44 Charles Street

“I’d love that,” Francesca said warmly, as Eileen walked in with the unattractive Doug, who asked for pancakes too. Francesca was quick to step in. Marya hadn’t been hired as a cook, she was a world-class chef who was doing them a favor and making them a gift by cooking anything for them. She wasn’t a short-order cook there to prepare them breakfast. “We’re doing self-service,” Francesca said quietly, “except for Ian.” Doug looked annoyed, shrugged, and helped himself to a cup of coffee as Marya looked at Francesca gratefully. Chris had taken due note of the scene, and didn’t like Doug either. He was crass and rude, and made it clear to everyone in the room that he and Eileen were sleeping together and when Ian left the room for a few minutes, Doug even intimated that they had had some pretty hot sex the night before. Eileen didn’t seem to mind his saying it, but the others did on her behalf. It was a lack of respect for her that she appeared not to notice or object to.

Oblivious to the scene, Ian happily finished his pancakes and politely thanked Marya when he was through. He then carefully rinsed his dish and put it in the dishwasher. Francesca noticed and wondered if he had to take care of himself if his mother was sick or sleeping all the time. He seemed unusually capable for a child of seven.

They were all still milling around the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Francesca went upstairs to answer, and was horrified to see her mother standing outside, waiting to come in. She was wearing a Chanel running suit and Dior sneakers, her hair was in a ponytail, and she looked beautiful even without makeup, but she was the last person Francesca wanted to see that morning. She had no desire to introduce her to her roommates or listen to her mother’s comments about them after.

“Hi, Mom,” she said hesitantly, not sure what to do. “What are you doing here?” She was hoping she would leave without coming in, but doubted she would. Her mother was too persistent and curious for that.

“I’m trying a new skin doctor in SoHo. I hear she’s fabulous, so I thought I’d drop over before I see her. May I come in?” She looked expectant and imperious, and Francesca stepped aside, feeling like a kid in trouble. She knew her mother would not like the scene in the kitchen.

“Of course,” Francesca said, as her heart sank, thinking of the odd melee of people in her kitchen, and suspected her mother would be shocked, particularly by Doug and his tattoos.

“Something smells delicious,” Thalia commented as Francesca debated between taking her upstairs to her bedroom, with the unmade bed, the living room where there was no place to sit, since she hadn’t gotten around to replacing the couch and chairs Todd had taken, or the kitchen, where all of her roommates were having breakfast. She hated to introduce them to her mother. But Marya had just taken a fresh tray of croissants out of the oven, which provided an irresistible lure toward the kitchen.

“One of my roommates is a famous chef,” Francesca explained as her mother headed down the stairs toward the kitchen without her. Reluctantly, Francesca followed.

Chris was at the kitchen table with his son doing a drawing, Marya was at the stove in her apron holding the fresh batch of croissants, and Doug with all his tattoos visible was wrapped around Eileen like a snake, while she giggled and was still wearing a slightly indiscreet nightgown with her robe hanging open. It was not the scene she wanted to present to her mother. She introduced her to all of them simply as her mother, as Thalia pursed her lips and stared over all of them to Marya. She seemed to be the only civilized person there, in Thalia’s opinion.

“You must be the chef,” Thalia said, looking slightly daunted. The idea of her daughter living with all these people still upset her. And she had instantly noticed Doug and his tattoos and thought him dreadful.

“I am. Would you like breakfast, Mrs. Thayer?” Marya asked kindly. She was slightly startled by the grandeur of Francesca’s mother. Even in a sweatsuit, she looked as though she should be wearing a ball gown.

“I’m not Mrs. Thayer,” Thalia said quickly. “Countess di San Giovane,” she corrected in the accent her late husband had taught her. She only used the Italian pronounciation of her name for state occasions, which this wasn’t. But it was her way of letting them all know that she was much more important than they were. They got the message. Chris glanced at her over Ian’s head, said nothing, and went back to talking to his son. Doug was nuzzling Eileen’s neck, and she couldn’t stop laughing. It was not the dignified welcome Thalia thought worthy of her. Francesca was cringing.

“Of course, Countess,” Marya said politely without batting an eye. “May I offer you some croissants and a cup of coffee?”