Cynthia was, of course, not fine with it - but she had gotten both her surprise and resentment out at lunch. Her father had paid for her bespoke shoes by way of softening the blow, so she liked to think she got something out of that.

"It might be the best thing for you," Sol took his son's snide rejoinder at face value. "Marriage can change a wizard. You'll have more than just yourself to look after..."

He glanced at Irene but only for a second. Talk of marriage and weddings inevitably brought his own to mind. He had grown and matured as a person, next to her. Settling down with Irene, having children, sorting the ins and outs of maintaining a home. All that and then the war. It seemed so long ago now.

       "I heard Laidie might marry," Cynthia piped up now that dinner resumed. "She's been dating her fellow for, what, two years now? About bloody time."

"The Prewett boy, was it?," Solomon smiled dryly, returning to his meal. "Good for her."

Unlike Irene, Solomon had often mentioned marriage to their children, hoping they would finally settle down. In recent years, their mother was less inclined to push them towards settling down. Perhaps that was thanks to her trust issues regarding her own now rather disastrous marriage. It was a sight at the dining table, both mother and son sitting back with their wine glasses, neither particularly feeling inclined to continue the conversation while father and daughter blithely continued on as if the tension in the room was nonexistent. Irene certainly didn’t meet her husband’s glance when he mentioned the benefit marriage might have on their son.

Cynthia brought up her Angela and Edgar’s daughter finally heading to the altar, and Irene took another sip of wine.

“No one should rush into marriage, Cynthia. It takes a lot longer than two years to really know someone.” It had taken Irene over 30 years. After her pointed comment aimed at the wizard seated at the head of the table, the witch looked back to her son, her cool expression softening to something much warmer. “And you need to know yourself completely first, Earnest.” Irene had her suspicions about her son’s sexuality, never having mentioned them to Solomon, who merely blithely went on about him settling down with a nice witch. As her husband had mentioned earlier that evening, he had no gaydar.

“The last thing you need is to rush into marrying any old witch…or wizard.” The final bit was added with a shrug, nonchalant as if it didn’t matter which way he chose to go. It could also have been aimed at Cynthia, but it wasn’t.

Cynthia, Earnest had been thinking, may have actually been trying to do him a favor with the forewarning. There wasn't a good reason the two of them were so prickly these days. He had tuned his father out, his bland mumbling lecturing tone, and was sat considering the merits of Cynthia Carstairs when Earnest accidentally inhaled the sweet red blend into his sinus.

Irene Carstairs bringing the rainbow flag to the discussion had been unexpected.

He coughed and wheezed twice and sharply, his eyes instantly welling up. He'd caught any mess with his napkin. Earnest didn't swear at home and was able to keep the habit as he accepted the glass of water someone handed him.

"Sorry, I'm fine," he managed. Now his head was pounding. He really didn't want to talk about this. Earnest weathered gracefully the sporting world's 'accusations' that his flamboyance was an obvious tell that he was gay, forgetting as most people did, that bisexuality existed. At the moment, he'd rather lose his remaining two-thirds allowance than sitting here a moment longer.

"I'm going to go," he said and rose, leaving his plate half-full. "I'm tired."

"You do seem tired," Cynthia put it.

Irene hadn’t been sure how her son would take the gentle nudge, and it clearly hadn’t been too well. He almost inhaled his wine and made quite the scene of it at the dinner table. Mother and daughter exchanged looks, they’d clearly had similar thoughts before about Earnest. Nobody in the family had, however, voiced them. Until now.

The youngest member of the family was suddenly on his feet, excusing himself from the catastrophic family dinner. Irene sighed, hand going up to her face to rub over her eyes before brushing her hair back from her face in frustration.

“Earnest…” there wasn’t much point in trying to stop him going right now. In her son, she so often recognised herself. For Irene, too, her first reaction to being wrongfooted was so often to walk away from the situation and gather her bearings. She didn’t like to be thrown off, and she didn’t handle it well without having had at least some space to process it. She’d just wrongfooted her son in front of the rest of the family and now he wanted to flee.

