by Eva Luxe
Now, Mom looks at me with pleading eyes, begging me to cooperate, as usual.
“Gregory, I know there’s no path that has come before us on such a thing as a royal marriage to… a random American girl,” she says. “And you know that so many people have advised us not to let you do this. There are plenty of other, more suitable women to choose from here in our very own kingdom, and…”
“But, Mom,” I remind her, “You said I could do it.”
The way she says “random American girl” makes my skin crawl.
“I did,” she agrees. “And I’ll stand by my word. But I have a bad feeling about this choice of yours…”
“Oh, Mom,” I groan. “You’d have a problem no matter who I picked. You don’t think anyone is good for your little boy.”
“Gregaroo-roo,” she says, harkening back to the nickname of my childhood. “It’s very true that you will always be my little prince. The one I bounced on my knee during the day and rocked to sleep at night. I do know, however, that I have to let you go. I just didn’t realize it would be…”
She sees me shaking my head in annoyance, so she stops. What she probably doesn’t realize is that I’m also touched. I know she only wants the best for me.
“It’s not just that she’s an American girl I’ve never met,” my mom says, trying to explain herself for what has to be at least the tenth time. “It’s that she doesn’t even seem to want to meet us. To be involved in your life. Half the time you call her, she doesn’t even answer.”
“There’s a big time zone difference, Ma,” I complain, but inside, I’m thinking, Hmmmm. Is that true? Half the time? Really?
Meredith better not end up making a fool out of me. Sure, this is a sham marriage but it’s important to my family and I also don’t take lightly to being a laughingstock. I suppose I inherited some of my mother’s genes when it comes to caring about what people think.
“Well, Mom, I appreciate your concern,” I tell her, realizing that it’s sweet that she wants my fiancée to be into me. “But everything is fine. This is a big change for Meredith too, you know. But she’ll adjust and everything will turn out exactly the way you want it to, don’t worry.”
“Okay,” she says, slowly nodding her head, her gray hair bouncing up and down along with it. “I won’t.”
“Don’t you have some other things on your to do list to worry about instead, before we leave?” I ask her, with a grin.
“Yes,” she says, with a smile. “You’re right.”
I go in to see my dad, but feel bad for waking him.
“Hello, Son,” he says, trying to sit up in bed, but coughing instead.
“Hi, Dad,” I tell him. “I was just coming to say goodbye before my trip.”
“Goodbye, Son,” he says, and holds his arm up for me to come hug him.
As I embrace him, he says, “Congratulations on your impending nuptials. You’ll make a fine King.”
“Dad…” I say, not wanting him to start talking about death again.
But he shakes his head, as if that’s not what he was going to get into right now.
“Just remember to follow your heart,” he says. “In life, in love, and in leadership. It won’t steer you wrong.”
“Thanks, Dad, now get some rest,” I tell him, and he settles back down into his bed.
Talking to my dad always fills me with strength and resolve. I don’t know what I’ll do after he’s gone.
Of course, just like my mom is hoping, I’m right that everything will turn out okay. My mother never goes without something to worry about. I’m the one who shouldn’t worry, because I always get what I want, and things will work out just fine.
But that’s what everyone always tells themselves, at the beginning of their own story.
Chapter 6 – Ella
It’s Halloween. And it’s also a beautiful, sunny Saturday in Denver, even though it’s the end of October. But the only way I know that is because I walked the rather short distance from my house to the basement of my dad’s office, which I jokingly refer to as “the Dungeon,” where I’ve spent the rest of the day so far, after volunteering at the homeless shelter earlier, when it was gloomier outside.
There’s only a small window that’s just above the ground, but no light can even get in from there, because it’s covered with boxes. There are boxes everywhere, because after my dad died, we consolidated his offices and a few other cities to this one near the house in Denver, to better manage them here.
It’s a thriving medical equipment supply company, and it’s doing great, or at least it was, before his untimely death. I’ve made it my goal to understand his business and make sure to save it because I don’t think my step mother cares about it at all.
She seems content to spend the money shopping and taking extravagant trips to Vegas, L.A., and last month she even went on a cruise to the Caribbean. I know she probably has a new boyfriend even though she denies it.
Who else would she want to go to the Caribbean with? She certainly didn’t take my step sisters, which is surprising, because the two of them were always stuck so far up her ass I would have thought they would need a medical extraction before my step mom could go on a trip “alone.”
As if her ears are ringing, my step mother burst in through the door of the dungeon, without even bothering to knock. Just like Sheila, she always assumes that what’s mine is hers, starting with my father and ending up with his business and his office.
“Oh, there you are, Ella,” she says, as if I would be anywhere else. She makes me do all the grunt work, but I’m the only person competent to do the important stuff – and she surely doesn’t even try to lift a finger to do it on her own, nor does she make my step sisters do it, even though they benefit from the business as well. So, if I don’t do the grunt work, along with all the other work, it doesn’t get done.
When I was little, my mom used to say that money doesn’t grow on trees. There isn’t a whole lot I remember about her, but her euphemisms were one of them. Apparently, my step mother and step sisters think that not only does money grow on trees, but businesses also magically run themselves.
