An Invited Guest (Sean)

[Dr. Sean Neville]

With all of the historical tension between the two nations, “awkward” was putting it mildly, but Sean held no personal animosity towards Russia, or any of its citizens. His travel was simply part and parcel for his life, and in many ways, he was a product of his times. “I’m sure it’s cold; I’d want to visit in the summer. I get more than enough snow living in Vermont.” That was accompanied by a smile, because it was humorous, albeit true.

“It’s easy to look back on the matter with 21st Century knowledge and morality and be disgusted with it,” Sean agreed with a nod. He refilled his wine glass, after setting aside his empty plate. “It’s a little more difficult to look at it with the sensibilities of the times, although I think I earned that right, having lived through it. What I think was worst about it is that Catholics were hated by the same groups who hated people of color and Jews; they were considered un-American, their religious beliefs found to be too festive, too scattered to be considered truly Christian, and they were dubbed ‘Papists,’ as though their devotion wasn’t to their nation or to their families, but to the Pope and his secret army in Rome.” The “no Irish need apply” myth was largely just that, as far as American history was concerned, as opposed to British history; not that there weren’t stereotypes, but they were largely tied up in anti-Catholic sentiment, as opposed to any true ethnic sentiment, certainly no more than any other Western European ethnicity suffered in this country. But he remembered well the harsh prejudice applied to Catholics, who weren’t allowed in certain neighborhoods either, who were denied country club membership and whose loyalties were questioned. “But given the first opportunity to integrate with those who judged them, they turned their backs on the plight of all other minorities.” Well, there were many reasons he’d left the Church; that was merely one of them.

Sean looked over at the photo album that was pushed before him, and he set his wine glass aside, to keep from any accidental spills. He certainly wasn’t going to ruin any of her precious photos from carelessness, particularly not on his first visit. His immediate area clear of liquids and food remnants, and his hands carefully wiped on the napkin, he turned the page and began to study the photographs. He smiled upon seeing the one with her father. “You were a very pretty young girl.”

[Anya Vasiliev]

"Summer is lovely, but then, I'm biased." Laughing, Anya stacked the empty bowls and plates and carried them out to the kitchen, setting them in the sink and checking on the chocolate cake. "The cake has another few minutes to go." She said softly, washing her hands and pulling her chair round to settle and look through the album with Sean. As she settled down, she smiled warmly at her guest, turning her head to look down at the photographs.

"That is truly terrible." Anya spoke with her voice slightly hushed. "I never remember much prejudice from my childhood, aside from the mistrust of the west. Russia isn't perfect, though. Perhaps I just look at my home with rose tinted glasses, hm?" Stretching, the woman looked out the window a moment, reflection across her features. "Though..." She said with a slight hint of bitterness in her voice. "Mistrust of meta humans is high in some parts of Russia. I remember that well." Looking away to hide a little flash of anger in her eyes, Anya felt her fingers push together with a knee-jerk reaction to her own memories. "Still, it's all based off ignorance, I pity them." She added, sitting up and returning her attention to the photo album.

When Sean smiled at the one photo, Anya laughed musically. "Thank you, my father insists I look a lot like my mother." Moving her finger across the laminate, she pointed out a photo of a pretty young woman holding a baby in her arms. "That's her, isn't she wonderful? She did nothing but take care of me and my interests." Touching the photograph gently, Anya couldn't help but gain a tender smile across her features. She was deeply fond of both her parents, of the kindness and love they had given her, and of all the opportunities she had been given. "There are probably photos of me holding ski trophies, too, somewhere in here. My father loved taking photographs."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean smiled at her at the mention of the cake. “There’s no rush on that; I’m still digesting that delicious meal you made.”

