Usually, Mateo would be an apt listener to this sort of lesson; the botanist brewing in his blood is always keen for nourishment, and even though his mind isn't really on the Mathair, he will still remember this for nights to come. Humming his acknowledgement, he helps to rake the leaves away from her great trunk (he's still a bit clumsy with the rake, but he's getting better as he grows a little taller) before he stops and gazes up at his father.
"Ever's parents would like it if you and Dad came to their house for dinner," he says, his voice soft and his tone uncharacteristically... mature. "I'd like it if we all went as well. We can bring the wine or the gin that you like best. Would that be okay?" It absolutely will not be okay, but he's already come to expect as much.
"Ever's parents would like it if you and Dad came to their house for dinner," he says, his voice soft and his tone uncharacteristically... mature. "I'd like it if we all went as well. We can bring the wine or the gin that you like best. Would that be okay?" It absolutely will not be okay, but he's already come to expect as much.
