When All is Null and Void

Chapter Thirty-Three

"—From the opening speech, to the closing speech."

Titus dropped his spoon into the almost empty cereal bowl; it clanged against the glass before falling to the table cloth, a splash of milk flying. He was only half listening to his mom talk until shed said those words.

"But the Galas are so long," he whined, replacing the spoon into the bowl. A server stole it away before Titus could make any more of a mess.

"And you're going to be in charge of running them in a few years," she'd replied.

"What if I just do away with them," Titus countered.

"The very reason you need to be at an entire Gala. We can't do what we do without donors, and this is the very way for us to prove that their money isn't going to waste."

This ended the debate and was how Titus, then, found himself donning his freshly laundered and pressed tux at five-thirty that evening. He considered simply feigning some illness but knew this would only fail, because his ring rarely allowed him to be sick. Titus glared at himself in the mirror. Why couldn't there be a Void leak to save him. Maybe Natalee would wake up during this Gala... but even that thought was dampened when Titus remembered Natalee's dosage had been upped enough it was almost impossible for her to awaken.

Fingers fumbling with the bowtie, Titus decided to just leave it until his mom could do it before they entered the Gala. Before he left his room, Titus grabbed a pair of shining, recently polished dress shoes from his closet and carried them with him.

The carpet squished under Titus' feet as he walked down the hallway, his gait slow and loping. He hoped that maybe—just maybe—his mom would forget her words and start the Gala without him. He could slip in, sneak down the stairs and hide near the dessert table. He couldn't have to talk to people then.

Rhea James was natural, poised, and well received. She enjoyed connecting with the Museum's benefactors and chumming it up with pretentious blowhards. Titus, on the other hand, despised the small that the prevailed at these events, which was why he always sought a way out. Even now Titus thought of breaking his leg when he walked downstairs. But he wouldn't. He would bear with the rich and their snobby, "Boys will be boys," comments that made no sense.

At the top of the stairs, Titus' hopes shattered. Rhea James, resplendent in her shimmering crimson gown with a single strap over the left shoulder, stood there. "You look nice, mom," he said. Much as he might hate her for this, she still deserved to know that every effort she put in for these Galas was worth it.

"Thanks," she replied. "Do you need me to tie your bowtie?" She didn't wait for him to answer, though, and simply moved into action. Her fingers were deft at his throat, and the tie came together in less than thirty seconds. She smoothed the fabric on his shoulders, though there weren't any wrinkles to be straightened.

Titus was going to say more, but the doors opened and Rhea led him around the corner to the grand staircase. The applause started slowly, and when people realized Titus and Rhea were walking arm-in-arm, cameras began their silent flashing. Rhea smiled with a coyness and joy Titus couldn't muster. His smile was too wide, too fake, but he knew the entertainment Holos would eat up this display of mother and son. Arms linked at the elbow, they only broke apart at the bottom of the steps. Titus continued to the floor, while his mom stayed on the third step.

"Welcome to the James Estate," Rhea said to everyone gathered. Her voice rang out over the crowd, as if by magic, though it was really by a small, magnetic microphone which had been attached to the underside of her dress strap. "I hope you all enjoy this evening's Gala, and that you are blessed by the camaraderie and food." The end of her tiny speech was punctuated by her step down from above.