by TJ Klune
“I was young,” she said, smiling quietly. “So sure I knew more than mamia as to the ways of my heart. And I knew that I’d already given my heart away to your father. That was never in question. From the moment I laid eyes on him, I was his and he was mine.”
“But?”
She shrugged. “But you can never be sure, Sam. No matter how hard you wish something to be so, there’s always going to be risk involved. I knew that if I followed him, I would be cast out from the roma. I would have the man I loved. I would lose my family. Or, I could stay with the roma and never see Joshua again. The choice was easy for me. Even if I didn’t know it was the right one at the time.”
“Now?” I asked.
She looked down at her flowers, fingers grazing along the petals. “Now,” she said. “Now I know it was the right choice. Hindsight can be a wonderful gift, Sam. Or a terrible curse.”
“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted. “I just…. Mom. I don’t know what to do.”
She reached out and took my hand in hers. She said, “Sam, I—”
I never got to hear what she would have said then, because we were interrupted as Ryan pushed through the low-hanging trees and stumbled into the rear garden. He looked harried, eyes wide, hands shaking. He saw my mother and me and took a step backward. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know anyone would be here. I’m sorry. I’ll just….” He turned, shoulders stiff, back toward the entrance.
“Ryan,” my mother said and he stopped. Took a great breath. And then another. And then another.
She asked, “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he said, though it wasn’t believable at all.
“You’re not fine,” she said with a frown. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m just tired. It’s been a long few weeks.”
“I can imagine.”
“Why are you here?” I blurted out.
He tensed even further but didn’t turn around. “I needed a place to go,” he said. “To get away. Just for a little while.”
“And you came here,” I said. “Because my mother showed you this place.”
“Yes,” he said.
“Good,” I said. “I hope it helps. Mom, I have to go.”
Now he turned. He said, “You don’t have to leave. You were here first. I can—”
“You need it more than I do,” I said. “It’s fine.”
“Sam,” my mother said. “Are you sure?”
I looked her in the eye and said, “Sometimes, you know what’s right, even when it hurts you the most. Just… keep him calm, okay? He doesn’t have… I don’t know. Sing him a song from mamia.”
She looked to her flowers and nodded.
I stood and went to pass Ryan. Of course, he reached out and grabbed my arm, fingers curling around my bicep. I didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at me. But he held on tight, his body a solid, warm line against mine.
He said, “You don’t have to go.”
“I think I do,” I said.
He said, “I don’t want you to go.”
I said, “And that’s why I have to.”
“Sam.”
“Stay here,” I told him. “Listen to my mother. She will keep you safe for now.”
I pulled away, and Ryan let me go.
I didn’t look back as I fled.
My lightning-struck heart thundered in my chest.
I never asked what they spoke about.
TWO DAYS later, my dad said, “I like getting drunk with you,” the noise of the tavern rolling all around us.
I grinned at him, knocking our beers together. “And I like getting drunk with you.” Though, I wasn’t anywhere near as drunk as he was. Apparently, the stout he’d been slamming back was pretty strong.
“I’m so glad we had you,” he said, his smile a little sloppy. “So glad you’re what came out of me and your mom.”
“Dad. Gross. What the hell.”
“Right, right. Sorry. You know I don’t drink very often.”
“You’re such a lightweight.”
He scowled at me. “I am not. I’m a big man. A huge man! That’s what your mother says.”
“Dad!”
He grimaced. “Sorry, sorry. It’s the beer.”
“Yeah, maybe no more beer for you.”
“You touch my beer, I’ll make sure Kevin is your new dad.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me, spawn of my loins.”
I didn’t touch his beer.
“Now,” he said. “Man-to-man talk.”
I took a long drink because I needed it for whatever was going to come out of his mouth. “All right,” I said after I’d drained my mug and signaled for a refill. “Hit me.”
“You love Ryan.”
Wow. “You sure didn’t ease into that one.”
His nose wrinkled in disgust. “I mention Ryan and you talking about easing into things? Sam, there are some things a father should never know.”
“Oh my gods.”
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he said. “You know I don’t care who or what you ease into, as long as it’s consenting.”
“Oh my gods. What do you mean who or what?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t discriminate. You put it where you want. Ryan. A fairy. A tree.”
“Oh for the love of—”
“Sam!”
“What!”
“You love him.”
I sighed. “Yeah. I guess I do.”
“And he loves you.”
“Maybe. Not enough, apparently.”
“Fuck him.”
“That was the whole idea and why did I just say that to you!”
“I know about sex, Sam,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Your mother and I—”
“If you love me, you will not finish that sentence.”
He closed his mouth.
“I love you too,” I said, patting his hand.
“I just don’t like it when you’re sad,” he said. “And you’ve been sad for a while now.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess. But isn’t that all part of growing up? Your first isn’t always going to be your last.”
“It was for me,” he said, “and I want it to be for you.”
