She'd forgotten about it? The 'it' in question, he assumed, would be the gala itself, as it was hardly likely that she had remembered the event and it had somehow slipped her mind that she would have to attend it clothed. He had been planning this more or less since the conclusion of the season the previous January, and while he might have overlooked her ignorance of what was going on in the Quidditch world, or his social world (they usually held a good deal of overlap) then, she could not be forgiven for opting to do so indefinitely. It was not, either, as though he had been secretive about it. He'd written and told her little things about it here and there throughout the planning process, in an attempt to illicit some interest in the particulars and to draw her out into her role as hostess — all of which, of course, had been in vain. His letters never received more than polite and vaguely affectionate responses, and he'd eventually given up on sending them.

She was over here in the countryside doing Merlin only knew what for the past several months, and she had forgotten that eventually, she was going to have to go back to the real world and be his wife again. Thom had no response to that. He was momentarily too frustrated to even contemplate what words he might use to respond.

"I'll... do that, then," he eventually managed, mouth feeling a little dry. He had come into this conversation with every intention of making it a positive one for both of them, which made it very difficult to know where to proceed from here. He had to choose his words diplomatically, he felt, in order to convey that this was important without necessarily sounding like he was accusing her of anything.

"It's — we ought to make an effort to put our best foot forward," he said. "Given — recent events."