Irene understood his reaction completely and was suddenly feeling guilty for causing it. Solomon and Cynthia had laid the groundwork, Cynthia by blurting out the change to their allowance, and Solomon for droning on about Earnest finally settling down to wed so he could have an ideal marriage just like his parents. Irene had just badly timed something she’d felt needed to be said for quite some time. She knew the sports world was less open than that of the art world to people that went against the grain of tradition, but Earnest needed to be true to himself, not his peers and what he thought was accepted.

“At least take some of the tarte tatin home.” Irene said, rising from her seat. She pulled her son into a hug, whether he liked it or not. “We love you, no matter what choice you make about settling down.” Irene’s blue eyes looked past her son to Solomon, willing him to make a similar statement before Earnest took off.

His wife tried to smooth things over, as was her way. Cynthia was more in the Carstairs habit of simply talking through a conflict n order to move past it - which was his own preference. But Irene's approach was probably better suited to Earnest, who Sol suspected to be more emotional despite the devil-may-care exterior.

He was about to concede that neither daughter nor son should rush into an engagement when the latter choked on his own wine and suddenly announced his departure.

"Your mother's not wrong," Sol agreed, though visibly puzzled by the abruptness of it all. "I don't mean to push you, there's certainly no merit in settling down with some flighty woman. Do what you have to do."

It was strange for Earnest to take it so personally all of a sudden. He was usually more wry than genuinely upset about the subject. "Just, you know," he shrugged. "Try to take it more seriously."

He'd caused a fuss; as mild as it was, it was notable in this house. They were all meant to engage in rational discussions in measured tones and ninety-percent of the time, Earnest was as deft as anyone at the game. He wasn't tonight, though, and suddenly finding the situation too uncomfortable, he worked to fix it. His mother was doing the same and his father even tried his hand at it, passably.

Earnest allowed his mother the hug and even kissed her on the cheek, as if he were leaving for a real reason. A light smile and those disarming eyebrows that the Witch Weekly liked so much were meant to show all was well.

"I understand. You're both just ravenous for grandchildren," he said. He took another drink from his water glass. After he set it down he touched the tender spot above his eye. "Clock's ticking."

"Honestly, that bludger got me harder than I realized." He glanced at Cynthia, giving up the opportunity for her to take another jab at him. It was too wide open to be sporting, so she just sipped her drink (without choking on it). "I'll lie down. It'll be fine by morning."

Solomon couldn’t help himself. With one breath he supported her comments, agreeing that Earnest shouldn’t rush to marry anyone, yet the next breath held a reminder to focus himself on the pursuit. Irene pressed her lips together, deciding that it wasn’t worth an argument in front of the children. Earnest had already dragged up his father’s infidelity over dinner, Irene wasn’t certain if she could take more tension tonight. The family had certainly filled their quota for the evening and much like her son, Irene felt that itch to distance herself from it.

“I would love grandchildren. But not at the expense of your happiness, my dear.” Mother told her son as she pulled back from the hug. For now, she wished to ignore the little stabs Earnest had made while thrashing about in defence of his own position. Perhaps Irene had always ignored a little too much of her son’s behaviour. Much like her husband’s.

All too aware of how the bludger was a convenient excuse, Irene patted her son’s arm, choosing to withhold comment. She’d been very close to qualifying as a healer upon meeting Solomon so Irene happened to have a rather competent set of skills. It had come in handy to tell if the children were genuinely poorly or simply trying to fake it when they were younger. Clearly, children didn’t grow up even when they reached their 30s.

“Mommy’s magic kiss to make you feel better, sweetheart?” Irene puckered up her lips and reached to grab her son’s cheeks.

Oh, it was awful! His mother's performance was too much, but he'd endure it because he felt guilty for shocking her at the table. He placed her hands on his cheeks and ducked his head so she had the access to his him, but then returned her hands to her after.

"I'll come by the studio next week," he said to his mother and no one else. He was making his leave. Greenie met him with a sealed glass dish of the dessert. Earnest thanked him but didn't tary much longer. He'd collect his things by the Floo and shoot back to his more-than-he-really-needed flat in London. He didn't doubt Solomon would do exactly as he intended with the money, but more likely than not, anything unpleasant that was said would work its way back under the rug by morning.