There are still office workers and assistants that my dad had hired, but I use them on a contract basis only. I don’t trust them enough to run the business.
I do give them all the grunt work that I can shuffle off to them, but when my step mother finds out, she always gets mad. She seems to think it’s my lot in life to do tasks that are beneath my knowledge or experience, even though I’m also the main contributor to the operational side of the business.
“Here are the invoices for the orders this month,” my stepmother says, putting a large file on my desk. “These need to be sent out before midnight. And the spreadsheets need to be filled out along with them.”
How very nice of you to be telling me this now at three o’clock in the afternoon, I think, but I know better than to say anything by now. I’ve argued a lot of things with my stepmother, but it never does any good. She doesn’t seem capable of listening to reason or having empathy. And she holds grudges like no other.
I’ll never understand why my dad married her. I guess he saw something in her that no one else does. Or maybe he just felt sorry for her because her husband had died around the same time my mom had, and she had been a single mother until then. But she’s certainly good at playing the victim, whereas my dad was never that way.
I still remember when he sat me down on my bed and told me that my mother had died. It had been a horrible freak accident. She had volunteered at a homeless shelter and she was crossing the street with a large crockpot full of food she had made, when a speeding car ran her over.
My dad told me the doctor said that the impact had killed her instantly; that she had never known what was coming and she had never felt anything. But one of the wonders of my youth was whether the doctor was right.
Part of me wanted him to be, as I knew that meant my mom hadn’t felt any pain. But another part of me hoped th
at he was wrong. That somehow she hadn’t feel pain or fear, but she had thought of me and my dad and knew how much we loved her. She knew we would always think about her and miss her. And she knew she died doing the one thing that she loved to do – taking care of other people.
Since that tragic day, my dad and I took up her favorite weekly ritual of volunteering at the homeless shelter every Saturday. In fact, that’s where I had been before I drove home to change and then walked here to the office.
It always gives me a little bit of comfort knowing that I’m continuing to carry out the thing my mother would be doing if she was still here. And I met some very interesting people along the way, homeless veterans as well as shelter staff and co-volunteers who would tell me lovely stories about my mother as I grew up, to help keep her memory alive. Everyone said she was the most beautiful, caring kind and loving person they had ever seen and that she was a whole lot of fun to boot.
I honestly don’t know how my dad could’ve gone from someone like her to someone like my step mom, no matter how many years passed in between. But I try to understand, because I think that life hardens us and makes us cynical. Look at me: I had always had a sinking suspicion that Paul wasn’t the right guy for me, and I turned out to be right.
I don’t believe in fairytales. I don’t believe in love or happy endings. So maybe my dad is like me and he became practical and decided that two widowed people with children were better off making a life together than apart. But ever since he married her, my step mother, she and my step sisters have been so cruel to me.
I never burdened my dad with it because I didn’t want him to feel bad. He’d been through enough. I just suffered in silence without seeing any way out.
And now that my dad is gone, I do the same thing for him that we did together for my mom. I carry out his legacy, what he would have wanted, even if I don’t understand as much as I did with my mom.
All I know is that for whatever reason, he loved my step mother enough to marry her and wanted there to be peace in our family. He even said so in his Will. So that is what I am aiming for now, even though it’s often a lot more easier said than done.
Suddenly there’s a knock at the door, and I open it to see Sharon and Nikki. I practically squeal, I’m so excited to see them.
But then I remember that my step mother will be upset because she wants me to work. She always has to ruin everything, but I’m not going to let her ruin this surprise visit from my two best friends.
Chapter 7 – Ella
“We come bearing bags,” Sharon says, holding up a large fabric tote, which is empty.
Her dark curly hair bounces up and down, matching her level of excitement.
“We’re taking you shopping and then to the ball tonight,” she continues. “Have you heard?”
I just look at them, surprised that they would even bring this up. I’ve heard about the ball. Everybody’s heard of it. It’s some kind of post-wedding rehearsal dinner, pre-wedding shindig being put on by some prince of some foreign land.
Apparently, his princess bride is from Denver, which makes no sense to me, but of course the news has been all over town and everyone’s been buzzing about it. The royal couple is getting married in a smaller ceremony tomorrow and having a large ball tonight, since it’s Halloween, after their rehearsal dinner, for anyone who wants to attend and celebrate with them.
The main reason I know about this— other than somehow hearing about it everywhere— is, of course, through my step sisters. They’ve been going on and on about how this prince is so hot and how he’s not really in love with the girl he’s marrying or she’s not in love with him or something.
Scandalous rumor has it that she’s never once visited him in his country and that she flaunts around town with other men, but is marrying him for the money and prestige and all that stuff. Which reminds me of someone else I know.
Again, as if her ears are ringing, my step mother butts in.
“No, you cannot go to the ball,” she says, as if I’m twelve years old. “I already told you— you have to work. These invoices and spreadsheets are not going to get done by themselves, you know.”
