by Xavier Neal
“Like Kenningstons know when to hold ‘em and know when to fold ‘em.”
“Did you really just quote Kenny Rogers at me?”
“I did and I’m going to start singing it loudly, if you don’t start walking towards that exit.”
She lowers her eyebrows skeptically.
At the sight of my mouth cracking open, she spins on her heels, and makes her way towards the exit.
I glance over my shoulder and lock eyes with my father. He gives me a nod of approval at my decision to leave before tossing back the rest of what was in his glass.
Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll have an in-depth discussion over this later and I’ll profusely apologize for everything he’s going to lose in his pursuit of putting his family first. That man you just witnessed, the one who stood up for what he believed was right, the one who spoke with power when defending the defenseless, the one who dictated what shall be written about our family, that is the man my mother married. That is the father I used to enjoy watching lacrosse games with me. That is the man I want standing next to my brother at my wedding.
I shove my hand in my suit pocket and lean against the door frame to my father’s office. “What’s the damage?”
He looks over at me from where he’s sitting on the couch. “Well, I lost three new investment opportunities and have been more or less banned from the brunches.”
My face cringes. “Ouch.”
“Your brother on the other hand, did receive a new donor. A large one actually. I forget his first name, but his last name is Delacourt. His wife recently had a lump in her breast. It was benign, thankfully, but it got him wondering about if it wasn’t. He had been looking for places to donate to and he settled on Kristopher and Soph’s foundation. He admired their dedication to their cause but it was their unwillingness to sacrifice what is right to get ahead, that he was more impressed with.”
I mumble, “At least someone benefits from it.”
“Their children will,” he says, having heard my comment. “Your children will.” There’s a small pause before he adds, “My children will.”
After shutting the door behind me, I slowly enter the room. Compelled by guilt and gratitude alike, I begin, “Father-”
“Don’t.” He lifts a hand to end the apology. “Don’t even consider it, Kellan. You have no reason to walk in here and apologize.” My father has another sip of the copper colored liquid in his glass, and diverts his attention back to the roaring fire. For a long stretch of time he sits there tensely and simply stares. Just as I prepare to try to speak again, he states, “I hate those bloody brunches.”
Did you see anything to love about them?
“I hate most of the people,” he continues the conversation to himself as much as to me. “I hate the man I’ve become. I hate that when your mother died it was easier to jet away than to deal with trying to navigate life without her. I hate how they wouldn’t allow me to grieve her death. I hate how I had to smile in faces and immediately return to the life of an aristocrat before her body had even settled.” A tear tries to find a place in his eyes and he brushes it away. Afterwards he turns to me. “I’m sick of being this person. I’m tired of oppressing traditions, stifling formalities, and having to live in fear of other people’s opinions. It is one thing to show an entire country that there is value in being respectful of one another’s views and customs, but it is an absolute other to be controlled by it. You were right when you declared the world is changing. And I truly do want the Kenningstons to be a part of that. If that means we no longer attend brunches or balls then so be it. Perhaps it’s time the world notices the good we’re trying to give it rather than the greed it assumes we’re causing in it.”
My hands drop down onto the back of the couch. “I completely support that.”
“As my son or as a member of the country?”
“Both.”
He tries to grin.
“That man you were earlier today, that was my father. That was the man I grew up respecting.”
To my surprise, he whispers, “That’s the man I should’ve been all along.”
I take a moment to collect my scattered thoughts. “You know, when Brie left me, and I returned home, I was in more agony than I ever knew possible. Completely broken. Beside myself-”
“I was there.”
Shh. Having a revelation here.
“I wasn’t even sure who I was or if I would matter again. It was as if a piece of my soul had been stolen and I had no idea if I was even alive anymore.” Leaning my elbows down onto the edge of the couch, I shake my head. “I felt like that after only being apart from her for hours. I can’t imagine having to live like that for years, or in your case as you’ve come to declare it, a lifetime.”
His voice seems clogged with tears. “I will never love anyone else, Kellan.”
“I believe that,” I quietly acknowledge. “And knowing an inkling of the pain you’ve been through doesn’t justify the shit relationship we’ve experienced, but it does allow for a new foundation for a better one.”
He nods, the constant sniffling, trying to bring out my own tears.
Ugh. It’s like someone rubbed an onion in our eyes.
“Mom wouldn’t want you to be this unhappy. She always wanted what was best for you. What was best for us. She’d want what was best for her grandchildren…your grandchildren. She’d want you to remember to live with purpose rather than obligation. Death comes too quickly not to enjoy the time we’ve been allowed to have. Her death carved that into my spirit.”
