When Raylen returns home, his two children run towards him, asking to be picked up.
"Me first! Me first! I got here first!"
"No! Me!"
Luckily, they are young enough for him to carry both of them together. He wonders how much longer he can do this for. They're still toddlers now, but like every parent likes to say, kids grow up in a blink of an eye.
It is already dinnertime. He wonders what sort of arrangements Livia has made. As long as they are not too unreasonable, he will go along with her wishes.
It is the least he can do for now.
"Where," he asks gently, "is Mama?"
Cornelius is too busy giggling in delight at being lifted up high to answer. He throws his head back and laughs, his bouncy red curls taking on a golden sheen in the evening light. It is thoughtful Cornelia who replies, "Mama is waiting for us at the family dining room."
"Ah." The family dining room. The one used for private dinners when no guests—except the occasional family friend—is present. It is less grand than the formal dining room used for hosting, but what it lacks in pomp it makes up for in cosiness.
This cosiness is often lost due to the presence of Henry, but as he is, thankfully, still in the hospital—hopefully battling for his life—the family can have a peaceful dinner together.
Who knows how many more of such meals they can have like this?
Livia is seated at the round table—round, to signify that there is no "head" unlike the rectangular table in the formal dining room—and dressed simply but elegantly in a bias cut dress that hugs and emphasises her curves.
She does not look enthusiastic. But she does not look hostile either. That is tentatively a good thing.
Dinner is a relatively simple affair. The servants bring out cereal prawns, lobster Thermidor, steamed barramundi, stir-fried vegetables, and lemonade. It's a strange mix, but the twins are currently very fond of seafood.
Cornelius watches Livia peel some prawns before endeavouring to do the same. It is not easy, but he does not give up. When he is satisfied with his handiwork, he proudly places the deshelled prawn on Raylen's plate. "Here you go, Papa."
"Ah, thank you." Raylen is surprised. Perhaps his children are more like Livia than they are like him.
He has never wanted to do anything nice for his old man. Not willingly, at least. It has always been an obligation and burden to humour the old man.
Cornelia tips her drink towards him, wanting to share. He is not fond of lemonade, but he takes a sip regardless.
Livia spends most of her time tending to the twins. It does not seem like she wants to speak to him. He understands, of course.
When the twins are done eating, it's time for them to take their nightly baths. Alisha appears and guides them away.
"You've not eaten much," Raylen observes.
"I am not hungry," Livia replies simply.
Something about that line triggers him. Delaney used to say that a lot. "You should eat," he insists, sounding firmer and harsher than he intends. "It is not good to neglect your health like this."
"Oh? You're concerned for my health now?" There's an edge to Livia's tone even though she tries to sound playful.
"You are speaking nonsense. I have always been concerned about your health. It is not to our children's benefit to have a sickly mother."
At that, Livia looks defeated. "I see. You're concerned for the children."
"Of course. Eat something. I can ask the kitchen to make soup if you do not feel like eating anything else."
"Don't," Livia protests, "trouble the servants. It's already late. I will eat what's available."
"It is what they are paid for, but alright."
A few moments of awkward silence pass before Livia speaks up again. "Aren't you… going?"
"Going?" he repeats, frowning.
"I mean don't you have somewhere to go? Some things to do?"
"No, I will wait for you till you're done."
"I, uh, don't need to be watched."
"You do not have to see it as such," he replies smoothly. "Just take it that I am keeping you company."
When she has eaten her fill—and he is satisfied with how much she has eaten—they slowly make their way, side by side, back to their bedroom.
It is so strange to think of it as their bedroom. Soon it will be only his. Perhaps not even that. He has half a mind to vacate it after she leaves.
There is little antagonism or spite left. In their place is an unease that is difficult to place. They are neither lovers nor enemies, no longer family but not yet strangers.
It is as if their relationship is trapped in a limbo.
As they walk up the curving stairs in silence, Raylen notices how tired Livia seems. Her usual vibrancy and liveliness are both gone, replaced by worry and exhaustion. He wants to offer her some words of comfort, but he does not know if it is still his place to do such a thing. Will she welcome or resent his concern? He does not want to find out, so he holds his tongue.
Obviously, the walk back to their bedroom is not the most awkward. It is having to share a bed.
Thankfully, this ordeal will not last more than a few days. The old geezer is too vindictive to die and give them all peace. The doctors told Raylen that his father should be able to return home within the week.
Once his father is back, Livia and Cornelia will have to leave.
Truth to be told, Raylen prefers to deal with the tension than the separation, but what choice does the old man leave him?
As he climbs into bed, he notices that the divorce papers and fountain pen have remained untouched since he last placed them there.
The line beside Livia's name is still blank.