Torwood
Shirley had decided that dinner would be a lavish affair, a demand that I was happy to accommodate.
She claimed it was to help get Vanessa’s mind off the day’s events, which I believed, but I also knew Shirley needed but a threadbare excuse for festivities.
She instructed us to dress well and meet in the dining room at seven sharp, leaving me to hurry to both finish the meal and scamper down to the basement to dig up a casual grey blazer, shoes, and an old Oxford cloth shirt from my stashed possessions.
I changed into a pair of jeans that were free from paint stains, wishing I had access to a working iron.
I caught my reflection in the mirror as I was leaving.
I hadn’t worn this outfit since a particularly uncomfortable date two years ago, with the daughter of a gorgon woman I had met at the supermarket.
The girl had seemed to like me, but the snakes on her head hissed and spat at my every move, keeping me even from hugging her goodnight.
I ran my fingers through my own thick brown hair, moving it away from my face.
One of these days I had to buy an orc-made comb, I couldn’t keep breaking the flimsy combs made for human hair.
I took a deep breath, and noticed a fluttering anxiety in the pit of my stomach.
Vainly, I found myself hoping that Vanessa would approve of my outfit.
I arrived in the dining room, wreathed in the light from dozens of floating candles, and began to help Shirley set the table with fine linens and delicate silverware.
The wine bottles were inscribed with sensitive runes that monitored temperature and humidity within the bottle, and kept the wine perfectly aerated as it was poured.
For an added bonus, the bottles would also float around the table and keep everyone’s glasses perfectly filled.
For the hundredth time, I wondered why Shirley hadn’t gone into runecraft professionally.
As we worked, I heard a small cough behind me.
Shirley saw her first, and clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Oh darling, I knew it would fit.
You have just my figure from when I was your age,” she said.
Vanessa was wearing a gauzy off-white dress embroidered with small blue flowers.
It hung perfectly from her, stopping just above her knees, with a low neckline that almost risked being inappropriate for the setting.
Her hair was curled around her shoulders, with face framing front pieces that accentuated the dark wings she’d applied to her eyes.
A glittering silver necklace, matching the silver and blue of her earrings, tied a bow on the entire outfit.
I stared at her for several seconds, before remembering to breathe.
“I don’t know Grandma, it’s more of a summer dress,”
Vanessa said. Her cheeks were slightly red, and it felt as though she were pointedly avoiding eye contact with me.
“Well, wasn’t it a beautiful summery day?”
Shirley retorted. “We need a break from all the ice and darkness. Oh, I have a delightful idea. Let’s treat this as a garden dinner, remember the kind we used to have with the whole family?”
“I remember,”
said Vanessa.
“Torwood, would you go get the vases?”
she asked.
I agreed, and returned from the basement with an armful of blown glass which I laid in front of Shirley.
Each vase had a rune on the bottom which, as she filled it with water from the kitchen, activated and sprouted a magnificent bouquet that burst out of the vase.
Following Shirley’s instructions, I helped to set the flowers on cabinets and window ledges and open spaces of floor, tulips and calla lilies, dahlias and sunflowers now surrounding us and brightening every corner of the room.
I noticed that the flowers even emitted a faint, incredibly realistic scent.
“I used to love bringing these out for weddings, baby showers, bar mitzvahs...it’s a shame they’ve gone unused for so long. Aren’t they lovely?”
Shirley asked.
Vanessa and I agreed. Shirley sat back down, smoothing out her silvery pantsuit. “Now that we have moved to the garden, shall we eat?” she said.
I had agreed to act as the waiter for the evening, and as I stood I felt Vanessa’s eyes on me.
Perhaps my pants were too tight, or I should have done up one more button on the top of my shirt.
I discarded the thoughts, and retrieved the first course, a creamy spinach and dill soup served with ramps and hazelnuts, perfect for the coming spring.
I thought it would be a nice opener to the heavier main course, and Vanessa and Shirley’s delighted faces as they slurped it confirmed that I hadn’t made the wrong choice.
Next I brought out the sourdough, which had been baked and cooled to perfection.
I had taken the extra step of carving a small wheat stalk into the crust and dusting it with leftover flour, giving it a rustic appeal.
