Bastien looked at his watch, irritated.

"Where is my mum?"

"Right here, my love!" She wrapped her arms around his shoulder from behind and kissed his cheek. "My boy!" She slid into the seat across from him, matcha in hand. "I'm so happy to see you. Sajjad keeps asking when you'll be coming over again."

Bastien took time to look at his mum. Tall, thin, deep lines around her mouth and across her forehead from decades of unashamed laughter. Long hair pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, wearing a band t-shirt she bought from a concert twenty years earlier tucked into jeans that had seen better days, and a pair of Jordans. She was pretty, and he could see how his dad fell for her. The day he learned the phrase "one-night stand," Bastien understood that was what his parents were meant to be. His mum and dad had one night together that wound up being ten years because his dad wasn't going to abdicate responsibility of a kid. Though, if you asked him, Bastien's mother had done just that.

When he was little, he remembered thinking his dad was like a mountain. He'd be lifted up on his father's shoulders and it was like looking at the room from the ceiling. His dad would say, 'Someday you'll be your own mountain." And was he ever right. He always gave Bastien the option to choose which activities he wished to do. Bastien did tap for a few months before realizing he didn't like it. At boarding school he'd done fencing, skiiing, and tennis all rather reluctantly. The only thing his father never let him quit was gymnastics.

"The world isn't made for people our size, son. You've got to learn to control your body, otherwise you'll cause more damage than you can fix. If you can flip through the air, then I think you can control your body well enough."

And Bastien wasn't bad. He excelled in some areas, struggled in others, but he learned each of his muscle groups and what they could do. When he found boxing … Then he was home. All the other sports, even tap dancing, they all taught him speed and rhythm. His dad pointed him in the proper direction, attended every competition he could, and taught Bastien how to accept losses just as well as the wins.

His grandparents were the best. They were academics, wealthy enough, but always with their noses in books. They would read Bastien bedtime stories of King Arthur and other medieval legends. When he was away at boarding school, they sent him a card every week until they died when he was sixteen. His grandmother first, and his grandfather two weeks after they buried her. They weren't separable, they were two halves of a whole and Bastien resolved he would never allow himself to become so attached to another person. It could ruin him, his ambition—

Then he met Padma. Suddenly, he was half of a whole. Bastien wasn't just Bastien, he was BastienAndPadma. If he had a pound for every time somebody tried to emasculate him for taking Padma's last name as his own, he could pay for the nursery he planned to build. But why would it matter? He would never be apart from her and everyone should know that. Her family was his family, and his family was hers. The Queensbury-Patils were the best couple anyone knew, and Bastien hoped his grandparents were up in the library in clouds, looking down with pride in their eyes knowing they'd help raise one half of the best marriage in England.

Knowing that he came from a marriage that was quite tragic.

"Yes, well, your first marriage isn't always the best."

Bastien pulled himself away from memory lane and wondered when he'd started talking.

"You just said you were part of the best marriage in England and you came from one that's tragic. I don't disagree; but it's hard to get it right on the first go."

Bastien bristled and asked, "What are you trying to say about dad?"

"Nothing, nothing, just that your dad wasn't someone who loved me. That's all."

"And you think I don't love Padma?"

"I think you have a nice life, a good job," Bastien's mum placed a hand on his cheek, "and someday you'll figure out that you do want a family. Padma is a woman of work, Bastien. You need a woman to be a mother to your children and she isn't."

"Speaking of mothers, then," said, Bastien, trying not to let his anger get the best of him, "I came to ask you about something."

"Anything."

"Tell me about the man in Leytonstone."

"God, so long ago, isn't it?" Bastien's mum smiled softly. "Christian was his name. He was an architect, and we were together for eight years. Left me roundabout the time he found out about you and your dad, of course."

"Left you." Bastien laughed sardonically. He could hardly believe she owned up to it so easily. "What had you done to me, then?"

"I left you in capable hands. Your father cared for you and I cared for you when I was around."

"But you weren't around." Bastien insisted, "I remembered you so much from my childhood, but it's only because I forgot about the bits when you weren't there. You were only around to be a mum when you wanted to be."

