Princess

by Courtney Cole

  “Has that mattered so far?” She raised an eyebrow.

  He had to admit that it hadn’t. She had never complained once about not having something, like steaks, air-conditioning or expensive shoes. She had worn her five dollar flip-flops just as though they were Manolo Blahniks. He was pretty sure that her old bedroom had been as big as his entire house, but she had handled her change of circumstances with grace and character. It was one of the first things that he had noticed about her. It had been a pleasant surprise.

  “No, it hasn’t. I just wanted to bring it up. I can’t give you the things that your parents could.”

  She stared at him incredulously.

  “Things like what? Conditional approval? A broken heart? A lifetime of therapy bills? The things that you give me are much more important than an expensive car or a climate controlled closet. I have learned things from you… things like feeling safe and being loved no matter what. Those things are priceless. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

  He stared at her in utter astonishment.

  “Did you really have a climate controlled closet? What on earth for?”

  She started to laugh, but her phone interrupted her train of thought. It rattled noisily on top of her bed-stand as it vibrated to signal a new text message. She looked at it in surprise. No one contacted her on it anymore except for Stephen. She reached over and grabbed it, flicking it open. Her dad’s name was on the screen in big, bold letters. Her heart stopped in her chest. She pushed ‘Read’ and then her breathing stopped, as well.

  Paul, I’m horny. I want to see u. Jillian’s gone until 10.

  Her startled eyes met Stephen’s as she turned the screen around for him to read. He read it quickly, surprise forming quickly on his face.

  “What the hell?” He stared at her in puzzlement.

  “He must have sent this to me by mistake. Obviously, it was meant for someone else.”

  A man? Shock made her impervious to anything else at the moment. She didn’t feel anger or hurt or even embarrassment. She just sat in stunned amazement trying to soak it in. Her dad was having an affair. With a man.

  An affair with a woman wouldn’t have surprised her. He was flirtatious in a charming way with most women of all ages. They usually liked it and he worked it to his advantage, flashing his bright white smile at them and making them feel special, for just a second, as the important senator gave them his undivided attention.

  But a man? It was out of left field.

  She knew that he filed her contact info under “P” for Princess in his phone, so she tried to think of a Paul that would have been filed next to her name in his phone. Someone that he meant to text instead of her. She drew a blank.

  Until a vague memory started to form in her consciousness and a sick feeling lodged in her chest. It was blurry at first, but sharpened as she thought about it with more focus. Paul Hayes was an Ohio senator.

  Last year, she had gotten a screaming headache during one of her dad’s fundraising parties. She had excused herself early and had gone upstairs to take some aspirin and go to bed. As she walked down the long hallway to her bedroom, she had heard low murmurs coming from down the hall. When she looked up, he had been walking with Paul Hayes and they had been murmuring quietly together and looked oh-so-surprised to see her.

  At the time, she didn’t think too much of it even though her father had clearly been startled when he saw her. She had just assumed that it was her sudden appearance that had startled him. Now, she suddenly knew that it was the fact that she had seen him with Paul Hayes that had caused his distress.

  Holy Mary Mother of God. Her dad was gay.

  “Stephen,” she began slowly. “I think my father is gay. He meant that text for Paul Hayes, a senator from Ohio.”

  Stephen didn’t even ask her to explain how she had come to that conclusion. He just stared at her in stunned disbelief. His eyes were still slightly confused as he spoke, stating the obvious.

  “Wow. Your dad’s been lying to everyone.”

  She could tell from his tone that he was just as shocked as she was. Probably more so because he still had not been able to bring himself to believe that Randall Ross’ campaign rhetoric was a lie. Family Values First. What a crock of shit. She had seen him bald-faced lie to so many people over the years and do it with a smile. But this… this was huge. It could totally sink his career. And his marriage.

  She wondered idly if she should tell her mother, but she quickly abandoned that train of thought as a more pressing issue came to mind.