We ate it with cultured butter, soaking up the remainders of the soup and filling the toothsome brown crumb with an excellent mix of flavors.
Then, the coup-de-grace.
I plated and served three portions of venison steak alongside Café de Paris sauce, with a side of cauliflower mash topped with buttery shallots, asparagus roasted in mustard, and pickled garlic scapes.
The asparagus had been troublesome to roast on the hearth, but clever placement and close attention had made them perfectly crisped and tender.
Shirley and Vanessa emitted audible gasps as I placed the meal in front of them.
“Torwood, I thought you were a vegetarian!”
Vanessa cried.
“I do not mind. This is good meat, and I’m happy to make something that will fill you.”
“Well, you didn’t have to. But thank you. I feel bad, but thank you,”
Vanessa said, and placed a corner of the steak into her mouth. This time I did not hide my blush as her face melted with pleasure.
I noticed that, though Shirley had placed her hand over her glass to signal the enchanted bottles to cease pouring, Vanessa was keeping up with me, despite our drastic size difference.
Our eye contact had steadily increased during the night, and as I sat to enjoy the main course with them, I felt a foot sweep up my shin.
I jumped, nearly knocking my silverware to the floor.
Across from me, Vanessa stifled a giggle, then refocused on her food, smiling to herself.
Shirley was regaling us with tales of the inn’s glory days, including a time when a troll guest had clogged a toilet so badly that the plumber had to call a disintegration magic specialist.
We laughed along, and I felt Vanessa’s leg trace up my own once again, more slowly this time, more deliberate.
Her eyes met mine, and she cocked her head slightly, as if to ask my permission to proceed.
It must have been the wine, but I nodded subtly at her.
For that moment I let thoughts of Tom and my promise fall away, leaving only the heat in my belly and the electricity of her foot against me.
It seemed she had forgiven me from the previous night, or at least, in the moment her desire was stronger than her hurt.
My desire roared up to match her.
Vanessa continued to torment me throughout the night, as we finished the first two bottles of wine and moved to a third.
At this point I was moderately drunk, so I couldn’t imagine what Vanessa must have been experiencing.
Despite this she remained the perfect party guest, laughing at her grandmother’s jokes, interjecting her own anecdotes, showing her gratitude for the food.
Throughout all this, her foot kept returning to my leg, each time creeping higher and higher.
During one moment of particular hilarity, the balls of her feet made contact with the head of my cock, sending an electric shock through my body.
I jumped suddenly, and stood out of my seat, turning quickly so the obvious impression of my incredibly hard shaft wouldn’t be visible to poor Shirley.
“I believe it is time for coffee.
And cake.
I made cake, and I can make coffee,”
I said, beating a hasty retreat to the kitchen. There was a limit to how much torture I could take.
“Decaf for me, dear!”
called Shirley after me.
Vanessa cleared the table as I brewed coffee and retrieved slices of a rum cake I had made a couple weeks prior from the icebox.
I felt Vanessa’s every movement around me, her scent as she swished past me in that damned dress, clearly finding excuses to brush her arm against me as she moved to retrieve a plate, or leaning low to pick up a napkin and offering an incredibly tempting view of her chest under the dress.
I wish I could say I resisted looking.
When we sat back down at the table, I was in no better state than I had been when I stood up.
Shirley, blessedly, seemed distracted examining her wine bottle runes, musing on possible improvements.
We tucked into the coffee and the cake, which was as rich as when I had baked it fresh.
“Well, Torwood, that was an excellent, excellent meal,”
said Vanessa once we had finished our cake slices. Her tone wasn’t teasing, full instead of genuine appreciation. “Where did you learn to make a steak like that? I didn’t think you’d know how.”
I was embarrassed; I had hoped that question wouldn’t come up. “I, uh, adopted it from a rutabaga recipe. The marinade is the same, and you can achieve a similar crust in the skillet. The sauce was the same as well.”
I expected mocking, but Vanessa just looked impressed.
“Well you’ll have to make that for me sometime,”
she said, locking eyes with me. Her foot returned to my lower shin, tracing a wide circle on me.
A door opened and closed, and the sound of bags dropped hard against the floor echoed from the front room. Before any of us could react, Tom stepped around the corner, a dusting of snow on his long jacket.