Then the conversation shifted from lighter topics to those of prejudice. “It’s possible; the mind is designed to remember the pleasant more readily than the unpleasant.” That was a basic aspect of studying memory and psychology, an area where Sean had great fascination apart from work, as his powers made it natural. Then again, she was also half his age, and the world had changed a great deal during those decades; there was less prejudice in terms of race and religion than there had been when he had come of age. But the distrust of meta-humans was more common than it had been when he had been a child, partially because there had been less awareness when he’d developed his powers. Metaphobia was more difficult to fight than homophobia or racism, because the fear there had more stable ground to stand upon, because meta-humans were different from baseline humans, in a way that made all other prejudices seem as silly as they were. He’d dealt with this issue often in conversations over the years: with patients, with parents of students, and with his sister and brother-in-law. Ignorance was the reason, of course, but in a different way. “

Sean studied the photo of her mother, presumably holding an infant Anya in her arms. He could see the resemblance in the shape of her face, the curve of her nose, and the color of her eyes, quite easily. She reminded him of his sister in that way, resembling their mother. It sounded as though Anya’s mother had been traditional, as his mother had been, when it came to her role in the family. “She’s lovely.” He then flipped the page, curious to see what was next. “My uncle was that way, taking photos of everything: holidays, gatherings, communions...”

[Anya Vasiliev]

Anya had often studied the opinions of others in regards to the Cold War. Her own childish curiousity, especially when she had been so protected from the communist mistrust, led her to some startling discoveries. But those times were over now, there were good things in the world now, advancements that could have only been dreamt of when she was a child. And now, now there were energy efficient fuels, solar panels... yes, Anya liked to do her bit for the environment, recycling, walking or taking the bus, it was all for the best. "Still, there's so much good being done these days, it's not right to dwell on error, right?" She asked softly, folding her napkin daintily between her fingers.

"My father loved to take photos of both me and my mother. I think he was always afraid that if he didn't, he'd forget all of the memories we had." Shaking her head, Anya looked down at the leather bound photo album with a tender smile. "I'm glad he did though. As always, as you get older, new memories tend to push the old ones out. There are so many events from my very young childhood I can hardly remember." Straightening her dress for a moment, the woman then slowly rose and turned her attention to the oven for a moment, taking out a steaming hot cake with oven gloves.

"It's a bit too hot to eat now." She said in regards to the baked chocolate mountain. "I'll leave it to cool." Returning to her seat, she pulled it around slightly to be closer to Sean, laughing gently at another photo. "That one is after a fancy dress competition. I apparently won first place, though even my parents don't know what I was." Anya's smile lit up her face. "It's funny how as you grow older, you forget how to be so carefree."

{Take as LONG as you like with this Sean, really. Don't feel in any way obliged to post!}

[Dr. Sean Neville]

“Learn from our mistakes so as not to repeat them.” That was one of Sean’s philosophies. He was enough of an optimist that he didn’t dwell on the problems in life such that they became paralyzing. But he had lived through an age of whitewashing the troubles of the world, and had seen the inevitable harm which resulted. He had no desire to repeat that, and he also felt that given his abilities, he had a greater responsibility to learn, and in doing so, to teach future generations.

Sean had a...perhaps unique perspective on memories, granted to him by his powers. But Anya was right about how memories faded that way; he didn’t believe that there was a quota, but time certainly withered memories away, like carving a canyon. “I wish there were more photos from my childhood, but we didn’t have as picture-happy a culture then. I have too many from college, I think.” He’d taken many back then.

Sean nodded to acknowledge that they needed to let the cake cool for a bit; he had enough restraint to avoid both rudeness and burning his tongue on molten cake. But he would look forward to when it was cool enough to eat, because it looked and smelled delicious.

“Certain aspects of maturity are chains, albeit necessary ones; I can’t deny you that.” Such as paying a mortgage, although he’d long paid his off; medical work was lucrative, as had been his inheritance to an extent. Not that he spoke of it. “But I think most adults just learn to focus their freedom into a special area.” This was why people gambled and drank. It was why he sailed and one of the reasons he spent as much time with Josh as he could. And on that topic... “Before I forget: the friend I told you about, who goes sailing with me, he’s moving to Pilot Ridge, and you’ll be sure to meet him. We’ll also have to get out on the water soon so you can be ready for an adventure.” Adventure indeed, as he could predict how Anya and Josh might interact; it could go a number of ways, and with alcohol there to ease the process...well, it would be an exciting afternoon. When it happened, of course.