A tear finally falls from his face. The sight shifts something inside of me that’s been dormant for over a decade.
After our ‘family meeting’ that allowed me to go after Brie, not much had changed. He was still distant. I was still defiant. It’s my nature. But now…Now I think we’ve got the opportunity to be better than we were. To rebuild the family we lost with new members who deserve us fighting together rather than against each other. We deserve a second chance as father and son. I hope we survive it.
I swallow the clump of tears in my throat and swiftly attempt to sway the subject. “So, since we’re tossing out traditions, any chance we can change the rules about my wedding?”
He tilts his head to the side in question.
“Brie is absolutely miserable. This entire thing has been a nightmare for her. From the showers to the brunches to dealing with Cassandra. I honestly am surprised she even still wants to marry me.”
“She probably doesn’t,” he playfully counters.
Impressed at his light heartedness, I chuckle. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
We exchange another grin. I link my fingers together and state, “I don’t want her to remember the day our life began as husband and wife to be the day she couldn’t wait to be over.”
“Again, she’s marrying you so…”
Two for two. Ha. See where I truly get it?
“I’m serious,” I declare, trying not laugh. “Brie’s giving up so much to be here with us. Plus, she’s basically sacrificed her sanity to stand at our side and be relentlessly humiliated. She deserves her dream wedding. Not the one being dictated for her to have.”
He gives me a crooked smirk. “You’ve always been the one to go against what’s expected. Do what you think is best…”
His open invitation to go against the grain slides a matching smile onto my face.
Why do you look afraid? It’s not like we’re going to get married at Balloon Bust or something…She is more than welcome to have her dream wedding as long as she promises not to turn my custom designed tux into a tablecloth.
I adjust the pillow under my head just as Kellan states, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”
One of my eyelids opens to see him beaming down at me. “Why are you quoting MLK at me? It’s not black history month…You guys don’t even have black history month.”
His infamous grin grows wider. “We might s
ince you will be the first black princess and that’s a historical event.”
My eyes start shut again. “Why are you being loud and crazy this early? We had a long day yesterday.”
After the brunch, which apparently took place in 1930, we fooled around in the back of the limo and then had hamburgers, fries, and milkshakes in it. When we were finished, we stopped to grab me a pair of comfortable shoes before heading to the zoo where we spent the afternoon admiring the animals and making out like teenagers on a field trip. By the time we got home, I barely had enough energy to shower. Kellan took it upon himself to help me with the task, along with making sure I had enough orgasms to keep me knocked out for the night. Swear his dick is the best dose of a sleep aid I could ever ask for.
He dramatically clears his throat, which pops my eyes back open.
Rolling over, I drag myself up, put on my glasses, and lean against the headboard.
“Oh, you’re up now?”
My eyes lower to an annoyed state.
Kellan flops onto the edge of the bed beside me, pulls his phone out, and begins to read, “Honor and Justice Are Not Dead. Article by Nancy Therland.”
Great. The brunette who looks like an off-brand Holly Hunter.
“While I was sitting at the DeLeMure’s annual fall brunch, waiting for my champagne to be refilled, I witnessed the most appalling yet most miraculous scene. A well-known family of our great country, cruelly ripped apart a young woman for merely having a different skin color. The older woman viciously attacked unprovoked. She spat each word with such ire I began to question what time-period we had fallen back into. She scolded the young woman for crimes she hadn’t committed, stereotypes she didn’t represent, and lastly for not being a good match to an outdated society. By the time she finished, I was seething almost as intensely as her fiancé who was stunned silent. It was at this point, his father, the great King of our country, Kenneth Kenningston, stood up for his daughter in law to be. He defended his family and his future family, from an unnecessary hatred. Within a few short sentences he reminded me of the profound words spoken by the African American Civil Rights Leader from the United States, Martin Luther King Jr. “An injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” If this young woman, a princess to be, was being ridiculed and mocked for simply being born to a different heritage and it was an acceptable behavior condoned by those of the upper-class who lead us, than how would the average citizen of Doctenn be treated in their presence? How much are we valued? What is our worth to them? From what I gathered, to those who were not our beloved King, not much. I watched during the brunch as Prince Kellan and his fiancé, Brie Sanders, suffered being shunned. Mocked. Ignored. The entire process was heart shattering to watch yet they never cowered. They never put their heads down. They handled each feat with grace and dignity. That afternoon, when King Kenneth made a stand against the bigotry being blasted, he stood for more than just his family, he stood for all us. He proved honor for the people of this country, great and small, is not something that will be compromised simply because someone else commands it. He proved this country is not small minded and still nestled in the dark ages. He proved it is possible for us to stand in the light. We may stand in the face of adversity. We may stand up for who or what we believe in because life is more than overpriced brunches and expensive cocktail dresses. It is about family. It is about unity. It is about love and preserving it no matter the shape it comes in.” At the end of the article, Kellan’s blue eyes are shimmering. He pins me with a proud smile. “The comments on the thread of this article are all in your favor. People are outraged how you were mistreated. And for the first time in the history of Doctenn, people think me and my father are saints.”
