"Adopted." Glibt confirmed, deciding not to mention that Layla was the mother of one of Mark's sons. Bret was mortal, after all, and he'd already seemed to accepted the lies that Tommy'd had to tell him in order to explain away his odd parental situation. Turning his hand over on Mark's knee, he laced his fingers with his fiance's momentarily, squeezing lightly in apologetic reassurance before he decided that he needed both of his hands in order to eat and pressing a light kiss to Mark's cheek instead. Yes, Glibt wished that he could be in love with Mark and be friends with Harvey at the same time, without it causing Mark any discomfort, but he could understand. Maybe, eventually, it would be less awkward.
"Layla's pretty busy as well, workaholism runs in the family. But I can put you in touch with her. My other sister, Christine, she's the head of the Gender and Sexuality Studies Department at NYU and volunteers at women's shelters in... Brooklyn, I believe. I could put you in touch with her as well and maybe, eventually, we could try to make it a city-wide committee." Glibt shrugged. "It's ambitious, I know, especially when you consider how many different views and personalities we'd be dealing with, but it's worth a shot to help those in need."
And then Glibt just had to laugh a bit at the look on Tommy's face; the young god was practically beaming at Bret's words. But Tommy didn't think that was weird; Bret had just said the most perfect thing he could have said, given that he was having dinner with the two Parties in question. He could even ignore his father's remark about his lack of candidates. "The Democrats won't lose a vote, Father, and the Marijuana Party's base will grow minutely. Hardly a bad thing!" Tommy shifted his plate on his lap, stretching out his legs a bit - which caused one of them to brush against Bret's in return - and went back to eating. "Does everyone like the salad?" Tommy couldn't cook yet, but he could throw together a salad in the hopes that it would be decent.