[Anya Vasiliev]

Anya thought on Sean's words for a moment, then nodded her head. "Exactly." She quietly fiddled with her clothes, then sighed and looked up at Sean with a look in her eye. "Have you ever heard about what happened with my ex husband?" She asked softly, leaning back in her chair and pulling the photo album towards her, then closing it with a gentle slap. "I suppose you're as good a person as any to trust with it, and I'd probably feel better for getting it off my chest." The woman looked slightly troubled, and lifted Dashenka into her lap, stroking her for comfort.

"My husband, he was a childhood crush." Anya began, studying the table cloth. "I returned to Russia to be with him after my Hammel training. I was so young and reckless, and full of love." She chuckled and tickled the siamese's ear. "He was waiting for me when I returned, and we picked up our relationship more or less where it left off. It was a happy time, and we got married after a year or so." At this point, Anya shifted in her chair and glanced at Sean with a soft smile. "I often talk bitterly of memories simply for those that he left with me. After a few years of marriage, he changed towards me. I was treated as a freak, suspicious, as a side show attraction. He felt no remorse for what he did."

Clearing her throat, Anya gently placed Dashenka back on the window sill, then tested the cake with a finger, her back turned to Sean. "Eventually, I escaped back to my family. Not before he'd sold me to the press, to authorities... there was nothing I wanted more than to come back here. I didn't want to be in Russia anymore, not then." Lifting the cooled cake from the rack, the woman began to slice it, pouring some cream on top and offering the first plate to her guest. "We got divorced and I got on the first plane back here, to Hammel. To the place where I felt safest." Rubbing her chin a moment, then settling down with her own plate back at the table, Anya shrugged.

"Of course, I miss Russia now. But there's always a lingering mistrust. I admit, when I first met you I was as mistrustful as I always had been. But you're warm, and welcoming, and I don't feel alone anymore." The woman's face broke into a soft smile. "Thank you."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean shook his head in the negative to respond to her question. Nobody spoke of Anya’s personal matters behind her back, and she had never told him. He also didn’t probe the thoughts of others unless he had a reason to do so, and digging up dirt on other staff didn’t qualify as a reason. “I haven’t, no.” He relinquished his hold on the photo album as she tugged it closer to her, and he scooted his chair back a bit, to give her more space. He didn’t need his telepathy to know that a traumatic tale would follow; her words told him that easily, as did her body language. The only non-traumatic tales that people had to get off their chests were guilty confessions, but she had made eye contact with him, which was not the behavior of guilt. “I’m here to listen,” he promised her, glad that he had given off the – admittedly true – impression that he was trustworthy.

He leaned forward in his chair, enough to actively listen but not enough to crowd the distance between them. Her story began the way so many others had, often involving young women, but not always. He himself knew what it was to be young and blinded by love. And just in that beginning, he knew how this tale would end; not necessarily the specifics, but the twist, because all such tales had that same dark twist. And then it came: the change from happiness and sunshine in a relationship to the bitter discovery of unworthy men’s despicable nature. Sean had no tolerance for abuse, be it physical or emotional, of children or of spouses. He was fortunate in that he was too large a person to be trifled with; he had never suffered any abuse in relationships, even when several of them had dissolved because he was a meta-human, rather because he was a telepath. The negativity was suppressed until it festered and split his relationships, and although not healthy, it was far better than what she had gone through. His expression melted into a frown, and then shifted to one of genuine compassion. Her ex-husband should be ashamed of himself, although those types never were.

And then there was the additional betrayal and humiliation that this man had put her through; Sean followed international meta-human politics and was subscribed to Meta Watch, which was an organization similar to Impunity Watch but with a narrow focus on the treatment of meta-humans around the globe. Russian authorities made aware of a meta-human not in the military was problematic in the extreme, life threatening at worst.

