"I'm home!" Tibbett called, throwing open the door of his house and striking a flamboyant pose. His mother poked her head out of a doorway further down the passage, and smiled at her son, rushing forwards to embrace him.
"Tibby," she smiled. "How was your trip, dear?"
Tibbett blinked; the use of his childhood nickname was jarring after so many months of being known by his full, but the jolt reminded him of how much he had missed his mother. He took a step back to take in how much – or how little, perhaps – she had changed.
Talka's smile was as bright as ever, her eyes shining in her healthy, if not slim, face. Tibbett noticed fondly that strands of silver had begun to wind themselves through her famous blonde hair.
"The journey was fine," he told her, choosing to spare her the details: he had spent the carriage ride alternately missing Crope and fantasising about their proposed summer together. He did add, "Crope and I have plans to meet up over the summer."
"Oh, good," Talka said vaguely, and her smile somehow made the transition from welcoming to fake without her appearing to change expression. "Let's get your cases inside, shall we?" she continued brightly, clapping her hands together. "I'll get your father."
Talka turned and called into the house proper. "Asinan, darling, Tibbett's home!"
Tibbett's father emerged from his study (it was seen as immensely fashionable in the Emerald City for every man above a certain age to own, and spend large amounts of time in, a study). He clasped Tibbett's shoulders and looked him up and down.
"You're nothing but skin and bone, boy," Asinan grumbled. "What do they feed you in that place?"
Without giving Tibbett a chance to answer, the older man lumbered down the front steps to collect Tibbett's travelling cases, muttering about how many clothes the boy had packed.
"Yes, hello, Father," Tibbett called. "Delightful to see you, too."
"Oh, hush," Talka murmured. "He's had a hard week, Tibby. He's pleased to see you, really."
Tibbett was overcome with affection for his mother and her naïveté. He and his father had never been close, and to be honest, Asinan's expressing concern about Tibbett's weight had been more of a welcome than the blonde had expected. Impulsively, he wrapped his arms around Talka's waist and kissed her cheek.
"And I am happy to see you," he smiled, as she rested her head on his shoulder.
That night at dinner, Tibbett broached the subject of Crope again. He had his suspicions about his mother's earlier reaction, but was determined to prove himself wrong. Halfway through his steak, Tibbett announced, "Tomorrow, Crope and I intend to-"
"Tomorrow we are leaving for Quox to stay with your mother's sister," Asinan interrupted, and raised his wine glass to his lips, signalling that there was to be no further discussion of the matter.
Tibbett, outraged, ignored this. "We're doing what?"
Talka took on an expression of mild indigestion. "Tibbett, please!"
The desperation that had burned inside Tibbett for the last week of the term at Shiz returned with a passion. "Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded, glaring at his father. "I have plans! We have to-"
"You and this boy of yours don't have to do anything," Asinan stated blankly. "He was your roommate, for the Unnamed God's sake, boy! He's probably forgotten you already. Now stop making such a fuss and finish your meal."
Tears stung Tibbett's eyes, and he stared sullenly at the table. "Crope wouldn't forget me," he insisted quietly.
"Tibby, darling, let's talk about this later," Talka suggested, patting her son's hand.
"We will not talk about this at all," Asinan contradicted her. "All this… Philosophy and newfangled education and such has gone to the boy's head, Talka. That's all it is." Asinan's fork clinked against his plate as he scraped up an elusive piece of vegetable, ignoring his son.
Tibbett had never cried in front of his father, not even when he was an infant. Asinan abhorred weakness, especially in men, and Tibbett was well aware of this. And Tibbett had always respected his father, if only because he was afraid of the consequences should he not. Ever since he was old enough to be fully aware of his father's expectations, Tibbett had strived to live up to them, if only when he knew his father was watching. He had tried to be strong, to be the hard-working, masculine, respectful son Asinan so badly wanted. Yet his year at Shiz, his year with Crope, had allowed Tibbett to become someone much closer to himself, a Tibbett who wore pink, who could lose track of the time talking and go for days without sleep because of it, who could fall in love with his roommate and cry at the dinner table.
And so, for Tibbett, his relationship with his father ended the moment the first tear struck the tablecloth.
