Eddie pulled into the long white driveway, playing ‘Gotta feeling’ by Black Eyed Peas at top volume on his radio in the hope that the song would make truth out of the lie. He most certainly did not have a good feeling. At present, all of his feelings were bad ones.

But he steeled himself, parked the car, and walked up the grand steps to his parent’s summer home with wide, strong movements.

It had been a last-minute change on his mother’s part, claiming that the house was to be fumigated on Thanksgiving weekend and they would have to host here instead. Eddie was almost completely sure this was bullshit, and that his mother more likely wanted to show off the second property, which was a far grander spectacle than their upper-class house in Garibaldi, and about an hour’s drive further. It was built with new money and it showed, full of expensively impersonal decor. The entryway had a grand staircase for goodness sake. And it was aggressively at war with the general aesthetic of suburbia settled so close to the sea, but Mamma hadn’t cared and had superimposed her tastes on the landscape regardless of how it clashed.

As he approached, the door opened. Ah yes, Mamma liked to play Downton Abbey when she came here, which meant hiring uniformed help. Unfortunately, she was always limited to whoever the agency could send at the time, which meant they hardly ever saw the same face twice. Eddie gave the small, gloved man a vague greeting, and allowed his jacket to be taken and to be directed to the kitchen, where he found his mother speaking to another hired help about a menu.

“Mamma.” He announced himself, smiling down at his glamourous mother. The complicated surge of conflicting emotions at the sight of her was familiar and sour.

She turned her head suddenly, and her long hair fell in lush ripples over her shoulder from the movement. “Federico! You are early!” she said with delight. She came up to him to give him a kiss, the previous discussion forgotten, her heels clicking on the black and white tiling.

“I wanted to help prepare for the guests.” He white-lied. He had actually come early so he could have some time to wrap his head around the fact that a group of his closest friends were going to be walking around his house, talking to his parents. “They’ll be here in about an hour or so. Unless they break down.”

Concern clouded her lovely face. “Is that likely?”

Eddie smiled reassuringly. “I don’t think so. Worst case scenario.”

“So, it is Cressida Caldwell, Allen Richards, Brendan and Laurel Evans and Christian Blake, yes?” she ticked the names off on her hands as if she hadn’t already committed them to memory.

“And Em and Strawberry.” He added. His mother put her hands on her hips in disapproval.

“What kind of names are these? I do not understand Americans.”

“I don’t know, Mamma, it’s just what they want to be called.” Eddie shrugged at her, willing her to accept it.

“I will find out their god-given names, Federico. This business of nicknames is disrespectful to their parents.” She shook her head, waving her hands with displeasure.

“Si, Mamma,” Eddie replied, already feeling defeated.

“And so? Can you tell me more about Cressida?” his mother said over her shoulder while opening the fridge. She took out an opened bottle of champagne and two glasses, beginning to pour.

“Cress? She is the counselor on the project.” Eddie answered, feeling slightly derailed as he took the second filled glass she offered.

“And? Nothing else?” his mother’s leer was perverse on her lovely face, and Eddie fought back rising nausea.

“Mamma. Stop that,” he told her, quietly pleading. But she feigned ignorance to his meaning.

“Stop what? If she is a nice girl, why should you not be interested? I saw her picture, she is very pretty.”

“Apart from the fact that she is your age. And a woman.” Eddie said, clutching the glass tight.

She pouted. “She is? I did not realize it, she looks so young. Ah well, perhaps Laurel Evans? You work so closely with these people, it is natural for things to start brewing.”

Eddie felt sick and closed his eyes. “Mamma, please don’t do this.”

She tossed her hair back behind her shoulder casually. “I do not understand-“

“Yes, you do. You understand exactly what I’m saying!” He said in Italian, so she couldn’t plead ignorance. “Please Mamma, don’t embarrass me this weekend. I’ll behave, I promise, so please.”

She wouldn’t meet his gaze but she walked up to him and pulled him down so she could peck him on the cheek. “I only want what’s best for you, caro.” She told him, before walking out and leaving him with a glass full of champagne the stone of dread in his chest refusing to disappear.