He was genuinely glad that she had returned to a safe harbor, and Hammel was just that for her, the way it was for so many of those who had stayed on, or returned. “Divorcing him is the best thing that could have happened,” he told her seriously, compassion still in his voice and written plainly in his features. And he was also touched that she had opened up to him and felt confident enough to trust him. He knew that he had that effect on people, but it was still warming to behold each time. “You’re not alone, Anya, and I’m sorry that you had to carry that around for so long.” He, then, managed a soft smile as well. “Thank you for trusting me.”

[Anya Vasiliev]

Anya did, indeed, look relieved as she finished her tale, and her frame seemed to straighten, as though weights had been removed from her shoulders. "Thank you again Sean." She said, her voice light as she began to tuck into her dessert. "It feels much better to have that weight away from me." She pushed her hair from her face and smiled honestly at Sean, touching his hand. "It means a lot that you listened so calmly to me." She laughed a little bit as Dashenka swatted the curtains, then circled Sean's chair, mrowling and looking up at him expectantly, her tiny paws resting on his leg.

"Dashie, where are your manners?" The woman laughed, lifting the kitten up onto her lap. "I'm sorry, you spoke of your friend earlier." She suddenly looked embarrased. "I'd love to go out with him and yourself, if you wish, I can pack us all up a really hearty sailors lunch." Anya beamed, pushing her hair back. "Or perhaps we could have a barbeque together and I can bring rubs and sauces, and a large cake?" The young woman began to plan this with her eyes sparkling. "Does your friend like food as much as yourself? No special dietary requirements?" The woman took a few more mouthfuls of cake and swallowed. "I don't want to show up with a nut loaf and find he has allergies."

Leaning back in her seat and scolding Dashenka for her gentle insistant mewling, Anya smiled. "If he's new, would he like me to go over and bring a welcome basket? I could include some wine, some cheese, some bread..." Ever the good neighbour, Anya had picked up her manners from her mother, who used to greet all those new to their village with large baskets of food. "Perhaps one day we could go back to Russia." She added, looking out the window for a moment. "You could stay with my family, my father and mother would love talking to you, they're friendly and warm." Looking down at the siamese cat, who was now frowning on her cat bed, Anya chuckled. "I'd need someone to look after Dashie, though."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean nodded kindly, giving her a small, gentle smile. “I’m glad to be of help,” he told her honestly. He had always been a good listener, and he’d been told that he had a heart as big as all outdoors when it came to helping relieve others of their burdens. He liked doing that for others, which had been his motivation in becoming a psychiatrist in the first place, and had likewise driven him to return to Hammel and take up the mantle of psychological and emotional jack of all trades. And after spending forty years hearing the most personal thoughts of other people, he prided himself on maintaining his calm. Perhaps not as well as Robert could, but well enough regardless.

Again, Sean gave her a small smile, this time intended to absolve her of any guilt she felt about losing track of his comment about the sailing trip. Considering what had been on her mind, it was understandable, and he certainly took no offense. “I wouldn’t stop you from packing lunch, although I think a barbecue would be lovely, and I couldn’t turn down one of your cakes.” Sean took pride in his ability to grill; it was a skill he’d learned from his father. Then at the question of Josh’s diet, he went on, “He does, although he’s thin as a rail. He’s also Jewish, so there are some dietary laws to keep in mind.” They came as second nature to Sean, after thirty-plus years of association with Josh. He was always aware of those restrictions, and when he hosted dinners at his home or took the other man out to a restaurant, he stocked or chose accordingly. “I can give you a list once we have a day picked out.”

He then chuckled at the image of Josh receiving a welcome wagon basket, simply because it was the opposite of everything his friend stood for, so 1950s hetero-normative suburbanite. “That’s a lovely gesture, but it isn’t quite his style. I hope to bring him to work with me someday soon, so that should introduce him to your baked goods, if the trip doesn’t happen before then.”

