Counterpoint

Chapter 87

Alexander

   The night felt like it passed in inch increments after Thomas left for the reception. He had been reluctant as it was to go to the reception at all and after I pointed out the fact that little Martha would need to go to bed long before the reception was over the idea of attending the reception became utterly repugnant to him. He tried to form a solid argument, based entirely on the fact that he is a new father. My rebuttal, I am not. I am painfully familiar with how to put a small child to bed, regardless of their protests as well as those of their father. After several goodbye and goodnight kisses between the two Jeffersons I was forced to pry them away and usher him out the door. If there is any hope at all that Thomas will be able to rescue his relationship with his family then he could not be late tonight. 

   Martha went down pretty easily, her Pappa in his excitement wore her out pretty nicely. I sit alone in the living room, listening to the clock tick as I rest my head against the plush cushions of the couch. I have no idea where Thomas found these couches but I have decided that I need one, maybe even two of them. A brief glance over towards the clock and I notice that it is about twenty minutes until midnight. I hadn't expected Thomas to come rushing back here, but I must confess that I hadn't anticipated him being gone this late in the evening. I'm not sure if this is a positive indication of a Jefferson family reconciliation or if they are ghosting each other from different sides of a banquet hall. The idea of Thomas trying to leave but being blocked by one of his siblings pulls a quiet breathy laugh from my lips as I imagine his chagrined expression. 

   Tonight won't be easy, and judging from the three plane tickets I found stashed away in Thomas' nightstand he has prepared to flee back to New York. It's amusing that he thinks his family won't simply pursue him to New York, they have his tenacity but I suppose not the best track record when it comes to being there for him. Fleeing to New York had worked for him in the past, he probably believes it will work for him once more. He intends for us to leave on a 3:30 flight tomorrow afternoon, not much time for conversation but enough for us to pack up and fly back to his sanctuary. I pray that he will prove me wrong and not act on his more cowardly impulse, but at this point I realize that no matter what he does I am simply going to have to roll with it. He is allowed to burn as many bridges as he wants and there is not much I can say to stop him.

   The front door swings open and I jump into alertness as Thomas strolls through the door. He hasn't noticed me as he shrugs off his dress coat as if it weighed an additional hundred pounds. He jumps slightly as he turns and notices me peering back at him from the couch. There is a mumbled curse that falls from his lips before he smiles slightly and moves to join me on my perch. His body collapses heavily onto the couch, his head falling harshly into the conjunction of my neck and shoulder. I repress any outburst of pain as he stares straight ahead with sleep deprived eyes, the faint smell of alcohol clinging to his skin. 

   "How was the reception?"

   "I fixed everything if that's what you really wanted to know." he mumbles, pressing his head against me just like a cat would. He almost seems to be preening, begging for some sort of touch. I run a hesitant hand through his curls and his whole body seems to relax, melting into my side as his eyes close and his lips curl into a sweet smile. "We talked." 

   "All of you?" I ask curiously.

   "Only the guilty party."

   "And how is your mother?"

   "She and I will never be the same," he confesses softly. "No one could expect us to ever go back after everything that's happened."

   "I understand."