“I was hoping we could continue our conversation,” says Owen.
We stare silently at each other for a moment. I can’t believe Owen is standing here on my front stoop in Appleton. The early evening sun floods a spotlight on my handsome street. Bass thumping from a distant car’s stereo is the neighborhood’s heartbeat. Reverberating shouts and echoing calls from disciplining mothers, playing children, and chatty friends are the birdsongs. Pops of orange, yellow, and lilac from our sidewalk garden are like tiny pom-poms cheering with pride. The urban garden we planted with our block association months ago has come a long way.
“These are for your mother,” says Owen, referring to the vase he’s cradling.
“They’re beautiful.” I smile. Then, “Does your security know you’re here? I don’t want Appleton police racing over, sirens blaring.”
“Yes, they are aware. No sirens, I promise.”
“Are they still here, though?” I ask, and look up and down my block. “Oh, wait a minute.”
That’s when I see a guy who looks like he’s come from central casting pedaling down the block. He sticks out like a sore thumb around here. No one in this area wears a full-on biking getup like that. This guy looks like he’s ready for the Tour de France but is instead trapped in a Tour de Jersey. And with an ergonomic helmet like that, you’d expect him to ride a little faster. Instead, he is keeping his eyes on everything but the road.
“That’s not exactly incognito for this neighborhood,” I tell Owen.
“Noted.” He frowns.
I chuckle at the embarrassed look on his face.
Lucky for Owen, the embarrassment scale is about to tip from him to me.
“Zora, are you all right out here?” It’s my mother, poking her head in the screened front window, and her nose into my business. “Aren’t you going to invite your guest in?”
“We’ll be in shortly,” I singsong to her in the hopes she stops spying.
By the time Owen and I step inside, I’m hoping everyone is close enough to back to normal as possible. Sunday afternoon usually finds everyone in my house gathered in the kitchen/family room area, and today is no different.
But when Owen and I walk into the room, almost nothing is as I expect it to be. Ma and John are both at the kitchen island chopping vegetables. Fresh veggies, not the frozen kind stuffing the shelves of our freezer that one of us usually plops in boiling water a few minutes before we sit to eat dinner. And for some reason the TV is piping jazz music from some streaming radio channel. Huh?
My mom walks over to greet him.
“I’m Yvette Sherman, Zora’s mother. And this is my husband, John Sherman,” she says warmly.
“It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Sherman,” says Owen. He sounds sincere.
My mom gives a small squeal when Owen hands her the vase.
“Owen, it’s good to have you over.” John is close behind with a firm handshake.
“I know you’re used to castles and summer cottages the size of our governor’s mansion,” my mom says. I can tell that inside Ma is doing the electric slide, but her excitement is only escaping in tiny bursts of giddy giggles, which, though awkward, is at least not embarrassing.
The only person in his usual spot and acting one hundred percent himself is Zach. He doesn’t even get up from his position on the couch. He just calls out to us, and oddly, I appreciate him for it.
“Ay yo, Zora, is this dude really a bona fide prince?”
“Zachariah Kofi Emerson, we do not comport ourselves like that in this house.”
Did my mother just say comport? Oh yeah, it’s going to be an interesting visit.
And as if my dad’s antennas are sensing something’s up, he calls my cell phone. I can just picture him standing here in all his velour tracksuit glory saying, “You’re in Appleton now, and the only person ruling this house”—signature pause for effect—“is Jesus.” Never mind that he’s not a religious man. Daddy uses whatever tool at his disposal to clap back.
I send Daddy’s call to voicemail and pray to the Prince of Peace he doesn’t try Zach’s phone next, because Zach will surely pick up at a time like this, just to spice up the day.
“Please, have a seat, make yourself at home.” My mom gestures to one of the rustic bar stools on the opposite side of the granite island separating the kitchen and living room area.
Owen sits up with perfect posture and folds his hands on the counter for a quick breath before placing them on his lap instead. I grab the seat next to him and wait for somebody to start feeding peanuts to the elephant in the room.
