count to five and then give someone a hug. Hugs always make you feel better.”
He jumped down from his chair and walked over to my mother. I could see what he was about to do and I wanted to stop him because I was sure it wasn’t going to go well.
He stopped beside my mother and extended his arms. “Can I give you a hug, grand…Mrs. Roarke?”
“Katherine.” My father’s tone suggested he was worried too.
She sniffed and then stiffly turned in her chair. Andrew put his arms around her. She allowed it, but didn’t return it. When he kissed her on the cheek, she flinched.
“Do you