Sean followed her gaze to the window briefly, and then glanced down at the photo album, now closed and resting in her lap. “That’s a very kind offer, and I think I’d like to take you up on it, if I wouldn’t impose on your parents.” He didn’t want her, or her family, to feel obligated to take him in during what would be a sightseeing trip, his first time to Russia. At the same time, he was very enthusiastic about the idea of going, and he was curious to meet her parents. They were likely only a few years older than he was, given their age difference, but that wouldn’t be too uncomfortable. After all, it wasn’t as though they were anything more than friends. Then came the question of what to do with her cat, and he replied, “I’m sure James and Chase would be happen to take her in for a while; Milo could use the company.”

[Anya Vasiliev]

Anya nodded softly in response to Sean's words, and attempted to stop fidgeting, instead, returning to her cake and enjoying it. It took a few mouthfuls for her to feel more like herself again, and instead, she bustled over to her notepad and settled it down on the table, making notes about Josh's preferences in neat handwriting.

"Okay, so no pork, then." She said warmly, leaning back with a gentle smile. "That's okay, I've found a fantastic butchers in Pilot Ridge who make venison sausages." Anya liked to plan things, she liked to bring things to people's houses when she visited, and most of all, she liked happy people. It seemed strange for such a stern woman to have such a bright and honest nature, but she was fond of her friends, and Sean definitely counted as one. Suddenly pausing and looking down at her notes, the woman blushed a moment, and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Here I am just organising everything." She tutted, pushing the pad away. "Sorry, my mind tends to go into overdrive about planning."

Anya's blush eventually faded, and she found herself watching Dashenka clean herself delicately, one hand still up round her ear. "I'm looking forward to meeting him, very much." She said gently, eyes returning to Sean's own with the sparkle returned. "Sean, would you like to go for a walk after lunch? Settle our stomachs down?"

Anya thought briefly of her parents in Russia and their reaction to Sean, but the woman could honestly say she couldn't imagine her parents being unkind or inhospitable. The Vasiliev family had always been one of open arms and baked goods. "You wouldn't impose." She added with a laugh. "They're more likely to impose on you with questions. Especially my father. He's always been keen on asking as many questions as possible, finding out as much as he can to make a guest feel as welcome as humanly possible." Pushing her cutlery together once her plate was clean, Anya nodded as if agreeing with herself. "Mother cooks much more than me, so I'm afraid you might gain something of a middle-age-spread." Her eyes twinkled with amusement. "And yes, I trust James with my little Dashie, and I don't think she'd cause trouble."

Anya glanced over at the Siamese, who simply raised her head and washed her ears, perfectly proper. "I think she and James may get on rather well."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean dug into the cake, which had cooled, and had been otherwise forgotten in light of the heavier part of their conversation. He kept his manners about him, but ate with enthusiasm, because he had never turned down a good slice of cake, and Anya’s baking skills were enviable. If she was ten years older and he ten years younger, he might have to propose to her on the spot for that alone, or so he might have remarked if not for what she had just told him. He continued to eat while she made notes about Josh’s diet.

Setting down his fork atop his empty plate, he wiped his mouth with his napkin. “As long as it’s farm-raised, that should be fine. Although you don’t get much venison in Manhattan so I might have to ask him first, or we both just assure him that it’s kosher and don’t tell him specific ingredients.” Josh could be a bit of a snob at times; that was one of his traits Sean cared for him despite rather than because of. The telepath, while far less impulsive, was also far more easygoing than his friend in certain respects. He smiled gently at her apology and shook his head slightly. “It’s quite all right; we all have our habits. And really, I have a list at home; I can bring it to work for you.”

His smile then widened at the thought of the eventual meeting; he often couldn’t help himself when thinking about Josh. “I’m sure you’ll get along well, even if he can be a bit...intense at first.” That was one way of putting it, a kind one as far as Sean was concerned. He was relieved to see, when she next met his eyes, that they held that glimmer of life and confidence they usually contained. “I would, in fact. It wouldn’t hurt for me to burn some of this off; otherwise you’ll put another notch in my belt.” He chuckled lightly, although that was more truth than joke.

