V: Family

Wedding Cake:

It was the white of a fresh snow moon, festooned and beribboned with curls of silver and pink icing. Yellow sugar roses lined the edges, dotted with golden balls filled with sherbet. The usual carvings of the bride and groom were placed on the top tier, set meticulously against a garden of swirled flowers.

Percy hated his tuxedo; the only amusement he could get from it was the snap his collar against his neck, and even soon, he tired of that. His mother looked radiant in a simple ivory dress, and Paul… well you always hear stories of the groom's face at weddings. Percy was happy for both of them, particularly for his mother. She deserved to be happy, he thought.

There were some tears during the ceremony, all of the usual. It had been set off very nicely by the dappled light coming in through the stained glass windows, which made their own angelic figures against the dark pews.

Now Percy was helping Paul package the wedding cake for the guests, slicing up the cake into proper cubes and wrapping it up.

"It was a big day, huh?" Paul grinned, as he slid in a piece into the box Percy was holding out.

Percy laughed, "Yeah."

Paul bit his lip, probably wondering how to infuse the bits of fatherly wisdom that he felt obliged to bestow upon his new stepson. The man had no idea how to do this without stepping over some shoes; he wasn't sure if Percy would hold some form of resentment against him… Maybe he felt that there had always been a hope for Sally and Poseidon to reunite, and now Paul had dashed it? Maybe Percy didn't want another man in the house or wasn't ready for this, especially the disaster that had been Gabe…

"Paul?" Percy's voice brought him back to reality, "You okay?"

Paul shook his head. "Yeah… I'm fine. Percy, could I ask you a question?"

"Um… okay."

Paul opened his mouth but no structured sentence or stray thought had the mind to escape.

"Paul?" Percy said again, looking the older man in the eye. Paul nodded. "I'm glad you married my mother. She's happy—I've never seen her so happy. Just so you know, that means I'm happy. It's all fine," he laughed again, "really."

Hearing the sincerity in Percy's voice, Paul smiled.

Seafood:

He had a clear view of the sea from here: the white caps lulled with lazy pleasure against the skies that were ripening for the onslaught of the evening; the sand was soft and yellow beneath their feet, punctuated here and there by breaths of long, soft grass.

It was a wild scene, a peaceful backdrop.

Paul's bucket was filled with the catch of the day. They'd caught a good amount of fish, and Sally had brought a bucket of prawns, which glistened grey in the tin pail surrounded by ice.

The three of them gathered around the fire as Paul began to cook the prawns: Percy watched the hard grey flesh soften and turn a fresh pink. Everyone got an equal serving on a paper plate heaped with a small cap of soy sauce—a recipe that Paul swore by.

It was Sally's turn to fry up the fish, and Percy watched as the catch sputtered in the oil, the skin turning crisp, the flesh going tangy. Once that was cut up, they settled down and ate, listening to gulls squawk mournfully. Little boats bobbed in the surf, their blinking kerosene lights calling out to each other across the gloom.

Percy watched the sea as she rolled against the shore with a slumbering peace, and he was content.