  How in the world should she answer his text?

  CHAPTER SIX

  As she lugged the heavy bin of dirty plates, crumpled napkins and flatware to the Sunshine Café’s kitchen, Sydney realized something. She definitely didn’t want to spend the rest of her life waitressing. And something else- she would never again under-tip a waitress. She knew first-hand how hard it was and so did her poor feet. Who would have guessed that waitressing was so physically demanding? Her only consolation was that she was able to wear tennis shoes again.

  She crossed the dingy restaurant floor, grinning ruefully at a regular patron as she went. She had been receiving all kinds of sympathetic smiles lately. Her regulars knew what had happened and pitied her. She didn’t like it. And they didn’t even know the half of it. She sighed heavily.

  They didn’t know about the lie that her family had been living, that not a single thing out of her father’s mouth could be trusted because he couldn’t even be honest about who he was.

  Honestly, most of the patrons of the café didn’t even know who her father even was because they weren’t the type of people that followed politics. It was a blessing, actually. It was making it a little easier for her to get back to normal. Or her new normal, anyway.

  It had been four days since she and Stephen had slept together for the first time. Four days since she had found out that her father was secretly gay. Four days since she had answered her father’s text. Sorry, you texted the wrong person.

  And four days of no response.

  Every night, Stephen had held her until she fell asleep. Every night, he had whispered endearments and assurances to her, promising that everything would turn out alright. But she wasn’t so sure anymore.

  How could everything be alright when she couldn’t trust a single thing? It was scary to realize that her whole life had been a lie while she never even had a clue. She couldn’t even trust her own judgment.

  What she did know was that her future was a blank canvas again. She could do anything she wanted to do and what she wanted was to get as far from here as possible. As far from her family and its lies as she could. She idly wondered how Stephen would feel about moving to Indiana or maybe New York. She could go to college now. She had been accepted at Notre Dame as well as Columbia.

  But she didn’t want to move away unless Stephen would come with her. No matter what her future held, it was going to involve him, too. He was too important to her now. As she dumped her bin of dirty dishes, she made a mental note to discuss it with him that evening. She checked her watch. She only had 25 minutes left in this shift. Thank God. Her left heel had a blister and it was killing her.

  As she re-entered the dining room, she pulled up the one bra strap that persistently slipped off the edge of her shoulder and then froze in mid-step. At a tiny table in the back corner, away from everyone else in the small diner, a woman stood out like a sore thumb in her elegant cream-colored pantsuit and dark brown alligator Chanel shoes. She was looking out the window in agitation and drumming her perfectly manicured nails on the table- probably annoyed that she would have to be somewhere so… less than seemly. And that was putting it mildly.

  Sydney was still frozen when Marge, the other waitress on duty, nudged her.

  “Check out the snoot in the corner! Do you want to take her or do you want me to?”

  Sydney swallowed hard. “I’ll take her. She’s my mother.”

  She could feel Marge’s incredulou
s stare beating into her back as she doggedly trudged to her mother’s table. She couldn’t imagine what had made Jillian venture into this neighborhood and into this diner to see her. Maybe the world was ending.

  “Mom.” Sydney stopped about a foot from the table and stared coldly at her mother.

  “Sydney.” Her mother was every bit as cold. Disgusted with the place, agitated with her daughter, impatient with all of it. It was blatantly evident on her face. “You need to come home.”

  “Why?” Shock was apparent in Sydney’s voice even though she had intended to sound impassive. A plea to come home was not something she had expected or was prepared for.

  “You know why!” Her mother snapped loud enough for an elderly couple at the next booth to swivel their heads in surprise. Her mother regained her composure and spoke again, with a quieter, more controlled tone.

  “For your father. You cannot go on living here. Not in this neighborhood. Not with your cousin. Your pregnancy is over. You don’t have to fight for it any longer.”