It would help if Owen would stick with one mood. He looks at me and smiles like a kid with a kite on a windy day; then, in the next moment, he clears his throat and looks parent-pleasing serious.
Ma and John stand across from us, chopping away. It’s doubtful if in one sitting we’ll consume the quickly rising mound of colorful veggies they’re building. Ma is, of course, the one to break the silence.
“Owen, up until a couple of weeks ago, I wouldn’t have recognized you if I walked right by you,” she says. “It’s a wonder your family has done such a great job keeping you from the international press until you came of age. I sure hope it wasn’t a kept-under-lock-and-key situation,” she chuckles nervously. “Castles are known to have dungeons.”
Owen clears his throat again, uncomfortably. I give her the wide-eyed reprimand, like, Really, Ma? She instantly looks sorry about her choice of words.
“But you look great!” she continues. “Not at all like you’ve been kept somewhere out of the sun … that much. Handsome young man.”
I look pleadingly at John to please make her stop.
“So, my wife tells me your older brother is getting married soon?”
“Yes, sir. Gideon is to wed end of this summer.”
“I have been so excited ever since I heard his wife-to-be is a woman of color,” Mom dives in, fully recovered. “She was born in Landerel to a European mother and an African father,” she explains to me and John.
“That’s correct, yes.” Owen smiles. “I didn’t think most Americans followed Landerelian royal family news.”
“Oh, when there’s a sista joining the royal family, you best believe my friends and I gain interest,” my mom replies. “We are so proud to see a brown princess.”
“That’s interesting.” Zach rises from his video game coma, which I suspect was just a cover to appear unruffled by a princely house visit. He walks over to the kitchen counter, grabs a chopped carrot, and crunches it loudly. “Your brother is marrying a biracial sista, and here you come asking around for my sister. Trying to one-up your big bro, are you?”
“Zach!” my mother and I shout at the same time, except Ma says “Zachariah” again like she’s on an American reboot of Downton Abbey.
Zach has been commended by his EMT crew for keeping a cool head under pressure and calming panicked scenes with his disarming charm and intimate way with people. But he is in full “one and only Kenney” mode tonight. All he’s missing is the outdated velour tracksuit and chunky Bluetooth earpiece. It’s like Daddy is remoting in through Zach’s brain.
“I’m just asking a question. I’m allowed. If I can’t be myself in my home with my family, where can I truly speak what’s on my mind? Feel me, Owen?”
“If you’re asking me about the lack of pretense among family, I’m afraid I am the wrong person to back you up there.”
Owen’s joke doesn’t land. Way too soon to try and pal around with Zach. Owen tries again.
“Notwithstanding, your sentiments are clear and I understand completely. And I will happily answer your question. I did not look at things this way, but now that you mention it, I can see why you’re suspicious. I wish my brother nothing but the best in life, and I don’t see his happiness as something to begrudge, or, as you say, one-up.”
“There, Zach, are you satisfied?” I ask.
“It’s not about my satisfaction,” Zach replie
s. “It’s about my curiosity. Like, for example, how did you two even meet?”
Instead of calling off Zach, the family attack dog, my mom and stepdad seem to lean in closer.
I tell them about our library confessional and the accidentally swapped cell phones, but that’s it.
“You see, remember when I was worried you wouldn’t find a friend on campus? I told you God listens to a mother’s prayer.” Ma points a crisp slice of bell pepper at me.
“All right, how about we all take a seat at the table?” says John, his palms rubbing in anticipation. “Dinner’s ready. Owen, we’ll set a place for you.”
This is when I’m expecting Owen to politely decline and apologize for not being able to stay. Instead he enthusiastically says, “That’s very kind of you. Thank you!”
I can only assume that (1) Owen wants to spend time with me at any cost, or (2) his security detail must not be getting paid by the hour. Flat rate is my guess. Still, Owen takes out his cell and makes a call to update whomever about his slightly extended stay.
