New York City, USA
March 2011
There's lots that I could say
"You know, I keep thinking that one day, I will get used to this abomination you call 'coffee', but then I drink it again and find that it tastes as revolting as ever," Ken states from where he's leaning against the kitchen counter, pensively turning his coffee cup in his hands.
"It's supposed to wake you up," I answer with a shrug. "It does that at a reasonable price. Taste is secondary."
The look he casts my way is decidedly dubious, making me smile. Out of the corner of my eye, I see George jump up on the bed beside me and start to knead the blanket with gusto. When I reach out a hand to stroke his head, his hitherto soft purring immediately intensifies.
"You might let me bring you a proper coffee machine," Ken suggests, grimacing slightly as he swallows a mouthful of instant coffee. "For my use, if not for yours."
George rubs his head against my fingers and I move them slightly to better scratch his ears. Humming in thought at Ken's suggestion, I deliberately take a moment to answer. "Hmm… no, I don't think so."
"You're just saying that to be contrary, aren't you?" he asks with a laugh.
"Well, Marilla is said to derive from Mary," I answer modestly. "It's all in the name, really."
He raises an eyebrow, but his eyes twinkle in amusement. "Also have a little lamb, do you? Or a black sheep, even?"
Scrunching up my nose, I shake my head firmly. "No, and I am indignant at the suggestion. Sheep smell. We don't like sheep, do we, Georgie?"
George purrs in agreement.
Ken, watching us over his coffee cup, shakes his head slightly, but his lips are raised in a smile. I grin up at him and his smile widens. Putting down his cup on the kitchen counter, he comes over to where George and I are curled up on the bed and sits down on the edge of it, careful to keep his already shod feet firmly on the ground.
For a second or two, he studies my face and just when I start to squirm slightly, he raises a hand to tap my nose and announces, "Beloved."
I blink. "Come again?"
"Mary. It means 'beloved', I think. Or else, just 'love'," he elaborates.
"Well… I guess I'm going to have to take your word for it," I reply slowly, not quite sure where he's going with this.
He, however, first takes another moment just to look at me, causing me to shift slightly on the bed. (Which, in turn, dislodges George, who has just mastered a very acrobatic pose in an attempt to groom his hindquarters. Unsurprisingly, he responds to such rough treatment with his most withering of glances.)
"I don't want to get all soppy about this," Ken finally states, his expression now serious, "but since we've had our share of misunderstandings recently, I also want it to be clear. I meant what I said last night. About loving you."
Evidently, the socially accepted response to this would be 'I love you, too', but somehow, I instead find my lips forming the words, "Not just a ploy to get into my bed, then?"
"No." Ken shakes his head. "I mean, it's not really like I ever needed a ploy to achieve that either, is it?" The seriousness is gone from his features, to be replaced with an expression that can only be called teasing.
When I give him my haughtiest of looks in response (almost haughty enough to rival George), he just laughs, reaching out to cradle my face with one hand and giving me a kiss. A kiss that, when I curl my fingers into the collar of his shirt, turns quite a bit more intense than he probably intended. Still, it's not like he's complai–
"Hey!" Abruptly, Ken draws backwards.
A bit dazedly, I blink at him, needing just a second too long to realise what fostered his protest.
George, apparently done with being ignored, has deserted his grooming spot, sitting instead very close to both of us, one paw raised and a single claw lodged into the sleeve of Ken's shirt. When I raise an eyebrow at him, he merely inclines his head slightly to the side, giving me a long blink, the very picture of righteousness.
Ken, meanwhile, looks from the claw to George to me and back to the claw. "Help?" he asks, sounding a little lost as how to deal with the situation.
Deftly, I reach forward to get hold of the paw and work the claw out of Ken's shirt, ignoring both George's wiggling and his protesting meow. The moment I release the paw, he turns his back, jumping off the bed and stalking over to the window, throwing me a hiss over his shoulder for good measure.
"The original Rum Tum Tugger," I declare affectionately as I watch him exit through the specially secured cat flap that Eeyore installed for him after my protest.
For he will do as he do do, indeed.