I smile brightly, but tease, “You would be the first saint kicked out of the saint’s club…”
He shrugs. “But at least I was there.”
The two of us share a laugh. Kellan sighs, “While I hated being at the thing every minute, I am very thankful I was there with you.”
My lips lift higher.
All of a sudden there’s a knock on the door. He promptly gets up, tosses his phone on the bedside table, and crosses over to answer it. After a polite exchange of words, he shuts the door holding a breakfast tray.
Skeptical of the action, especially post article reading, I carefully watch as he places it down in my lap. I tug the sheet up to cover my chest at the same time he removes the lid to reveal, bacon, pastries, and scrambled eggs.
I lift my attention up to him. “What are you buttering me up for?”
His smile returns. “Nothing. When I want to butter you up, I use actual butter.”
Fair point. I’ve learned when there’s truly terrible news at breakfast it’s typically bacon and waffles with extra syrup and butter. But this is still suspicious…
I reach for a piece of bacon. “You’re not going to eat anything?”
“I had an early breakfast with Kristopher. He wanted to tell me about the donor they acquired yesterday.”
“That’s wonderful! I’m glad something good came out of it. You know, aside from making you and your father look like Mr. Incredible and Dash.”
“I am dashing.”
Between bites, I shake my head. “No, he isn’t dashing. He’s Dash. Like he’s fast.”
“Is this a film you’re referencing?”
Please note he is also not allowed to be in charge of making sure our children watch the correct Disney movies.
Brushing him off, I coo, “I’m glad they got a donor. How many more do they need to replace what’s been lost over the last couple of months?”
“They don’t. They’re actually like me, above the water with a little room to grow.”
A smile helplessly falls onto my face.
“But speaking of growing, Kristopher went out drinking last night with an old university mate in town and they ran into someone else we apparently went to school with us who is interested in being a partner for building the first orphanage.”
I try to gasp and swallow at the same time choking in the process.
Idiot! I know! I’m just so excited! Can you believe it!?
He gives my leg a comforting soothe while watching me down milk to help the process. Once I’m finished he adds, “They want to fund the entire thing but discuss details and such.”
“Do you know who this old classmate is? Do you remember them?”
Kellan pauses as if the question is valid. “You know, I honestly didn’t get the chance to ask him. He told me he’d arrange a meeting for next week then rushed off to Soph who wasn’t feeling too great.”
A sympathetic sound escapes between chocolate crepe filled bites. “She okay now?”
“That was about twenty minutes ago, so I haven’t a clue.” When he sees the worry continue, he insists, “We’ll check on them later. I’m sure she just needs some rest.”
Probably. The brunch was long and taxing and I’m not even pregnant. I hate to imagine the hell she’s facing.
“I’d like you to attend it with us.”
The request almost causes another piece of bacon to uncomfortably wedge itself. As soon as I’ve safely swallowed, I ask, “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he insists. “And…I’d like you to be the art teacher, if you’re interested.”
My mouth twitches to reply yet nothing comes out.
Me? An art teacher? Like a real one? I’d be lying to say I hadn’t bounced the idea around given what we’ve been doing at his programs and the hospital when we pop in for a visit, but teaching an actual class? I don’t know…Maybe?
“No pressure,” Kellan immediately adds. “Regardless if that’s what you want to do or something else, I’d still like you at the meeting with us. You are a valued member of the MINOH program and its current changing design. You’ve made a difference in so many of the children’s spirits. You’re also going to be my wife. I want you at my side while I make life altering decisions.”
Awe spreads throug
hout me. “Of course I’ll be there.”
I place the tray containing my half-eaten meal to his empty side of the bed, lean forward, and plant a chocolate flavored kiss on his lips. It’s light yet he releases a thoroughly pleased hum. “You taste like chocolate.”
“You taste like coffee.”
“Latte.”
The correction causes me to playfully push him away.
Some things will never change.
Kellan captures my ring hand, delivers a kiss to it, and says, “Now, I have a question for you.”
“You know I’m naked under this.”