“Hello, everyone! Did I miss dinner?”
***
“Tom! Your flight finally got rescheduled?”
Vanessa asked incredulously, standing up from the table.
“It did. I tried to call, but nobody was answering their phones.”
“The power is out. Nobody’s got charge,”
she replied.
His eyes settled on me, and his brow furrowed. “Torwood?”
“Yes. How are you, Tom?”
I replied.
Tom and I had spoken only a few times over the phone in the last ten years.
“It’s been a while, buddy. Were you just joining for dinner?” he asked.
There was an awkward pause, before Shirley spoke. “Torwood is staying here. He’s helping to take care of me while I recover,” she said.
“He is? Why didn’t you mention that?”
Tom asked.
“Well dear, if you had called me recently I’m sure I would have brought it up,”
she replied, an edge in her voice.
Grimacing, Tom shrugged his coat off and tossed it over the bannister. Shirley stood, and walked over to retrieve the coat and hang it on a hook.
“What are you doing?”
asked Tom in surprise. “You should not be walking around like that! Go, sit back down!”
Grandma Shirley barely acknowledged him, hanging the coat before returning to the table. “I’m fine, dear. Surely you must be hungry and tired. Torwood, would you mind fixing Tom a plate since I’m in no shape to be on my feet? In fact, I think this old lady is rather tired. Tom, would you help me to my room?”
Tom took Shirley by the arm and led her away. I retreated to the kitchen, sharing a quick glance with Vanessa as I left. Stay out of this was the message, splayed plainly across her face.
I arrived with food as Tom returned, taking it with a small “thanks”. Vanessa had begun clearing the plates and emptying the vases, restoring the room to its pre-party state.
“So,”
said Tom, sitting in an armchair and picking distractedly at the meal, “what’s going on here, Ness?”
“What do you mean, dude,”
replied Vanessa. Her posture and tone were guarded.
“The fancy clothes, the flowers, the secret houseguest,”
he said, gesturing to me with his fork. “We’re here to get Grandma moved into a home. Have you even made any calls?”
“The power’s been out. And, well frankly, I’m not sure she needs to go anywhere. Torwood has been taking good care of her, in fact he’s the one who caught her when she fell again last week.”
Tom didn’t look at me, he just shook his head. “Dad was very clear. We’re gonna get her out of here, and he’ll come in a couple weeks for the final assessment on the house and to help arrange the sale. There’s a whole plan, and it doesn’t involve you hanging out and playing house with your high school boyfriend,” he said.
And there it was. Tom had walked in at perhaps the worst moment, treated to an intimate scene between Vanessa and myself. Had he seen her leg against mine?
“What are you implying, Thomas?”
I said, my voice a low growl.
“I’m not implying anything,”
he said, finally looking in my direction. “I’m telling you that you aren’t qualified to take care of my grandmother, and that if you have any other motives in being here, you’d better forget them right away.”
Nobody said anything. I did not want to scare Vanessa by expressing the true feelings his words had inflamed.
Tom sighed deeply, and set the plate down. From his shirt pocket he retrieved a vape pen and began to puff on it, the fog swirling around his fingers. “You made the right decision calling my father last week. Thank you for your commitment to my grandmother’s safety, but you don’t need to be involved with my family any longer. I’m sure you’ve got many things you need to get back to, so I’d appreciate it if you were out of here by tomorrow.”
“You’re an asshole, Tom. I know you’re just following dad’s orders, but you’re just wrong. Torwood has been nothing but wonderful, and Grandma loves him. I...look, we are gonna talk about this more in the morning, okay? It’s been a nice evening and I don’t want to ruin it with this conversation. I’m going to bed.”
“Fine by me,”
Tom replied. “I’m going to stay on the couch. No point in messing a room up, since I won’t be here long.”
The siblings glared at each other for a breath longer, then bid an icy goodbye.
A part of me wanted to tear into Tom, to make him feel all the pain he’d caused. Still another part wished to say, despite everything, that it was good to see him. How could it be, after all these years, that I still felt loyalty to this man? I had been a lost child, and he had shown me friendship, but there was no friendship between us now.
There were many things I wished to say to him at that moment. What I said was “goodnight”.