The couch was blue, with crisp rectangular lines, the latest postwar styling. Charles Xavier liked it. It was both new and comfortable, which most of his parents' furniture wasn't. Currently he was sprawled on the couch with his nose in a book, trying to ignore the fact that his mother was frowning at him from the doorway.
"Come downstairs, Charles. You can read in the parlor."
"There's nowhere good to sit in the parlor," Charles said, folding the book halfway closed with his finger still marking the page. "Can't we move this couch down there?"
"Charles," his mother said, as if he'd suggested bringing down his bathtub. "Your father may have some casual things up here, but they're not for company."
"Wouldn't company like to sit down on a comfortable couch?"
"We don't treat guests like family."
Charles shrugged and opened his book again.
"I'll just stay up here, then."
"You should come down and talk to our guests."
"I don't want to," Charles said. Meeting new people made him nervous. He was never sure what might happen when he shook hands with them. It didn't matter how nice they looked, or how happy.
"Really, Charles," his mother said. "What will they think if you don't?"
What does it matter? he thought. You don't even like them. You'd rather be playing bridge with your real friends.
"In a few minutes," he said. "Just let me finish this chapter."
She shut the door. He lay back on the couch, eyes closed, book in his hand. After a while he squared his shoulders and got up and went down the stairs, taking them slowly, one at a time.
********
The couch was heavy and Victorian, with the accent on heavy. Charles had to admit, privately to himself, that he hadn't thought it would be quite so heavy when he'd decided to move it upstairs. However, he'd be damned if he was going to admit that to Erik.
Erik looked at the couch suspiciously.
"You want it where?"
"In the sitting room off the master bedroom, and you heard me perfectly well the first time."
"It's a couch. Why do we need a couch in the bedroom?"
"Sitting room," Charles said. "Do we have to argue while we're carrying the couch?"
"Feel free to put it down . . . at any time," Erik said.
"Just move the couch," Charles said. "It's a flight of stairs, not a Himalayan climb."
"What was wrong with the couch that was there already? The one we moved down the stairs yesterday?"
"It doesn't go with the furniture."
"We took out all the furniture."
"It doesn't go with the furniture we're going to have."
"This is stupid," Erik said.
"It may be stupid to you, but it matters to me," Charles said.
"You never cared where the furniture was in New York. Or whether it matched."
At least they were moving again, Erik under the sofa bearing the brunt of its weight and Charles steering it up the stairs. He wished the banister wasn't there.
"We didn't have any," Charles said. "Because we couldn't afford it. And we didn't have anywhere to put it, anyway. There wasn't much choice."
"And now there is," Erik said. There seemed to be an undertone to that.
"It's a piece of furniture, Erik. Not a political statement."
"Political statements weigh less," Erik said.
"Erik."
"There've been great strides in modern design, you know," Erik said, pushing the sofa hard enough up the stairs that Charles had to scramble not to trip. Erik's mind was a closed book. "Stainless steel is in."
"They don't make stainless steel sofas."
"Have you looked?"
"It'll be worth it," Charles said. "You'll want a private sitting room when there are students here." He knew he'd certainly want somewhere free from the pressure of other minds and the need to keep up appearances.
"The couch that was in here before was at least comfortable," Erik said.
"We've no one to please but ourselves," Charles said, wrestling the front of the couch through the sitting room door. "We may as well have what we really want."
********
The couch was white leather and had the distinction of being the only piece of furniture they actually owned. It was also heavy as hell. Scott was sweating just from getting it in from the van.
"Can't you use your telekinesis on the couch?"
"That would be harder than just carrying it," Jean said. "Come on, Scott. Put your back into it."
"Go to hell," Scott said cheerfully. "As long as you don't drop your end . . ."
"I'm not going to drop my end," Jean said, struggling to get the couch through the door. "What, just because I'm a woman means I can't move furniture?"
"We could have had it delivered," Scott said.
"Too late now," Jean said. "You get to go up the stairs backwards, since you're so big and strong."
"The bottom end's the heavy end," Scott said. "And we've got the other one to get down."
"We could just put it out in the hall," Jean said. "Call it a conversation nook."
"What is a conversation nook?" Scott said.
"Somewhere to put furniture you don't want to carry downstairs," Jean said.
"So we get rid of the sofa we didn't want to look at by making everybody look at it," Scott said.
"It's not that bad," Jean said.
"It's got gold fringe on it," Scott said.
"The professor likes it," Jean said.
"It could go downstairs in his room," Scott said.
"He doesn't want it in his room," Jean said. They were taking the stairs slowly, matching each other's steps.
"Great. So he foists it off on us."
"And we foist it off on other people," Jean said. "It's the furniture life-cycle."
"What about down in the library?" Scott said. "That blue couch is falling apart."
"But it's comfortable," Jean said. "For reading."
"Now you can read up here," Scott said, manhandling the front end of the couch through the doorway. "And have a little peace and quiet."
"Amen to that," Jean said. She shoved her end into place, and sucked on her hand where the couch had apparently bitten her.
"You know, we could have had it delivered," Scott said.
"You know it's always awkward having people here," Jean said. "There's always the risk that they'll see something they won't like."
"I know," Scott said. He looked out the window, which opened on the front drive.
"It doesn't matter," Jean said. "We've got what we wanted." She frowned at the other sofa. "Don't you think Ororo needs a couch?"