"Like in the musical?" Ken asks. "I took Ted and Pers to see the final West End performance back in… 2001 or 2002?"
"Like in the T. S. Eliot poem," I correct. "You don't really think George would ever accept being associated with humans dressed as singing cats in tights, do you?"
Laughing, he shakes his head. "No, not really. My bad."
"Oh, it's alright. I love you anyway." Because suddenly, the words are the easiest in the world to say.
My reward is a most dazzling smile, followed shortly by a kiss that is soft and sweet and ever so loving.
"I'm certainly glad we're on the same page on this," Ken remarks as he brushes some hair off my face.
"So am I," I agree, because really, I am. Very much so.
"Good. And do we also agree that you'll be telling your sisters today? About the two of us?" he adds with a nod towards my laptop, sitting next to my legs and waiting for our weekly Skype call. (Ken, of course, knows all about these. Mindful of how my skipping them would make my sisters suspicious, I've stuck to them all these months – for the most part. Still, Ken knows enough to be expected to be turfed out for an hour or two every Sunday morning.)
Letting my own gaze drift towards the still silent laptop, I feel a strange reluctance rise within me. "Ah, you know…" I begin, trying to stall, as I attempt to figure out whether I do, in fact, agree with him.
"No," he answers, looking somewhat curious. "I don't know. Tell me?" While he speaks, he laces our fingers together carefully.
I blow out a long breath, my free hand rising to twist the circle charm of my necklace. "I don't have to tell them, I guess. I mean, I dislike the lying, but I also totally see your point about needing this to stay secret. I can go a while longer while keeping it quiet. There's no use rushing it, is there?"
He frowns, obviously confused. (Can't say I blame him.) "But no use delaying it either," he points out. "And there's no need to keep our relationship from your sisters either. I mean, it's not exactly shouting it from the rooftops, so I think we'll be fine. Or are you saying we can't trust them?"
Quickly, I shake my head. "No, that's not it. If I ask them to keep mum about it, they will."
"Well, that sounds good, doesn't it?" he asks with a shrug. "So, tell them. I don't mind. I heard you last night and I understand that it's important for you to be honest with your family."
"Not that important," I immediately respond. "For us, I can keep it to myself. I have Mum to talk to, don't I?"
Ken leans forward a little to study my face. "We're good. You say your sisters are trustworthy, so there's no reason not to tell them. I genuinely and very sincerely think you should go for it. Unless… unless you have another reason for not wanting to tell them about us?" The last of which is accompanied by a raised eyebrow.
Feeling frustrated, I purse my lips and rock backwards slightly. "No reason. But you're saying it like it's easy."
"What is?" he asks, still obviously fairly nonplussed
"It isn't. That's the whole point," I clarify. "I mean, how am I even supposed to tell them? 'Good to catch up and by the way, have I told you about how I am dating the future King of sodding England?' They'd think I raided Shirley's secret stash of pot!"
Then, realising what I just said, I quickly add, "It's recreational. Or so he says, anyway."
Ken, however, just shrugs. "I'm not judging. But as to that other question… if I weren't who am I, would you already have told your sisters?"
"Weeks ago," I confirm, if somewhat reluctantly.
"And you feel uncomfortable about lying to them?" His gaze, now, is inquiring in a way that makes me raise my shoulders slightly.
"Yes. I guess so," I admit anyway.
Ken nods slowly. "In that case, how about we –"
He gets no further though, for in that exact moment, my laptop springs to life, announcing an incoming Skype call. I, feeling somewhat relieved at having this particular conversation cut short, quickly give him an apologetic smile and reach over the accept the call.
Thing is, it's not like I want to continue this charade. But much as I tried, I haven't yet come up with a way of saying 'I'm dating a prince', without it sounding like I am completely off my rocker. I doubt I'm going to be having a brainwave during this particular call.
Not looking at Ken, I stretch out my legs in front of me and balance the laptop on my knees. On the screen, I can see a somewhat tired looking Di next to a very upbeat Joy. Nan's nowhere to be seen yet.
"I wish you the loveliest of mornings, littlest sister," Joy greets me cheerfully. Di merely yawns heartily.