  Every word was an icy bullet aimed at Sydney’s heart. Her mother only cared about appearances. Just like always.

  “So, let me just recap. You don’t really care that I am living in this run-down neighborhood. You don’t care that I very recently lost my baby and the only person in the entire world that helped me or even cared was my very distant cousin, Stephen. You only care about what it looks like for my father’s career. I just want to make sure I’ve got it right.”

  Her words were every bit as icy and she aimed them at her mother’s head. Jillian Ross didn’t even flinch.

  “Sydney, stop being such an infant. You know how important this is. You’ve had your tantrum, now come home.”

  Her mother’s face was hard. She was a beautiful woman, but there was not even an ounce of warmth in her eyes. In Sydney’s opinion, it detracted from her beauty.

  “My tantrum? Mother, let me summarize for you this time. I don’t give a goddamn about my father’s career anymore. And you cannot make me come home. I turned 18 last week. I’m sure you meant to mail a birthday card, right? I will not be coming home. Not today, not next week, not ever. I already am home and I am finished being a prop for my father’s campaign. Completely done. And don’t think I don’t know what this is really about. It’s not about me. It’s about my father and what I know.”

  Sydney spit the words, anger overtaking her so completely that she couldn’t think straight. She didn’t even care anymore if her mother hadn’t known. She suddenly realized that she didn’t feel any maternal connection with this woman. At all. All she felt was a strong dislike for her own mother. She should feel guilty, but she didn’t.

  And she could see from the expression on Jillian’s face that her mother knew exactly what she was talking about. When she spoke, it only confirmed Sydney’s suspicion.

  “You don’t know anything.” Icy tones, but her eyes betrayed her. There was fear there, hidden in the glittering pale blue depths.

  “Oh, I do. My father is gay. And you know about it. How long have you known? Do you even care? Or is the only thing you care about the life that he gives you—the social standing, the money, the jet…”

  She trailed off as she took in her mother’s face.

  “I’m right. You’ve known all along, haven’t you? And you’ve tolerated it, hidden it in exchange for this life. You’ve given him a cover story and he’s taken you with him up the ladder. Oh, wow. To think that I felt sorry for you for just a second when I found out. You’re really pathetic. You should leave now. And don’t come back.”

  Her mother stared at her for a moment, her mouth forming a hard, straight line as she watched her daughter speak. Color stained her cheeks. Sydney assumed it was from anger. It certainly wasn’t from hurt or embarrassment. Her mother didn’t care enough to experience those emotions.

  “You’ll be sorry, Sydney. Family is family. You can’t count on anyone else. Your father can open all kinds of doors for you.”

  “I can open my own doors, thanks. And the only thing I’m sorry about is that we didn’t have this conversation sooner.”

  Her hazel eyes shone like bronze as she stared her mother down, unflinching, unblinking.

  Her mother held the stare for a minute longer and then gathered her purse and keys, stood to her full height and looked Sydney in the eye.

  “If you don’t walk out that door with me right now, don’t bother coming back. Ever.”

  Sydney didn’t move a muscle. She simply continued to hold her mother’s icy gaze for a moment longer before she spoke. She was so still that she could feel her own heart beat.

  “You’re not really in a position to be giving me demands, now are you?”

  Her mother shook her head derisively and stalked to the door, her heels clicking loudly as she went. She didn’t look back as she climbed into her Jag and slammed the door.

  Sydney felt her knees go weak and she slid into the nearest booth, breathing deeply. The exchange with her mother felt good in a strange sort of way- a sort of relief. But she also felt insanely sad… that she didn’t have normal parents or a normal life. This wasn’t the way family was supposed to be.

  Marge gripped her shoulder, appearing out of nowhere.

  “Sydney, are you alright?”

  Her rough voice was hesitant and as soft as Sydney had ever heard it. She looked up to find Marge’s wrinkled face peering over her shoulder in concern. She felt a rush of warmth for this crusty old woman because she hardly ever showed her gentle side. In fact, Sydney hadn’t even known that she had one. When she had first started, Marge had instantly disliked her. She had been afraid that Sydney would take all of the tips.