"I was twenty years old! I wanted to see and do things and couldn't bring a child along for the ride, Bastien. I always came home to you—"

"I should have been your home, mum. You should have put me first. I am your son. Your only son."

"Because once I had you I didn't need any more."

"Why?"

"Because—"

"Because I'm starting to believe, mum, that the only reason I exist was because you knew dad wouldn't abandon his kid. Did you want to marry someone who would give you a high floor to land on when life went to shit?"

"That's the only reason any woman marries a man."

"No, mum, it's not. Is that why you married Sajjad?"

"Yes." She shrugged. "I'd prefer not to be married at all. But I love Sajjad, he provides security, and I get to do as I please. He's wonderful. My life is wonderful."

Bastien laughed.

"So you used me as a baby to keep yourself safe. Dad's parents had good money, and they provided for their son the way you knew dad would provide for his: unconditionally."

"Bastien." She took one of his hands in both of hers. "I love you, my son. I have always loved you, even if I wasn't there, you were with me. I am with you, my blood is yours, Bastien. You and I are the same, why do you think you chose to do so much, Bastien? To learn, to live, to love, to shag as many women as you have … That is my blood in you, not your father's."

"You may be right." Bastien grimaced. "I cannot believe you thought I was worth leaving behind."

"I always came back."

"I …" Bastien shrugged. "I don't want you to anymore, mum. I don't want you to come back for me. It hurts too much knowing I was always second place—I've competed for twenty years because I never want to come second. This next part of my life doesn't need to involve you."

"Oh, Bastien, if that's the way you feel I won't keep you from it, but I think you misunderstand."

"What," he spat, "exactly, have I misunderstood?"

"I need not be around you physically. Your blood is mine, your name is mine. Do you truly believe your father would have named you Bastien?"

"No, he's quite pissed about it to this day."

"Yes, his parents hoped to name you Tristan, after Tristan and Isolde. It didn't fit you at all. I knew you the moment I saw you, Bastien Edward Queensbury. No matter how much you wish you could be separate from me, you are part of me. I am as much part of you as your father, we are your inside and outside. Your father has no sense of adventure, Bastien, no desire for more. He is a man of the earth, a man with roots. That is not you, my love." She insisted, "You are me inside, you carry me with you, so if you wish to walk away from me that is okay. I won't worry."

Bastien frowned.

"Even now, you won't fight for me. You'll just …" He shrugged. "You'll just let me go."

"Because it is what you want. I will never keep you from what you want, that's all I ever did for myself: what I wanted."

"At my expense," said Bastien. "At dad's expense. I just want you to make me feel like I'm important, mum, and you never have."

"You are important, Bastien. I carry you with me wherever I go—"

"That's bullshit." He pushed his coffee away and said, "I wanted a mum, you were there when you wanted to be, not when I needed you to be. That's the difference. You can talk all you wish about your spiritual 'carrying me with you' bullshit, but I'm not buying it."

His mother sipped her drink, unfazed.

"You were right, by the way; I do want to have a child. But you were wrong, Padma is my girl for the rest of my life and through the next."

He watched his mother's face fall into an angry expression he couldn't recall seeing before.

"Have you been speaking to Narcissa?"

"What?"

"This is Narcissa's doing, isn't it? She's poisoned you against me, that wicked woman, I never liked her. She—"

"Why would you think I've been talking to Draco's mum?" Bastien was quite confused. "I yelled at her both times I've seen her the past couple months. She ran away from me, as much as Narcissa can run, anyway, she sort of glides everywhere—"

"Those were her words. It's all she ever said about Lucius, 'He is my husband in this life and through the next.' She always said it like I should be ashamed of the divorce, like I should have loved Lance more than I did. Fucking bitch, all she'd ever say was, 'Lancelot deserves someone who can love him for his strength, for his steadfast commitment to the people he loves.' Over and over again in the divorce."

"So it's true, then? The Malfoys mediated your divorce?"

"Steamrolled our divorce, yes. Lucius was there to ensure I wasn't entirely trampled over. He was quite kind through the ordeal. Even ensured I had a place to stay while I figured things out. Of course, that's why I wound up in Croydon where I met Sajjad, and everything good came from that. Lucius really deserved a better woman."

