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Chapter Eight: New Bonds

The Sunday lunch at the Ascott residence had a lingering warmth that surpassed even the golden-brown roast turkey and the comfort of the mac and cheese. For Jeremy, the afternoon was a revelation; the family’s hospitality acted as a soothing balm, finally allowing him to speak of his late wife, Deborah.

As he described her—vibrant, hardworking, and a master of the double-crusted peach pie—Rosemary watched him with a soft, analytical gaze. When he finally detailed the tragic accident that had claimed Deborah’s life and the subsequent failure of the justice system, a profound silence fell over the room.

Breaking the tension, Joshua looked up from his plate. “Who is ‘Squirt’?”

Jeremy half-smiled. “That’s what Deborah called MJ. Her ‘little squirt.’ She loved it.”

Caleb frowned. “Why pick a pet name? Doesn’t MJ’s name work fine already?”

Rosemary took the opportunity to steer the mood. “You know,” she interjected, her tone playful yet firm. “I’ve been searching for the perfect nicknames for you two. I think I’ve found them. From now on, you are ‘Riddle’ and ‘Rhyme’—because your behaviour is always a mystery, and it rarely makes any sense.”

The table erupted in laughter, and the new titles were officially adopted.

For the newly minted “lovebirds,” the following Friday felt like an eternity away. They took to calling each other twice a day, a habit that earned Rosemary no end of teasing from Riddle and Rhyme. The twins marched through the hallways chanting, “Mummy’s in love and we’re getting a Daddy!” much to Rosemary’s feigned annoyance and her parents’ poorly hidden delight.

When Friday evening finally arrived, the Ascott home was a whirlwind of activity. Rosemary’s bedroom became a temporary dressing room as she cycled through outfits, seeking the perfect balance of elegance and allure.

First, she emerged in a white pleated skirt and a silk top embroidered with peacocks.
“You look like a birdcage, Mum,” Riddle chirped. She retreated immediately.
Next was a red geometric dress with a wide bow. A synchronized head-shake from the twins sent her back once more.

Finally, their grandfather, Bruce, tapped his cane. “Cut your mother some slack, boys. She needs your support, not your quips.”

“Yes, Grandpa,” they replied in unison.

Rosemary stepped back into the lounge wearing an apricot-coloured sequined dress that fit her like the proverbial glove. It accentuated her hourglass figure, the hemline stopping at a demure knee length. The room went silent. Even Timothy, usually the joker of the family, let out a long, low whistle.

“Mamma Mia,” he whispered, staring in amazement. “Is that really you, sis?”

Cally nodded in silent approval, and Bruce’s eyes softened. His little girl had truly become a woman. When Jeremy arrived with MJ in tow, looking sharp in a powder-blue blazer and white turtleneck, the air was thick with the promise of a grand evening.

The nightclub Margarita was a cacophony of light and sound. Located on Broad Street, it hummed with a Hispanic energy that felt a world away from the quiet Ascott suburbs. As they took their seats at Table 128, Carlos Santana’s “I Love You Much Too Much” was already pulling couples onto the dance floor.

“I hope you’re ready for this,” Jeremy shouted over the decibels, his eyes bright with excitement.

“I told you,” Rosemary replied with a confident wink. “I’m a dance floor junkie.”

When the music shifted to the soulful strains of “Nights in White Satin” by the Moody Blues, they rose as one. Jeremy was pleasantly surprised by Rosemary’s grace; she moved with the disciplined fluidity of her childhood ballet training. They transitioned from a slow waltz to a spirited quickstep as the DJ spun Santana’s “Evil Ways.” To the onlookers, they seemed to float, their feet barely grazing the floor.

Between dances, they retreated to their table to feast on T-bone steak and spicy camarones a la diabla. They sipped ice-cold beers, their conversation naturally shifting from lighthearted jokes to the deeper observations of daily life. In the quieter moments between songs, their fingers intertwined on the table, a silent confirmation of a bond that was growing far faster than either had expected.

As the night neared its end, the Moody Blues played once more. Jeremy took her in his arms, and Rosemary wrapped hers around his neck. As the lyrics echoed through the hall—Yes, I love you, I love you—Jeremy squeezed her tighter, and she returned the gesture. The “Ice Princess” hadn’t just thawed; she had found her flame.

They returned to the Ascott home well after midnight to find the entire family still awake. Bruce sat in his recliner, hitting the floor twice with his cane to bring the “interrogation” to order.

“So, young man,” Cally began, looking at Jeremy with a mischievous glint. “Is this the proper time to be bringing my little girl home?”

“We were having too much fun to notice the clock,” Rosemary interjected, stepping forward to stand beside Jeremy. “And we aren’t children, Mum. To answer everyone’s unspoken questions: we had a wonderful night, and yes—we are truly, madly in love.”

The room erupted in a mix of laughter and joyful tears. Before Riddle and Rhyme could begin their “Daddy” chant, Rosemary fixed them with a stern expression and a quick “throat-slitting” gesture that bought immediate, wide-eyed silence.

As Jeremy and MJ walked back to their car, Jeremy felt a profound sense of completeness. He had arrived at the PTA meeting as a man focused solely on his daughter; now, he was leaving with his heart divided between two remarkable women.