It was a quiet afternoon in the oasis, the sun hanging lazily in the sky. Inside the grand, cool dining room, Clara sat at the head of the table, elegantly sipping a cup of tea, her posture flawless as ever. The boys, Taren and Orin, sat on either side of her, trying—well, at least Taren was trying—to follow her instructions on the finer art of tea brewing. A tray of finger sandwiches and a colorful assortment of macaroons lay temptingly before them.
Clara's eyes sparkled as she read aloud from the latest issue of Cosmopolitan, the words rolling off her tongue with the same flair she brought to everything. "Now boys, this issue talks about the perfect brew for afternoon tea—something that every proper host should know." She carefully demonstrated the method, tipping the pot gracefully to pour the tea. "Orin, sweetie, pay attention."
But Orin wasn't. He was busy stuffing as many macaroons into his mouth as humanly possible, his cheeks bulging out comically as he tried not to choke on the sweet confections. Taren, on the other hand, was at least making an effort, though he kept glancing at Orin in disbelief.
"Orin, please," Taren sighed, shaking his head. "You're going to choke."
Orin swallowed hard and grinned sheepishly. "They're too good to resist."
Clara chuckled, taking it all in stride. "Boys, a little sophistication wouldn't hurt. One macaroon at a time, darling. Now, back to the tea—"
Before she could finish her sentence, the doors burst open, and in strolled Mark, wearing a look of determined mischief on his face. His hair was slightly tousled, and he had that unmistakable glint in his eye that meant trouble.
"Oh, Mother," he began in his scheming voice, "how radiant you look today. Truly, your beauty is—"
Clara didn't even let him finish. Without so much as looking up from her magazine, she cut him off. "Not gonna happen, mister."
Mark, thrown off but still determined, adopted an exasperated tone. "You don't even know what I'm going to ask!"
Clara calmly took another sip of her tea, unfazed. "Oh yes, I do. You want me to teach you how to drive. Nice try at flattery, but you're not driving until you're 18."
Taren and Orin exchanged amused glances. This was clearly not the first time Mark had brought up this request.
Mark folded his arms, frustration clear on his face. "I can drink even though I'm not 21 yet!" he protested, trying to make his case.
Clara, still as composed as ever, raised an eyebrow. "That's because we're from the UK, dumbass. The drinking age there is 18. But you're not driving until I say so, and that's final."
Mark groaned dramatically, throwing his head back as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "This is so unfair! I could build a car from scratch if I wanted to!"
Clara chuckled softly, putting down her tea. "Building one doesn't mean you know how to drive it. You still have a few years to go, so be patient. Maybe you can practice on your video games until then."
"Video games? That's not the same!" Mark huffed, clearly not giving up yet. "I've mastered Forza and Gran Turismo. I'm ready for the real thing."
But Clara was having none of it. She folded the magazine and gave him a pointed look. "We've been through this, Mark. No matter how good you are at Forza, you're not getting behind the wheel of a real car until you're of age."
Taren couldn't help but snicker, while Orin, having finally swallowed his mouthful of macaroons, piped up. "Can I learn how to drive before Mark?"
Mark's eyes widened. "You've got to be kidding me!"
Clara smirked. "At this rate, Orin might have a better chance, especially if he stops eating his weight in macaroons."
Mark threw his hands up in defeat. "This is tyranny! I'm calling it: this household is a dictatorship!" He stomped off dramatically, leaving Clara, Taren, and Orin behind, all trying to hold back their laughter.
Once Mark was gone, Clara shook her head, an amused smile playing on her lips. "That boy, I swear. Always trying to bend the rules."
Taren smiled softly, shaking his head. "He never gives up, does he?"
"No, and I love him for it," Clara said, sipping her tea once more. "But there's a time for rules, and a time to break them. He'll learn that soon enough."
Orin, already reaching for another macaroon, grinned. "Until then, I guess we're stuck with his dramatic exits."
Clara chuckled again, offering him the tray. "One macaroon at a time, darling. Let's at least pretend we have some class."