“Colin?” I guess after he hangs up.
“I know he comes off intense, but he’s reasonable and supports my need for personal space,” says Owen while my family is distracted with a side squabble about proper utensil placement.
“That’s good,” I say.
“No, this is good,” Owen says low enough for only me to hear. From his subtle head nod to the general atmosphere, I take it he’s talking about this visit, this moment, this thing budding between us. My heart skips a beat.
Thank goodness everyone relaxes by the time we dig into John’s tasty crab cakes and sweet potato mash, which is served with an overflowing salad, a refreshing veggie smoothie (just made!), and as much veggie appetizer and dip to go around. It isn’t long before Ma continues her line of questions.
“There’s so much I’m dying to know!” Ma leans toward Owen. “Your brother Gideon is like this real-life Prince Charming that the ladies love, and he absolutely blew everyone away with his choice of fiancée.”
“Sadie is a very special person,” says Owen, nodding. “I’ve never seen my brother so happy.”
“And I can never forget his fiancée’s name is Sadie, because she is the spitting image of the singer Sade.” Ma has stars in her eyes. The rest of us have only heard her come to this name-twinning conclusion about a dozen times before, but we don’t show it. “Will she get a title?” Ma asks Owen.
“I suspect she’ll be given the title of Duchess, like my sister-in-law, Rose.”
“I used to be a Dutchess, you know,” says Ma. Everyone pauses chewing and stares at her. “Really! That was the name of my double Dutch squad in junior high.”
“And she can still jump today,” John says with pride. “Can’t you, babe?”
Ma’s face leans into John’s hand brushing her cheek.
“It’s gotta be cool having security looking out for you,” says Zach with zero conversation-segue game. “Like say, for example, some dudes try and jump you, do the security guys intervene?”
“Yes, they would.” Owen puts a little extra bass in his voice.
Is this about to be a pissing contest?
Ma and John are busy clearing the table and piling the dishes in the sink. Zach and I will load the dishwasher later.
“What if it’s just one person stepping to you?” Zach presses. “Do they let you handle it?” He narrows his eyes and takes ahold of the toothpick in his mouth. “Like, a man-to-man situation. I would think you could take care of that yourself, no?”
Goodness gracious. “We’ll be hanging out back if anyone needs us.” I get up from the table and motion to Owen to join me.
“No disrespect—just asking.” Zach chuckles and leans back in his chair, mischief creasing the corners of his eyes.
“Mmm-hmm.” I throw him shade on our way out.
The screened porch overlooking our small backyard is a lot more peaceful than the family room area, which faces the street. And it’s private, thanks to a leafy covering that neighbors can’t peek through during this time of the year. Owen and I sit a few inches apart on the cushioned wicker couch.
“Your family is amazing,” says Owen.
“Sorry about my brother’s third degree.” I roll my eyes.
“He’s just doing his job.”
“That’s one way to put it,” I say. We’re silent in time to appreciate the whirring buzz of cicadas in surround sound like a Doppler effect. “So, how do you like Appleton?”
“I like it,” he answers without hesitation. “It’s a massive departure from the Halstead campus, and there’s this strong sense of community here that’s palpable. I felt it at the festival.”
“Our mayor is a super-smart woman who’s inspiring people to move back here after college to build up businesses and organizations,” I say, happy to talk about one of my favorite subjects.
Owen gives a soft chuckle and pivots to face me. “You could power this whole town with your enthusiasm right now.”
“It’s just exciting to me,” I say in a calmer tone, careful not to get carried away again.
“In Landerel, we strictly reserve that kind of emotion for football matches.”
“Oh, the entire world knows about your soccer games.” I widen my eyes and shake my head.
After our laughter dies down and we rub our splitting sides, Owen gets quiet. He turns serious, too.
“This is why I like hanging out with you so much,” he says. “I feel like I can be myself with you, and the things we do and say all come so easy.”