Whatever else his mother said was lost to the air between them. In anything, at any time, Bastien would always be on the side opposite Lucius Malfoy. Not only that, Lucius Malfoy was the reason his mother met Sajjad. He was the reason Bastien spoke Bangla and connected to Padma on a level deep enough to build upon. The best thing in his life came about, in part, because of the two people he hated more than anyone else in the world.

"Mum, I think Lucius Malfoy deserved to be run over by a train, then that train should have been put in reverse just to run him over again. His body should have been left out in a desert to rot while birds feasted upon his flesh." Bastien's grip tightened on the back of the chair. "What he did to Draco will never leave me. My best mate was just a boy who wanted his father to love him, and all I've ever had guaranteed in this life is a father who loves me. I blame Narcissa for a lot of things, but she's always been there for Draco which is more than I can say for you and me."

"That's not fair, Bastien."

"No, I suppose it isn't. But neither is you leaving dad with the sole responsibility of caring for me. You were never fair to him, never loved him, and because of you he's only just fallen in love for the first time in fifty-two years—"

"Your father is seeing someone?"

Shit. Shit. Shitshitshit.

"It's of no matter—"

"It is of great matter, Bastien. He gets on well with Sajjad, I expect I will need to get along with his woman."

Bastien scoffed, "Doubtful."

"Why is that?"

"I think, mum, if you were paying attention to him at any point during your marriage you'd see he has been in love with the same woman since I was about nine years old. It's become quite clear I've misjudged the elders in my life, and you have given me much clarity."

"I am happy to have done that, but I don't understand."

"Two days ago, I punched dad in the face because he called you a whore. He finally told me what your marriage was like, and I didn't believe him. I love you too much to ever believe you could have done that to us, to me."

"Having more than one man providing for me doesn't make me a whore, Bastien."

"It does to me."

His mum did look hurt by that. Bastien's voice cracked when he said,

"And I do love you, which makes this so much harder."

Bastien pulled up a photograph of his father and Narcissa at the gala. Their official debut as a couple, or whatever the hell they fancied themselves. Bastien showed it to his mother and she gripped her cup so hard the foam separated.

"Dad's seeing Narcissa Malfoy."

For the first time in, perhaps, ever, his mother was speechless. There was rage in her eyes like he'd never seen.

"Yeah," said Bastien, "me, too. I've hated that woman for twenty years. But I think I've misjudged her, mum. Just as I've misremembered you."

"Bastien." His mother tried to dab away the liquid spilling onto her hand. "You haven't misrembered anything, I am your mother as I have always been."

"Well I don't want you to be as you have always been anymore, mum. I want you to stay away from me. I don't wish to hear from you until I say it's okay for you to contact me, to contact Padma, or to contact my father. It may be true that you are in my blood, but I won't treat my family the way you so carelessly treated yours."

Then he left.

The door to the coffee shop clanked closed behind him and Bastien had no intention of ever looking back.

.oOo.

Bastien sat at the dining room table, head in his hands, wondering how he had been so blind. He always assumed he gravitated toward his father because he was so much more like his dad than his mum. It never occurred to him that he turned out like his father because that was the only constant parental figure he had.

He heard the front door open, Padma called his name, but he didn't respond. Bastien listened to her close the door and the familiar sounds of Padma entering their home. She kicked her heels off in the rubber mat by the door, placed her purse on the display in the entryway. Bastien heard her make for the bedroom, where she would place her shoes in their proper spot on the rack. Padma caught sight of him in the dining room and called to him in Bangla.

"English, please, Dea." Bastien waved his hand and said, "I just need English right now."

"It's fine, Bas." Padma made for him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It didn't go well?"

"No." Bastien's voice was hoarse when he confirmed, "No, it didn't. It was everything my dad said it would be. She didn't want me." Bastien sniffled. "I was a trap for my father and nothing more. My mum cared when she wanted to and left when she wanted."

"Yet, here you are."

"In spite of her."

"I think, Bastien, that your mum is a person who floats where the world takes them. You floated into boxing, then into pharmacology, and right into my arms."