As long as he wouldn’t be an imposition, he would like to go; it would be nice to see a part of the world he had never seen before, and he was admittedly curious about her parents, now that he had seen photographs and heard stories. “I’m always happy to answer questions,” he assured her. He was used to it, after having met so many people over the years, and serving his job in the capacity he did. Half of his day, it often seemed, was spent asking and answering questions. And as for the promise of even more food... “Well, if you can’t put on a bit of a stomach during vacation, you never can. I’m sure your mother’s cooking is well worth the added couple of inches.”

He had to agree with her assessment about James; if their coworker had an animal spirit, it would likely be a housecat. “I’m sure that they will. We can bring it up with him when it gets closer to the summer.”

[Anya Vasiliev]

Once Sean's plate was finished, Anya smiled and took the plates to the dishwasher, setting it on a cycle so they didn't have to worry about it while they walked. Washing her hands and quickly wiping down the counter, the woman laughed gently. "I'll do my best. I haven't had a good barbecue for a long time, and I must admit I'm looking forward to bringing some of my best dishes along." The brunette seemed much, much happier now she had told Sean her secret. "I'd love to have that list. Maybe I could surprise him with some tasty kosher food." She nodded, then poured a few cat biscuits into Dashenka's small bowl.

"That'll keep Dashie happy while we walk." She said warmly, toeing on a pair of simple plimsolls and tying them up. "How about to the local garden? That should be pleasant enough." Anya asked, politely fetching Sean's shoes from the doorway. "I've heard there's a flower show coming up in the next few months. I can't wait." Anya liked flowers, and indeed, enjoyed being outside just as much as in. Even in Winter with thick snows around her, the woman would happily take a walk over driving. Not that she had a car at the moment. At one point, she had a little runabout, but it had broken down and been told it was a death trap. She'd decided after that, that perhaps she could get around by bike and walking more often.

Fetching her housekeys from a peg over the door, Anya politely offered her arm out to Sean with a smile. "I love my mother's cooking. She makes some fantastic Russian dishes that I can't always get the ingredients for here." Opening the door and stepping out, Anya turned the key in the lock and then walked calmly down the side of the coffee shop, eyes warm. "There's Buzhenina... which is a ham dish, then Basturma... marinated beef." She closed her eyes and could almost see her mother in the kitchen. "Khalava is a delicious dessert..." She trailed off and laughed. "I'm sorry, I seem to have recipes on the brain all the time."

As the two friends walked down towards the little garden, Anya felt her step spring. She was glad to have met Sean, to have spoken and got to know him. Opening the gate and looking at the rows of flowers, Anya chuckled. "You'll regret saying you'll answer questions when you meet my father. He's incredibly inquisitive." And with that, the young woman smiled brightly, then began to walk through the paths in the flowers.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean rose when she brought the dishes in, helping to clear off the remaining few dishes on the table. He felt rude if he didn’t assist. “I try to barbecue as often as I can in the summer, so you’ll be in for a treat in a few months.” Between the sailing and the barbecues, he usually ended up with terrible sunburn, but it was worth the exposure, because he enjoyed himself. “And I’ll be sure to pass it along. I know a good kosher butcher in Burlington, and I know I have a cookbook somewhere at home, if you wanted to take a look at it.”

While she put on her shoes, Sean donned his, as well as the jacket he had worn to come over. In case the weather turned on them, he wanted to be prepared. “The local garden is fine.” He was happy to walk just about anywhere, save the school because it was the weekend and the cemetery because he wasn’t quite morbid enough for that, although he didn’t expect Anya to make either of those suggestions. He didn’t have quite the same appreciation of flowers as he did of food, but he knew what most of the symbolism was, enjoyed the colors, and fortunately didn’t have any allergies. “Is that so? When is it?” He also didn’t have quite the same appreciation of walking, but that was why he had his car, and the van, although he saved that for special occasions now.

