It was Friday night, which could only mean one thing: dinner at Angela's. It was something Crowley and her had done ever since she'd moved out of their parental home twenty years ago, much to the chagrin of Angela's ex-husband.
These days, it was usually just Crowley, Angela and Anathema, a bottle of wine split between the former two, talking about their weeks and complaining about their respective bosses, coworkers and in Anathema's case, teachers.
But this Friday was different. Because instead of his usual bottle of South African red wine, he brought two jars of baby food in a bag and a very tiny guest.
Crowley unlocked the front door to their little redbrick house in Brixton with his own keys and made his way through the dark and narrow hallway to be met with the precious sight of Angela sitting on the floor, putting together the high chair with Anathema.
"No mum, I swear, this bit goes here," Anathema asserted. Angela sighed.
"Anathema, my sweet darling, with all due respect, I don't think you remember the last time your dad and I put this thing together for you to sit in."
"Angie, my dear sister, with all due respect, your daughter is right." Crowley grinned.
"Tony!" Angela called when she caught sight of him, leaping to her feet to greet him and Adam and leaving Anathema to put together the high chair. "Here I thought I'd never see you with a baby on your arm that wasn't mine. And you must be Adam," she cooed as she turned to the boy. "Such a handsome little man, you are."
Crowley looked down at the boy and smiled. "Yeah, he's a real heartbreaker." But upon watching his niece struggle with the chair, he handed Adam and the baby food over to Angela without a second thought. "Alright Annie, this is embarrassing, hand me that leg. You hold the seat and I'll shove it in."
"I bet that's what Mr. Fell said." Anathema grinned and wiggled her eyebrows, but followed Crowley's instructions nonetheless.
Crowley, shoving the leg of the high chair into the underside of the seat as non-sensually as humanly possible, made a face. "You watch your language, young lady."
"I was just kidding," Anathema said as she held the seat steady for the second leg. "Besides, he's totally got eyes for you, uncle Tony. Would it kill you to make a move?"
"Yes," Crowley nearly snapped, punctuated by shoving the third leg into place. "I asked him out for dinner back in the bookshop and I thought for sure I was going to pass out."
Crowley's gaze snapped towards the sound of a jar of baby food hitting the floor and running away. Angela stood gaping at him. He turned back to Anathema, who had a similar look of amazement on her face.
"Ohmigod," Anathema uttered. "You finally asked out Mr. Fell!?"
Crowley shrugged, putting the fourth leg into the chair and turning it upright before he got up. "Not really. We're just going to dinner as friends. We used to do things like that all the time."
Angela swatted at Anathema's ear once she got up. "Well, whatever it's for, we're very excited for you. Where are you taking him?"
"I'm taking him to the Ritz," he said resolutely.
Angela and Anathema exchanged a look.
"You mean the obscenely expensive Ritz?" Angela asked.
"He deserves it," Crowley answered.
"The ridiculously romantic Ritz?" Anathema followed.
"It's not just for couples, Anathema. There are plenty of people who go there who are just friends, surely," Crowley deflected quite coolly, he thought.
He didn't catch the other look the mother and daughter exchanged.
"I think it's time to put dinner out on the table," Angela said.
"I couldn't agree with you more." Anathema nodded. The two disappeared into the kitchen.
"This is worse than I thought," Angela whispered, arms folded over one another as her daughter gave the pasta a firm final stir before draining it.
"I know," Anathema whispered back.
"Something has to happen about this."
"I know." Anathema tasted the sauce. It was perfect.
"And if Tony finds out we had something to do with it, we'll never hear the end of it."
"I know."
"So… What do we do?" Angela enquired. Anathema narrowed her eyes at her.
"I thought you said that after that whole thing with Mr. Fell we weren't going to get any more involved than we already were?"
"I know what I said!" the mother hissed. "It's just that he's my baby brother, and I want him to have what's best for him."
"Which would be Mr. Fell," Anathema suggested.
"And a life out of that horrid office of his. Or a life out of this city in general. Maybe one day they could retire to a quaint old cottage in the South Downs and he could finally have some rest."
"That sounds nice…" Anathema mused. "But I thought uncle Tony was really good at his job?"
"He is, but just because you're good at something, doesn't mean it's good for you."
This was exactly what crossed Crowley's mind when he ducked into the bathroom to change Adam's diaper.
Sure, he seemed to do exceptionally well with the boy*; he didn't kick, didn't squirm and didn't start peeing on Crowley seconds after he'd peeled off the diaper, but that smell. No matter how much he liked children, that was something Crowley would never get used to.
(*Even Anathema gave Crowley more trouble at Adam's age.)
Adam giggled and clapped his hands in delight as Crowley gagged.
When all was said and done, the four met again in the dining area. Angela and Anathema placed the pans on the table — Angela serving out the pasta — as Tony slid Adam back into his high chair.
"Did the little prince require your services again, Tony?" she asked with a little, satisfied grin on her face. The source of her satisfaction being that Tony couldn't pass Adam back to her and say 'your baby, your poopy diaper' half the time.
"'Little prince'?" Tony grimaced. "With the smells he's producing, he ought to be Lord of the Flies!"
Angela's grin grew wider and she looked at her daughter. "Just imagine, maybe, when his boss comes home, she'll be so satisfied with your work that she'll want him to be Adam's permanent babysitter."
Anathema caught on and winked at her. "Well, I, for one, think uncle Tony would make a great nanny. You know, traveling by umbrella, and telling Adam that a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down. Oh! Maybe he'll let a charming Dick sweep his chimney—"
Angela elbowed her in the side.
"Shut up, Annie. You know I'd rock that getup," Tony said, his cheeks growing red behind those silly sunglasses of his.
"Okay, but seriously, take off those damned shades. You're inside and with polite company, there's no reason for you to keep them on." She snatched the sunglasses from his face and tucked them into her breast pocket as she sat down and finally got to eating.
"That's debatable," Tony joked, glancing at Anathema. He took a few bites before feeding Adam. "So, you ladies seem invested enough in my life. How were your respective days?"
It wasn't that Crowley didn't appreciate his sister or her attempts of helping him out. He was glad, even, that Anathema seemed to have inherited this trait from her mother. If only she didn't 'help him out' in his love life as much because so far, her attempts at 'helping him out' tended to end rather embarrassingly.
For example, in primary school, when Angela had somehow gotten Marjorie Smith* to ask out Crowley, which ended in his premature coming out.
(*The most beautiful girl in school**.)
(**Despite feeling no attraction to the fairer sex at all, Crowley still found himself in posession of a pair of working eyes and enough cultural indoctrination to identify a beautiful girl when he saw one.)
Or in secondary school, when Angela had somehow gotten Crowley to ask out Eric Harris*, which ended in his premature heartbreak.
(*The most beautiful boy in school**.)
(**Unfortunately, heterosexual.)
Or at his old part-time job, when Angela got him to ask out his manager, which ended in Crowley's premature firing*.
(*No matter how you look at it, this one was destined to end in disaster.)
This was why he, under no circumstances, wanted his sister and his niece involved with his courting of Ezra if what he was doing could be called 'courting' at all. It felt more like dancing on the edge of an active volcano: one wrong step in either direction would mean certain death. But he was sick of it. Sick of dancing around his problems for just shy of a decade. And so, he took a deep, shaking breath and steadied himself as he said:
"Angie, I need your advice."
Angela and Anathema, both halfway into their second serving, gave Crowley a look. Adam, quickly picking up on the cue, looked at him as well.
"How do I ask out Ezra?"