That stung and made me feel warm all at the same time. I was so happy my parents found each other like they did. “It’s okay, Dad. I’ll figure it out. I always do.”
He reached up and grabbed the back of my neck, pulling me until our foreheads touched. “There’s someone out there for you,” he said. “Someone who will love your hair and your words and your eyes and the way you still scrunch up your nose when you’re thinking hard on something. He will love you for all of the things that you are and all of the things you aren’t. He’ll love you beyond all reason and will be convinced that you hung the sun and moon. He will see the stars and wish for only you. Someone will love every single part of who you are, and my gods, I can’t wait for the day to meet him to tell him thank you.”
“Yeah?” I asked hoarsely.
He squeezed my neck. “Yeah.”
And I believed him because he was my father and he would never lie to me about such things.
He pulled away, smiled at me. And then the smile slid away and his eyes narrowed. “You,” he snarled.
“Eep,” I said, sure my father had lost his mind.
But he wasn’t looking at me. His gaze was over my shoulder, and before I could turn around, he was reaching past me and grabbing hold of someone. I felt them collide with my back and I almost fell off my stool at the bar. Whoever my father had a hold of was dragged around me as my father stood.
It was Ryan.
Because of course it was.
“I am so not up for this right now,” I groaned. The barkeep looked like he was about to intervene, but I just waved him away. “It’s cool. Just my dad and my… Ryan.” Wait. “Not that he’s my Ryan or anything. He’s his own Ryan. Nobody else’s. Except for maybe
the Prince. Yes. That is the Prince’s Ryan and my dad and everything is cool.”
Everything was not cool.
My dad was furious. (And drunk.)
Ryan looked resigned to whatever fate my father would bestow upon him.
I was sure this would end in bloodshed, one way or another.
So imagine my surprise when instead of kicking Ryan’s ass, my father pulled up another stool, sat Ryan down between us, and ordered him one of the regional beers on tap.
All in the space of about five seconds.
“I don’t even question things anymore,” I said.
“Good,” my dad said. “It’ll make things easier.” He turned his glare back at Ryan. “Now you will sit here. You will drink this beer. And you will be happy about it.”
Ryan drank his beer without question.
“Now,” my father said. “What are you doing here?”
“Besides following me,” I said.
“I’m not following you,” he said weakly.
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m not!”
“So you just happened to be in the same place that I am. Again.”
“Maybe you’re following me!”
“Yeah, because I have so many reasons to want to see your stupid face.”
“Oh please. You think my face is delicious.”
“Children!” Dad barked at both of us.
We were sufficiently cowed.
“Ryan, you will tell me why you’re here,” he said. “Sam, you will let him speak, and then, when he’s finished, you may resume your back and forth that is supposed to be snarky banter but is in actuality snarky foreplay.”
“Dad!”
“More stout please,” my father said to the barkeep. “I’m going to need it with these two idiots.”
“No more for him,” I said. “He’s cut off.”
“You’re cut off,” Dad said as the barkeep filled his mug.
“You guys are so related,” Ryan said.
“Shut up,” I said. “We are not.” Then, “Wait. Yes we are. But shut up.”
“Are you drunk?” he asked, sounding amused.
“No.” I was. “I’m not at all.” I was pleasantly buzzed. “Sober as a kitten.”
“Sometimes,” my dad said, “you don’t make sense when you speak, but that’s okay because I love you anyway.”
I said, “I make sense. And I love you too.”
“Regional beers are awesome beers,” he said, taking another drink. “Now. Ryan. Speak.”
“He’s not a dog,” I grumbled. “Mostly.”
“It’s my bachelor party,” Ryan said. “Next door at the hotel.”
“Ah,” Dad said. “And how is that working out for you?”
“Okay, I guess,” he said, looking down at his hands. “I had to get out of there for a bit.”
“Uh-huh.”
I was annoyed, and I couldn’t quite figure out why. “Why wasn’t I invited?” I said, sounding sufficiently outraged.
Ryan snapped his gaze up to mine. “Would you have even gone?”
“Well, no. But still. Semantics. And rude.”
“I wanted to invite you,” Ryan said. “But I chickened out. It’s mostly just knights. Some army buddies.”
“That’s….” I didn’t know what that was. So I decided on “Weird.”
“You make me weird,” he grumbled.
“Were there strippers?” Dad asked sympathetically. “Strippers also make things weird.”
“My dad is a lightweight,” I explained.
“This much is true,” Dad said.
“So,” Ryan said, “pretty much like you, then.” I thought I saw the hint of a smile.
I rolled my eyes at him. “No. I can handle my booze.”
“I’ve seen you handle your booze. That’s not handling.”
“No reminiscing,” I warned him. “That’ll just make me leave faster.”
That almost smile disappeared. He looked away again. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Okay.”
“Both of you shut up,” my dad said. “Because I’m about to lay some truth on you.”
“This is probably going to be awkward,” I told Ryan.
“I’m used to your family’s awkwardness,” he said and his knee touched mine briefly.