I open my mouth to reply, but another voice beats me to it.
Ken's voice.
"That'd be my cue then," he declares and gets up from the bed, only to briefly bend down again to drop a kiss on my shoulder, exposed by the baggy sweatshirt I'm wearing.
"See you later?" he adds, but gives me no time to reply, instead turning to look directly at the camera and nod politely at my sisters. "Good morning."
Says it and straightens again, crossing the apartment in large steps, grabbing coat and helmet as he passes, and slipping through the door without so much as a backwards glance. All in all, it took him less than fifteen seconds.
Very slowly, I turn my eyes back on the screen. Joy stares at me, mouth agape, obviously utterly gobsmacked. Di is yawning again.
Nervously lacing my fingers together, I watch as Joy closes and opens her mouth several times, a frown etched between her brows, obviously clamouring for words. "Rilla, sweetest…" she says weakly. "Is that… was that…?"
She leaves the question unfinished and I don't have it in me to help her out, instead just sitting there mutely and clenching my hands together.
Changing tracks, Joy calls out Di's name in an authoritarian voice, causing Di to startle into attention. Shaking her head like a wet dog, she grumbles, "I'm here. No need to shout."
"Did you just see what I saw?" Joy demands, barely lowering the volume of her voice.
Di sighs heavily. "Rilla got herself a new piece of man candy. Good for her. It doesn't warrant all that shouting though." (It's probably neither here nor there, but… might someone be having a bit of a hangover?)
"Uh-huh," makes Joy. "And did that 'piece of man candy' remind you of anyone?"
Blinking confusedly at the screen, Di slowly shakes her head. "Was it anyone we know?" she asks.
Now Joy's the one sighing. "Where is Nan when I need her?" she mutters, exasperated.
"I'm sure she'll be joining us soon," Di supplies helpfully, though she only succeeds in making Joy glare briefly at the right side of her screen. A second later, her eyes move to the left and just like that, I know that I'm back in focus.
"Alright, Rilla. I'm going to assume that you found yourself a very good lookalike version of… well, you know who," she states, obviously choosing her words with caution.
I swallow heavily. Dimly, I register Di's brow knitting into a frown of confusion as she mumbles, "What's Harry Potter got to do with it?" But neither Joy nor I pay her any heed.
"No lookalike," I finally admit quietly. My clenched hands are starting to hurt.
For a second or four, no-one says a thing. "So… you are to tell me that that just there was… the original?" Joy finally intones, her voice one of disbelief.
Very, very slowly, I nod my head.
Joy exhales heavily.
Di yawns.
"Could anyone explain to me what we're talking about?" she asks, still utterly unmoved by what is happening. "I'm afraid I'm not copying."
"You don't say," mutters Joy under her breath. Louder, she says, "Rilla's piece of man candy just happens to be a prince."
I flinch at her words.
Di rubs her nose in thought. "A prince? Is this some kind of cosplay? Because if it is, I don't think that's how it works."
Joy looks very much like she's trying to think up a way to crawl through the internet cable and douse Di with a big bucket of very cold water, so I reluctantly take it upon myself to answer.
"No cosplay. He… he's really one. A prince, I mean. The, um, the Prince of Wales? Prince Kenneth?" The name sounds foreign as it rolls down my tongue. He's only ever Ken to me, so to give him his proper title feels utterly strange.
The effect of my words, at least, rivals that of a big bucket of cold water. After a second or two of processing what I said, Di immediately sits up straighter, her expression becoming alert.
"You are serious about this, aren't you?" she questions.
But I don't get a chance to reply, for Joy is obviously out of patience. "Of course she is! Didn't you see him?"
"I saw a man. Excuse me for not immediately recognising him," Di retorts, doing nothing to mask her sarcasm, her sharpness of tongue having returned with her sharpness of mind.
"Nan would have," Joy points out needlessly.
And her words seem to have mysterious summoning powers, for a split second later, Di's face gets pushed upwards on my screen to make space for a beaming Nan.
"Good Morning, everyone," she calls out brightly. "Sorry for being late. What did I miss?"