  “I’m okay. Thanks,” Sydney murmured and then smiled at her. Marge hugged her shoulders lightly and awkwardly. Sydney could easily tell that this type of situation made Marge uncomfortable and she was all the more grateful to her because of that.

  “Family is hard, I know.” Marge shrugged as though she was thinking of her own. “If you need anything, let me know.”

  She squeezed Sydney’s hand and then tottered off, leaving a scented trail of aerosol hair spray and cigarettes behind her. Sydney gazed after her absently, replaying the scene with her mother in her head.

  What had her mother really expected her to do? Move home and then what? It wouldn’t make any difference. It wouldn’t change anything. Unless… they thought that she might leak the information. The realization dawned on her abruptly.

  They thought she was going to tell. Truthfully, the thought had never crossed her mind. She was pissed off at them, but she didn’t want to completely trash her parents’ lives.

  “Is this seat taken, Miss?”

  She looked up to find Stephen standing over her. She had been so distracted that she didn’t even notice the tinkling of the bells over the door when he walked in.

  “Not any more. My mother just vacated it.” She grinned wryly at him, trying to downplay the anxiety that still coursed through her veins.

  “Seriously?” His chocolaty brown eyes searched her face for confirmation. “Are you alright?” He was instantly concerned and she felt warmth flood through her. The chatter of the diners around them faded out of her mind until all she could see what his handsome face in front of her.

  “Seriously,” she confirmed. “And my mother knew. About my dad, I mean. She’s probably known all along. She’s a piece of work. She told me that I had to come home and I told her no and she left. I think they think I’m going to tell someone.”

  “Are you?”

  “No. I have no reason to do that. Maybe the American public deserves to know the truth about him, but they won’t hear it from me.” She absently played with the clean flatware lying on the table in front of her.

  “You’re a good person, Sydney Ross.” He reached across the table and grasped her small hand. “Want to go out for dinner tonight? Somewhere other than here?”

  He glanced around as he spoke, taking in the crack
ed vinyl booth seats and the crooked owl clock on the wall. The owl’s googly eyes were facing in two separate directions, its yellow beak faded.

  “Where did you have in mind? I have about $20 bucks so far in tips.”

  “That won’t be a problem. I sold my novel today and I’m getting an advance!”

  His grin lit up his face and she sucked in her breath. He was incredibly handsome and she had not gotten used to it. She doubted that she ever could. She jumped up and flew into his arms, hugging him tightly against her.

  “Congratulations! I knew you would do it!”

  She inhaled him as he cradled her within his arms- too tightly for a public place, but for once, she didn’t care. It was hard to let go of old habits, even when there was no need to constantly be aware of public opinion anymore.

  It was a wonderful feeling. She briefly considered streaking down the street just because she could, but decided against it. That might be going overboard.

  “So, my lady,” Stephen said, stepping backward and bowing dramatically low. “Where would you like to go? Your chariot awaits.” She glanced out in the parking lot and saw his T-bird parked right out front.

  “Hmm. You’re the novelist. Aren’t you supposed to have a good imagination? You choose!” She kissed him on the cheek, then turned. “I’ve got to clock out. I’ll be right back.”

  He watched her walk through the swinging doors into the kitchen and it wasn’t a second later before Marge rushed over to him, speaking hurriedly and glancing over her shoulder, presumably to watch for Sydney.

  “Stephen, I don’t know what is going on, but it isn’t good. Someone keeps calling here, asking for Sydney and then when we go to get her, they hang up. Like they don’t really want to talk to her, they just want to know if she’s here. I haven’t told her because that little girl’s got enough to worry about. But someone should know. It doesn’t feel right.”

  “You haven’t told her?” He watched her wrinkled face as she shook her head.