“So much foreplay,” my dad grumbled. “Okay. Truth time. You ready?”
“Bring it, Pops.”
“You,” Dad said, pointing at Ryan a little unsteadily, “are a fucking dick.”
“Whoa,” Ryan said.
“Dude,” I breathed. “That’s my dad.”
“And you,” Dad said, pointing at me, “are pretty damn awesome.”
“Ha!” I said.
“But you’re also a fucking dick.”
“Hey!”
“S’true,” Dad said. “And what do you get when you put two fucking dicks together?”
“I don’t know if I like where this is going,” I said.
“Absolutely nothing because you’re choosing to be fucking dicks instead of fucking each other’s dicks!”
“Dude,” I said. “What.”
“He is so your father,” Ryan said, sounding rather awed.
“Truth time, boys,” Dad said. “Life is all about chances. It’s all about these little moments that add up to greatness. And there are times when you have to grab greatness by the balls and say, ‘Hey! Greatness! I’ve got your nuts and you can’t do a single godsdamn thing about it!’”
“This is going in a direction I did not expect,” I said.
“I am mercurial,” Dad said.
“Oooh,” I said. “Word porn.”
“You’re being stupid,” Dad said to Ryan. “So fucking stupid. You have the chance. The little moments. The greatness. You just need to grab some balls and never let go.”
“I don’t know quite what you’re telling me to do,” Ryan admitted.
“I don’t think anyone does,” I said.
“You’ll figure it out,” Dad said. “Now. My son is going to take me home so my wife can yell at me for getting drunk and pretend to fight off my advances even though we both know that old-people sex is awesome sex.”
Gods. “So many lines have been crossed,” I groaned.
“Do you guys need help or….” Ryan looked unsure.
I shook my head. “Go back to your party. I’m sure they’re missing you.”
I didn’t look at him again before I grabbed my father and fled.
When we got to the street, I put my arm around my father’s waist and said, “That hangover you’re going to have tomorrow? Penance, my friend. Pure, magnificent penance. And I shall be there with bells on. Literal bells.”
My dad just laughed and laughed.
TWO DAYS before the wedding, I stood in the throne room, watching as the King regally posed next to a stained-glass window. I had the easel set up a few feet away from him as I studied him closely, wanting to make sure I got his likeness just right.
“Oops,” I said.
“Oops,” the King said. “What oops?”
“Okay, so, how would you feel if you looked like you had boobs?”
“Is that a hypothetical question?”
“Hypothetically… no. More like that’s what I painted somehow and will now be a part of the finished product because I don’t know how to fix it. Nor do I know if I want to.”
“Am I busty?”
“Very. You also have three of them.”
“Good. Proceed.”
“Excellent,” I said, putting more puce on the canvas, because if there was one thing the world needed more of, it was puce. “I am such a good painter.”
“Well,” the King said. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“You should hire me to do all the royal paintings.”
“I could never ask of you such a thing. For all our sakes.”
“I should teach others how to paint.”
“The arts would weep at such a thought.”
“Oops,” I said.
“Oops?”
“So, hypothetically. Okay, that was a lie. It’s not hypothetical. I painted you to be as big as the Great White and you’re destroying Meridian City like a giant monster. My muse is obviously a surrealist and I must follow her into the artistic abyss.”
“Am I breathing fire?”
My eyes widened. “You could be. I have so much puce.”
“Make it so.”
He let me focus for a while, the sounds of the castle bright and loud around us. The throne room looked immaculate, banners hung and chandeliers polished. Many had thought the wedding would happen in the church, but apparently Ryan had refused, saying he didn’t follow any specific religion. I didn’t know what, if any, arguments had come from that, but it didn’t matter in the long run. One, I didn’t care (mostly). And two, the King had agreed to host the wedding in the throne room, followed by the biggest ball of the season. It would be a magical day for all those involved.
And unfortunately, I was a part of that magic.
I didn’t have to do much. My job was to stand up in front and look pretty next to Morgan and keep my mouth shut. The King would speak, and Randall would speak, and then the ceremony would happen and everyone would live happily ever after.
I might have put far more puce than was actually necessary.
The King must have seen my artistic outlet for what it was and asked, “Are you okay, Sam?”
“Of course,” I said.
“I’ve known you a long time.”
“You have,” I agreed.
“I know you very well. Better than most.”
“You do.”
“I’m glad you agree. So then maybe you can also agree that I can tell when you’re lying.”
“Drama king,” I muttered.
He turned to look at me.
“Stop moving!” I snapped at him. “You’ll ruin the painting and no one will forgive you because this is a masterpiece that will be treasured for generations.”
“Normally, I would only feel the need to encourage any pursuit you feel is necessary,” he said. “I don’t know that art is one of them.”
“You say that only because you haven’t seen this yet.”
“How many breasts do I have in your painting?”
“Three.”
“And how many do I have in real life?”
“What? You don’t have any—oh, I see what you did there. It’s called artistic license.”