Di gives a snort of laughter. Joy purses her lips. I sit very, very still.
Her eyes roaming around her own screen, Nan cocks her head to the side. "Is anything the matter?"
"Just that Rilla is apparently bedding a prince. A real life one, as I've been assured. Joy says she recognised him," Di answers drily.
I physically jerk backwards at her words, which doesn't go unnoticed by any of them.
"Di!" Joy immediately snaps. "Don't be crude!"
I can see Di's eyes flicker to the side. "Sorry," she mumbles, twisting her mouth in what I know to be an apologetic fashion. Nodding, I accept the apology, but still wrap my arms around myself for comfort.
Having gotten a moment to collect herself, Nan slowly asks, "And… what kind of prince are we talking about?"
"A British one," supplies Di.
"Prince Kenneth," elaborates Joy.
A split second later, I flinch back again, though this time because of the loud squeal emitting from Nan. "You're kidding me!"
She looks, by and large, fairly… well, excited is the word that comes to mind.
"Oh boy, here we go," Di mutters sarcastically, but we all just ignore her. Instead, I focus my gaze on Nan, because while I'm not sure how helpful her excitement is, it's the first vaguely positive response I've gotten.
"No kidding," I tell her. "It's… just what they said."
"He was there with her," Joy relates. "Di and I saw him. Not that Di recognised him, but… I did. You would have, too."
Nan nods slowly, then looks back at me, eyes bright with curiosity. "So… was it good?"
Joy splutters in surprise. I take a deep breath. Di arches an eyebrow. "Who's being crude now?" she asks pointedly.
Nan brushes her remark aside impatiently. "Oh, don't pretend you weren't wondering! I mean, it's the million dollar question, isn't it? Do princes really do it better?"
I feel my face heat up, knowing that my cheeks are likely bright red and not being able to do anything about it.
"You do realise you don't have to answer, don't you, Rilla?" Joy quickly interjects, her voice now concerned. Both twins look at her with indignation, but she merely responds by narrowing her eyes at them.
I know I don't have to answer. But somehow, after all those months of lying, I feel a weird obligation to be honest with them. And besides, it's not as if this is unchartered territory for us. (Honestly, if our respective partners knew everything we discuss between us… let's just say, it would be supremely awkward. Sometimes, it already is.)
"It's… I don't know how to answer that," I reply, helplessly searching for words. "I mean, it's just… you know? Looking at it from the outside, it's always… a bit messy and awkward and bumbling, isn't it? This isn't TV. And with a new partner, you always need a bit of time to… well, to figure out how you fit together, right?"
I look towards them for confirmation, but am instead met with three similarly frowning faces. "Not really a glowing review," Di observes drily.
Hiding my face in my hands, I quickly shake my head. "No, that's not… I didn't mean… I like… well, being with him. A lot. But he's just… he's no different from anyone else. Him being who he is didn't make this magically more… I mean, no-one fainted from ecstasy, no angels descended, there was no choir singing dramatically in the background. It was just… I mean, the first time was a bit clumsy, I guess, but since then, we've figured out how to… how to… Look, what I'm saying is, it's… enjoyable, but it's still… still real, you know?"
Lowering my hands, I implore them to understand with my eyes. Joy is nodding slowly and Nan gives me a sympathetic smile. Di, however, still has her brow furrowed in thought.
"You mentioned a 'first time', which in turn implies that there was a second time, and probably several more times after that," she states. "Which begs the question – how long has this been going on?"
That does get the others' attention and suddenly, I'm met with three very alert pairs of eyes, watching me from my screen.
Swallowing, I try an answer. "A while?" But it comes out more as a question than anything else.
Nan opens her mouth to speak, but Joy beats her to it. "Wait a moment, please. This doesn't go back to that party back in October, does it?"
Somewhat reluctantly, I nod, gnawing on my lower lip as I do.
"But that was five months ago!" Joy protests. Di backs her up with a firm nod. Nan looks like she doesn't know whether to be put out or fascinated.
"Uh, yes. It was. But we were friends at first," I try to defend myself, though it sounds weak to my own ears. There's no real defence that can hold water in this particular case.