Sean took her offered arm, returning her smile, and he stepped over the threshold after her. Once the door was locked, they proceeded down the stairs and out onto the street. He was full, truly; otherwise the descriptions of her mother’s recipes might cause a brief pang of hunger. “I’ve had Khalava before, and you’re right, it’s quite delicious.” Certainly better than some of the memories he remembered from his own childhood; his mother had been a fine cook, but certain dishes left something to be desired, that something was, more often than, not the intersection of “taste” and “texture.” He smiled lightly at her, “There’s no reason to apologize. Honestly, Anya, I could have far worse conversations than recipes.”

Sean followed her through the gate and looked around at the colors surrounding them; it was a lovely little garden they had. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. Trust me; he can’t possibly be the worst examination I’ve ever had. I once dated someone who had lawyers for parents.” Not to mention that Josh was a lawyer, and Sean kept up with him well enough. Her father couldn’t possibly have more questions than he was prepared to answer, and if, somehow he did, Sean was skilled enough to sidestep.

[Anya Vasiliev]

Anya was hesitant to return home alone. The thought of running into her ex husband while she was alone and vulnerable had made her feel extremely uncomfortable. But now, with the thought of Sean being there to come with her, she felt she could be brave and come back to her hometown.

As they traipsed around the garden, the young woman leant over to admire a set of yellow roses, eyes bright. "I think it's the first weekend of July." She said thoughtfully, drawing back and pushing some hair from her face. "Rumour has it that there might be a concessionary stand running." She added with a laugh, enjoying Sean's company as they looked through the flowers. "I'm looking forward to it, it's something different from baking myself into an early grave." Her voice lowered into a chuckle, and she swatted a fly from in front of her with a tut.

"Well, then perhaps you're well set for meeting my father." Anya said brightly, listening to the bird song around her. "I'll speak with them tonight about the idea, but I'm nearly one hundred percent sure they'll be delighted to have you over." Smiling warmly, the woman looked up at Sean and gave him a gentle, playful push towards the hedge. "I can't imagine being grilled so thoroughly myself. I am a woman of many layers, and some I prefer hidden." Her voice sounded a little far away, just for a second, then her enthusiasm returned in full.

"It's been lovely having you over, Sean." She eventually said as they neared a bench, settling down on it with a soft sigh. "Really. I know I'm perhaps a little distant and strict to other people when they first meet me, so to have you wait and see my true colours means a lot." Anya truly looked grateful. "I'm looking forward to this barbecue, too. And meeting your friend. And sailing, for that matter. It sounds like I'm going to have a wonderfully busy summer." The woman gently gave Sean a hug, then pulled away. "I just hope I don't send you into obesity and triple x clothes." She added, with a small, pleasant laugh.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean made a mental note about that weekend; not that he was in the habit of attending flower shows, but it would get him out of his house, and perhaps he could pass it on to Josh’s mother. She might enjoy the ability to go out for a little while. “It sounds nice.” He then chuckled at the comment of baking herself into an early grave, because he was on his way there himself, it seemed. “There are worse hobbies; personally, I’m glad you share.”

Sean, too, was a person of many layers, although he kept that primarily to himself. The layers which were open to others he shared readily, and the rest he kept to himself. Her father wouldn’t scratch far past the surface, and that would be fine. His musing was interrupted by the playful push in the direction of the hedge; he was a block of mass, so he didn’t budge from the push, but he began walking at the hint. “Tell me what they say, and I’m sure your father can’t be any worse than my in-laws were before my sister’s wedding.”

Sean sat beside her on the bench, although he slid over to give her ample room. He had a few remaining old-fashioned impulses left over from his childhood, which included waiting to sit until a woman had seated and making sure to never take more room than he needed. That could take a bit of extra maneuvering given his frame, but after fifty-plus years of practice, he had it down to a science. Resting his hands on his knees, he turned to face her with a smile. “I had a lovely time, Anya; thank you very much for suggesting the idea in the first place and then having me over.” He, too, would look forward to their growing number of summer plans, and he made a mental note to himself to book the vacation time now, before other problems arose. Being pulled into the hug, he returned it as gently as she’d initiated. “I plan to put on a few pounds, but I won’t overdo it. Don’t you worry about that. And I’ll call you to set a date for the sailing trip.”