That evening, as we were on the road, Sharp attempted to lay down the law.

"Bernard," she said at once, turning an eye that attempted to be stern on me. "I'd better not catch you reading under the table tonight, alright? This only happens once or twice every couple months; just be nice."

I kept my face blank; damn it. I'd been hoping to sneak a book past her to lighten the tedium of a Sharp family dinner.

"I'm always nice."

"Well, be nicer," she said, leaning her head on my shoulder. I tried to look annoyed.

"Please don't distract me while I'm driving."

She snickered.

"You didn't seem to mind a couple weeks ago at that stop light."

I carefully kept my eyes on the road; in interactions with Sharp, it was fatal to show emotion.

(Damn the heat crawling up my neck.)

"I don't recall you giving me a chance to voice my complaints."

Sharp laughed again, her hand wandering—my posture stiffened—onto my knee.

"Touché."

I pulled into the driveway, and Sharp slipped her arms around my waist as walked to the door.

"Be. Nice."

I rolled my eyes; already I could hear the much-ado of the Sharp mother.

"Oh, how wonderful! George, honey, I think Gwen and Bernard are here!"

And then the door was opened, and there was Mother Sharp, fussing over us ("Gwen, you look so thin!") and pulling us (rather forcibly, in my case) inside and seating us at the table. Mr. Sharp, a tall, thin, balding man with an absent expression, smiled at us from the table.

"Ah. Hullo, Gwen. Bernard. So nice to see you both."

And then he returned to his book; I found myself struck with a pang of savage envy.

Gwendolyn grinned.

"Hey, Dad. Mum wants to give us the old 'where's-my-grandbabies' talk, I presume?"

Mr. Sharp chuckled.

"Something like that, I think."

And then, turning to me:

"I hope you're ready, Bernard."

I opened my mouth to make the typically cutting reply—only to be silenced when Gwendolyn quickly pinched me. Her face was dangerous.

Be nice.

I contented myself with a brief affirmative.

"Alright, everything's ready!" called Mrs. Evelyn Sharp, bustling into the kitchen distractedly. "Gwen, sweetheart, how are you?"

"Oh, great, we've started—"

"Tell me: when are you going to move out of that little apartment?"

Ah, here we were. The Sharp mother had two favorite topics of conversation: her upcoming grandchildren and new housing for her daughter. I sighed rather audibly. Gwendolyn shot me a look.

"I dunno, Mum; we haven't really thought of it yet."

"Well, Gwen dear, you really should! Heaven knows you'll need all the room you can get when you—"

I nearly choked on my soup; good God. Surely it was too early in the meal for this.

"Mum, Bernard and I don't even know if we're having children yet. It'd be a bit silly to buy a big old house just on the off chance that we might have kids."

"Oh, don't be silly, Gwen, of course you'll have kids! Darling, I know—" as her daughter made as if to protest. "I know every couple has a little uncertainty at first, and that's perfectly natural—but Gwen, sweetheart, children are such a blessing. Bernard, what do you think? Wouldn't a child be nice?"

I looked directly into her eyes for a moment and said in a blank voice:

"I hate children."

There was a brief silence; Gwendolyn quickly lowered her eyes to her food, mouth twitching. Mrs. Sharp was doing her best to recover.

"O…oh."

Mr. Sharp smiled at me.

"Well, now, Bernard—from what Gwen tells me, you and little Marianne get along very well. She's told me that the two of you have bonded over chess."

Oh, for God's sake; Sharp had really been laying it on thick.

"I have watched on occasion whilst Gwendolyn and her mother were elsewhere, if that's to what you refer."

He merely smiled; like his daughter, he had the frustrating gift of not picking up on incivility.

"She said you're quite the player, Bernard. She seemed quite taken with you last time Felicity visited."

I rolled my eyes and tried to keep my expression stony; more than likely this was just a device to discompose me. Relations between me and the Sharp niece were hardly even cordial.

"Oh, yes," grinned Sharp, mischief in her eyes. "Bernard and Marianne are great friends. He's just too modest to admit it."

I shot her a brief glance; she just grinned harder.

"So, Bernard," Mrs. Sharp chirped, obviously keen to fill the brief silence that had descended. "Tell us about your family."

Clink.

Gwendolyn's spoon clattered onto her bowl; all the color drained from her face. I worked to keep my face perfectly motionless.

Mrs. Sharp, idiot woman, was obviously wondering what she'd said.

"Uh, Mum," Gwen's voice was tightly cheerful. "Bernard um….doesn't really um…see much of his family."

"Oh!" fluttered Mrs. Sharp, swiftly reddening. "I…I see. How stupid of me."

And dinner passed with admirable quiet after that.

-8888

Somehow, the Sharp mother caught me on the way out.

"Bernard," she said, flushed and not looking at me. "I…I…come here for a moment. I-I need to talk to you."

I caught Gwendolyn's eye; she smiled helplessly, grimacing a little as if to say that there was nothing she could do.

It appeared that I would have to grin and bear it.

"Alright."

And I allowed her to steer me into the hall; still not looking at me and rocking slightly (she was uncannily similar to her daughter when discomposed), she started, haltingly:

"Bernard, I….I just wanted to say that…if things become….difficult, and you need someone to talk to…."

Oh, God. Just what I needed. More pity.

"I'm fine."

"Alright," mumbled my mother-in-law, leaning in to subject me to a brief, awkward hug. "I-I just wanted to make sure you knew."

"Indeed."

I'd never been more grateful to find the car.

===888888

On the way home, Gwendolyn gently touched my arm.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice much softer than it usually was. I was careful to keep my face blank.

"Why?"

She frowned.

"Because—because of what happened."

I sighed. Trust Sharp to always drag the elephant into the room.

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. I really am sorry—I had no idea that was going to happen."

And then, when I merely shrugged and let my arm find her waist:

"She is right, though; we do need to think about moving out of that apartment."

"We're not producing offspring."

Gwendolyn rolled her eyes at me.

"Yes, yes. I didn't mean THAT. I just meant that it's cramped as hell, even for two people. Not to mention rent. I just think it'd be better in the long run to buy a little house somewhere, you know?"

I shrugged; I really did not know. Despite Sharp's points about the economic advisability, there was something disgustingly bourgeois about owning a "house": something happy and family-ish which I despised.

"Not really."

And then, sighing again:

"Can we talk about all of this tomorrow, Sharp? Your mother has drained me of what little life-blood I had."

She smiled, leaning into me and kissing me under the jaw.

"Sure, Bernard. Tomorrow, then."

So the matter was (briefly) settled.