“That’s right, they’re not,” Sharon says, and I can tell she’s going to add something snarky. Unlike me, she has no duty to her deceased father’s memory to be loving or polite to my step mother. “But I don’t see what prevents you from being able to do them.”
“Young lady, we will not have any of that in my office,” my step mother snaps back, even though this is not her office. “And just so you know, I would do these spreadsheets and invoices myself but I have plans tonight.”
“Oh,” Nikki says, sounding almost as flippant as Sharon just was. “You’re planning to go to the Ball as well. Aren’t you a little mature for such things?”
“Nikki,” I hiss at her, not wanting any more conflict.
But my step mother just laughs.
“What I have planned is none of your business,” she says.
She’s right and I’m sure it involves that boyfriend she’s been seeing, so I don’t even want to know about it.
“Now I’m going to get out of here and let you guys talk about whatever silly things you were talking about, for a while,” she continues. “But I mean it when I say that these invoices have to be sent by eight p.m. or else.”
She leaves and I look at my best friends, resigned to my fate, as usual.
“Oh, my God,” I exclaim. “I can’t believe I have to stay here and do this shitty office work at the last minute. I thought she had done this ages ago and that all I’d have to do was look over them and then submit them. That was the plan, but of course she never does any work.”
“You really should come to the Ball with us,” Nikki says. “It’s going to be so fun. We’re going shopping for costumes first. Word is that everyone’s supposed to wear really dressy princess type dresses but with some kind of a Halloween theme.”
I look at her with a raised eyebrow. What is this, Middle School?
“You know,” Nikki continues, sensing my skepticism. “You could be like Zombie Sleeping Beauty— oops, she never woke up! Or Vampire Ursula, still haunting poor Ariel for all eternity and trying to suck her blood after she’s taken away her vocal cords…”
“Now that’s some seriously twisted shit,” Sharon interrupts.
Damn. I want to hear more of Nikki’s imaginative costume ideas. She’s actually selling me on this crazy Ball.
“How do you even come up with that?” Sharon asks. “I’m pretty sure that’s not what this prince and his bride had in mind.”
“Why not?” Nikki says, shrugging innocently. “It is a Halloween party and those are my interpretations of Halloween Princess costumes. What’s yours? Because so far the only ideas have come from me…”
“For one thing, Ursula was not a princess,” Sharon protests. “And I don’t even know why you would want to go like that. It’s not like she wore pretty dresses. She was purple and had all those bulging octopus legs. How would you even fit that under a dress or find a costume like that?”
“You’re taking me a little too literally,” Nikki replies. “I was just throwing out some hypothetical ideas.”
“Your hypothetical ideas are like something out of the Twilight Zone,” Sharon says.
I love it when these two banter like this. It’s so hilarious.
“Well then, they’re perfect for Halloween,” Nikki insists, as there is yet another knock at the door.
Although I was surprised by Nikki and Sharon showing up— and suggesting I go to some twisted Halloween wedding Ball for some Prince from some far-away land, no less— I’m pretty sure I know who this visitor is.
“Aunt Ashley!” I exclaim, giving her a hug as she holds a pizza box precariously in her other hand. “How nice of you to stop by.”
“I told you I was going to bring you a pizza since you had to slave away in the Dungeon,” she says, as Nikki takes the pizza box from her and sets it on the des
k. “I just didn’t know you would already have company. Hi ladies. Hope I brought enough slices.”
Looking back and forth from Sharon and Nikki’s face to the empty bag that Nikki is holding in her in her hand, Aunt Ashley asks, “Oh sorry, am I interrupting something?”
“Oh no,” Nikki says. “We were just discussing what Halloween princesses we’re going to dress as tonight, after we can convince Ella to come shopping with us and to this fantastical Ball that’s going on.”
“Oh, I heard about that Ball,” Aunt Ashley says. “But, I guess, who hasn’t, right? Everyone around town has been talking about it.”
“It’s not every day something like this happens in this cow town,” I laugh, since Denver used to be a cow town but certainly isn’t any more.
Still, nothing like this ever happens here. Or anywhere, probably.
“Yeah, well, Ella’s is not allowed to go,” Sharon says, with a pout. “It’s as if she’s still a kid or something.”
“Not allowed to go?” Aunt Ashley repeats, perplexed. “Says who?”
“I know, right!” Sharon snorts.
“Who do you think?” I ask her, trying hard to keep my eye rolling to a minimum.
Aunt Ashley, my father’s sister, has been my closest support since he passed away. I don’t know what I would do without her. And I opened up to her a little bit about my feelings for my step mother and step sisters. Even though I don’t say that much, she understands.
“What could possibly be so important that you can’t miss in order to go out on Halloween night? Seriously,” she says, fuming.
“I know,” I tell her. “But it doesn’t surprise me. I think the real reason she’s making me do all these spreadsheets and invoices – I gesture to the pile of papers on the desk – is to ensure that I won’t be competition for her daughters at this Ball where they seem to think they’ll be able to snag a Prince.”
“That makes no sense,” my aunt says. “He’s getting married.”