"And when did you stop being friends?" Nan enquires curiously.
A moment passes, before I answer. "Never, I hope. But, well… that first time I mentioned, yes? That was just before Christmas."
"So three months ago," Joy observes. "And you never thought to give us the tiniest hint?"
I open my mouth, realise I don't have the words to explain everything that went into my reluctance to tell them, and close it again.
"You know you can trust us, don't you?" Nan adds, and thought she says it kindly, there's the unspoken question hanging in the air. Don't you trust us?
"Yes, I know. It's not that. It's just… just that…" Floundering, I break off.
Thankfully, it's Di to the rescue. "Oh, give her a break, you two. This is a bit more difficult than telling us she went on a date with Joe Everyman, isn't it?"
"I didn't know how to tell you," I confirm, my voice quiet. "I told Mum and that was hard enough. I tried to find a way to tell you, too, but it just sounds so fantastical… like it can't be real, once it's put into words. Like I've gone utterly mental or something."
"True," nods Di, very matter-of-factly. "The number of women who ever had any reason to use the words 'I'm dating the future King of England' in a serious context is certainly very low."
Joy makes a thoughtful sound. "It is a bit hard to wrap your mind around. Not that I'm questioning it – I saw him with my own two eyes, after all –, but if someone told me tomorrow I'd just dreamed it all, I'd also believe that in a heartbeat. It's so surreal. Kind of a 'pinch me'-moment, only you have to do it three times a minute to remind yourself it's real."
I couldn't have said it better myself.
"It doesn't really go away either. I mean, when it's just him and me, when it's just Ken, it all feels like the most natural thing in the world. And then something happens to remind me that in another world, he isn't 'just Ken' and…" I shrug helplessly.
"And you want to pinch yourself," finishes Joy. "Yeah."
Cocking her head to the side in thought, Nan wonders, "How did you know? That you like him as a person, rather than as a – prince." She hesitates the tiniest bit before the last word, making clear that the reality of this is starting to sink in for her as well.
"By which Nan, naturally, doesn't mean to imply you're just chasing a tiara. She's merely being her usual obtrusive self," Di interjects before I get a chance to reply. Nan immediately proceeds to glower at her – not that it concerns Di. (She's right, too. Nan, in time-honoured tradition of therapists the world over, has a weird fascination with breezing past all boundaries and then prodding exactly where it hurts.)
Still, it's not a bad question. And let's be honest – we crossed my personal boundaries a long time ago. No use trying to hold firm on them now.
"I guess it's because most of the time, I do my utmost to pretend that he is just Joe Everyman," I answer with a wry smile. "The moment I look at the wider picture, it all becomes… confusing and weird and yes, scary. But when it's just the two of us, just being together, not letting the outside world in…"
Once again, I lack the words to say what I mean to say. And once again, Joy knows anyway.
"You love him." There's no question in her voice. "You really do love him."
And what else is there to do but nod?
Di whistles softly. "And does he…?"
"He… he says he does," I answer quietly.
For a long moment, no-one says a word.
"Wow," Nan breathes. "This is for real, isn't it? You're really dating a prince."
Shaking her head slowly, as if trying to clear her thoughts, Di murmurs, "How did this happen?"
And I could tell her about the dress and the wine, about Halloween and sprinkles on a birthday cake, about sixties music and noughties movies and where they lead to. I will, too. But that's not really what she's asking. And the truth it, that none of this actually explains anything. There is only one answer I could possible give.
"I have no idea. I guess it just… did?"
The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Heaven' (written by Bryan Adams and Jim Vallance, released by Bryan Adams in 1983).
To AnneShirley:
Oh, I know all about busy. I'm posting this chapter sitting on a hotel bed while on a work trip. I'm glad that you took out the time to write me a review anyway :).
And I'm glad Ken managed to somewhat redeem himself ;). He's only human and he isn't done making mistakes (neither is Rilla), but I think it's correct to say that he listened to her and tries his best. Not perfect, but I think we can award him some brownie points for making an effort.
I hope everything goes well with your matriculation. Consider my fingers crossed!