"Nowhere I'd rather be, Dea."

"I know, Bas. I know. Will you tell me what you decided, at least?"

"She's not to be in our kid's life. That's what I decided." Bastien hesitated, then said, "For now. Perhaps there will come a time when she's welcome, but I'm nowhere near forgiving her."

"I understand." Padma offered her hand and asked, "What do you need from me?"

Bastien took Padma's hand in his and placed a gentle kiss to the back of hers. He finally let himself cry over losing his mother, cry over the shame, feel the sadness his father had carried for thirty years. He had kept it all inside until Padma got home because there was something too embarrassing about crying alone. He sighed,

"I've never been heartbroken before. I think … My heart's never recovering from this. And she's right that I'll never be free of her. She named me, she taught me the language of my deepest love—"

"As you will teach our child, Bastien." Padma's voice was calm and understanding, as she always seemed to be. "You choose the good parts of your parents to take with you. Keep those parts of her, because those are some of the parts of you that I love. Your adventurous spirit comes from her and I wouldn't want you to discard it simply because you learned to see her in a different light. You see her as you wish, but do not see yourself as anything less."

"She said you are a woman of work." Bastien laughed sardonically and repeated, "She said you would make a poor mother because you are a woman of work."

"Well your mum has never been able to focus on more than one thing, so I can understand how she would have a narrow-minded view of motherhood. Something she failed at repeatedly."

"She owned up to it straightaway. To the man in Leytonstone. She actually seemed rather surprised I took offense that she was shacking up with some architect who left her after eight years because he finally figured out she had a son and a husband. Oh, and, the only reason she met Sajjad was because Draco's fucking dad set her up in a cozy little flat in Croydon. So my marriage to you is directly correlated to Lucius Malfoy, whom I loathe more than anyone who has ever walked on this planet."

"Babe," Padma squeezed his hand, "we're not religious but we aren't stupid. The universe will do as it chooses. If it used Lucius Malfoy as a vessel, what are we to care? You and I found our way to each other and I, for one, believe that we are meant to do this together. Life, having a baby, watching our friends finally patch their lives back together. If I carried my mum with me then I'd feel like a failure every moment of the day."

Bastien insisted, "You are like her, you know."

"Oh?"

"Your relentless pursuit of expertise comes from your mum. Ti's much more like your dad, and I think that's why your mum's so much harder on you. It's harder for women to love themselves, and she sees herself in you and wants you to be better in her way. When, really, all you need is to be better in your way."

"Exactly."

Bastien frowned and asked, "What, exactly?"

"It's hard for women to love themselves, Bas. Yet your mum looks at you and loves you even though your soul is so much like hers. Yes, she's made poor choices in service to herself over you, but that's where you're like your father, in your choices."

Bastien sat with that for a moment. Padma was right that his mum wasn't inherently a bad person. It's only that her choices favoured herself. He shook his head, constantly in awe of his wife. He wondered,

"How am I so lucky that I never have to worry about that with you? I know your choices will always favour us, and soon," he stole a kiss, "will favour our baby."

Padma wiped the tears from his eyes with her thumbs.

"Because we are linked, you and me. If I was told ten years ago I'd find a white, blond, amateur boxer who speaks Bangla and worships the ground I walk on, I never would have believed it." She smiled and said, "Sometimes I still don't and I find myself convinced I am living in the most wonderful, unbelievable dream."

Bastien teased, "If you'd told me when I was thirteen that the love of my life would speak Bangla, I probably would've learned to read it, too."

Padma laughed, and Bastien felt it was okay to feel all the ways he felt. His mum's terrible choices led him to Padma. Perhaps there would be a time when his mum's choices wouldn't feel like an unbearable weight on his family. But as he was about to bring another Queensbury into the world, his mum had shown time and time again that Queensburys were not first in her eyes.

"I didn't tell her you're having a baby."

Padma ran a hand through his hair and said, "Likely for the best. Though I think you have another person you need to speak with."

"I'll tell my dad soon, Dea."

"I wasn't referencing your dad, Bas. The only person who can help you move forward and out of this rage is Narcissa."