“Yeah,” I say in a quiet voice. “It was easy for me to lump everyone at Halstead into one lily-white package of privilege, maybe wrapped in a satin ribbon of bigotry. And, don’t get me wrong, I still do for the most part. But, it must be some kind of cosmic joke that I clicked with probably the one person who could out-privilege everyone.”
“Cosmic joke or no, please hold all laughter for what I’m about to ask you.” Owen looks like he’s been called to the principal’s office.
“Okay.”
“As you know, my brother Gideon is getting married in a few weeks. According to my family tradition, one must be accompanied by a special date when they’re a member of the wedding party, as I am.” He takes a breath. “From the first time I saw you, I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to ask you. And since our conversation this morning, I’m wondering if you might be interested. Zora Emerson, it would be an honor and a joy if you would be my date to my brother’s wedding. Will you accompany me?”
My eyes stretch wide, and my heart is trying to jump out of my chest. And my thoughts are racing.
“You don’t have to answer now,” he says.
“I’d—um, I’d love to hear more about it,” I manage to get out.
“How do you feel about dancing?” he asks.
“Dancing in public doesn’t make me nervous,” I say. I think about all the times Skye and I have drawn a crowd dancing at cookouts, weddings, house parties.
“How about dancing a waltz to classical music?”
“Oh, I see what you mean.”
Owen explains the details, and I can barely utter a word in response. I’m shocked by the idea of going to a royal wedding. In Landerel. Before I get overwhelmed by how I might pull off such a huge trip, Owen says his family would handle and make all the travel arrangements, down to where I’d be staying. They would even arrange for a dance instructor and stylist to get me prepared for the day.
Um, am I really hearing this? It sounds like I’d essentially be princess for a day. But I don’t know if I can accept or not. Saying yes to this invitation would put me on the world stage in a way that I don’t know if I want to be.
Owen stands up and holds out his hand to me. I take it and stand up so we’re face-to-face. He looks down at my hand he’s still holding.
“Zora, if you feel uncomfortable with any of this, I would understand if you decide not to accompany me.”
I blink a few times
as reality slowly seeps in.
“Thank you for saying that,” I say. “And thank you for the wedding invitation.”
Owen bows his head and kisses my hand. I wonder if I can pass that off to Skye as our first kiss. She would probably just roll her eyes.
“It is you I should be thanking, my lady,” says Owen, the memory imprint of his kiss still on my hand.
“Well, then, you’re welcome,” I say.
I curtsy and flick my wrist with a flourish.
“Am I welcome, really?” Owen’s hazel eyes are dancing again.
“Indeed you are, sir.”
“Welcome … to kiss you?”
“Indeed you are, sir,” I whisper. Owen closes the distance between us and bows his head closer.
It’s a kiss that starts with one soft, sweet peck, quickly followed by another. We look at each other and smile before taking a deeper dive with a tender kiss that lingers. We stay holding hands the whole time. A few seconds later, we pull back slowly.
“Well, uh—” says a clearly flustered Owen. A poor attempt to win back his chill. I’m not in any better shape. I wordlessly touch my cheeks to feel if they’re as warm as I sense they are.
Yup, that definitely counts as a first kiss.
I FIND Owen as soon as my classes end on Monday. I haven’t given him a solid yes or no answer on the wedding yet, but I’ve invited him to a live podcast taping this afternoon.
“Tell me about this podcast you love so much,” Owen says as we walk over. The taping is being held at a lecture hall right on campus.
“Well, the podcast is about innovative young people,” I explain. “They interview a different innovative young person every episode, but it’s always a surprise to the audience.”
“That sounds awesome,” Owen says, taking my hand. When we arrive, Owen comments that it’s a cool theater where no seat is a bad seat.
I don’t tell Owen, but I notice two guys down our row take an interest in us. The younger one looks like he’s got a lot to say about me, or maybe to me. Could it be because we’re an interracial couple? Could it be because he’s recognized Owen? I’m not sure. At one point, I catch the older guy he’s sitting with staring right at me.
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