New York City, USA
May 2012
And I must leave
"Making progress?"
I raise my eyes from my textbook and look at Ken standing in the doorway.
"Who knows?" I shrug. "Sometimes, I feel like I am, and sometimes, I feel like I never learned anything at all in those four years."
"I'm sure you learned plenty," he assures loyally and crosses the kitchen to where I'm sitting on a barstool to wrap his arms around me.
"Tell that to my professors, please," I sigh.
I have final exams coming up next week and commencement the week after that. And after that, God willing, I'm a real and proper college graduate.
"Sure," nods Ken with a grin. "Who do I call?"
I roll my eyes at him, but do little to suppress my own smile. "They'd probably get a heart attack." Then, raising my fingers for air quotes and adopting an affected tone, "Please hold for the Prince of Wales."
"Would it help?" he asks, though clearly in jest.
With regret, I shake my head. "I doubt it. Nothing for it but to study some more."
"And I was just about to ask you to join us for another movie," Ken informs me. One of his hands trails lazy circles on my back and I cuddle closer to him almost out on instinct.
"Another one?" I query and cast a doubtful look at the clock. "It's Izzie's bedtime soon."
Ken doesn't seem fazed. "It's Saturday and besides, I already promised. And what impression would it leave it I broke the promise?"
Hmm… can't really argue with that.
"How are you enjoying the current movie so far?" I try to keep my voice innocent, but there's a smile creeping across my face.
He winces. "I've seen many an odd movie in my life, but this might take the cake," he admits, sounding pained. "On the surface, it's Dickens, but there are muppets, for whatever reason. Muppets! It's like Muppets Butcher A Christmas Carol or something. It has mice singing about starvation and a pig in a wig and multiple Kermits!"
"Not your cup of tea then?" I'm laughing outright now, garnering me a glare and a poke in response.
"Multiple Kermits!" he insists, clearly close to despair.
"It's a classic," I inform him with relish. "And there are several similar ones, too! How about we put on Muppet Treasure Island next?"
He looks actually horrified. "Absolutely not!"
Grinning, I raise a hand to tap his nose. "No more muppets then… In that case, would you prefer the Disney movie that has a prince get turned into a frog instead?"
"Let's not go there, okay?" pleads Ken with a comical little grimace.
"Not that one, then?" I make a show of appearing thoughtful and can see him eyeing me warily. "Well, we could always put on Tangled and introduce you to your doppelganger…" (Izzie still insists he looks like Flynn Rider, for reasons only she understands.) "Or are you more of a Beauty and the Beast-kind of guy?"
"In which scenario I'm the beast, I presume?" Ken deadpans.
I shrug and smile innocently. "You certainly aren't Beauty."
"No, that'd be you," he replies without missing a beat.
"Flattery, flattery," I singsong, but allow him to kiss me anyway.
We keep it sweet, mindful of the two children nearby, but are interrupted far too quickly anyway.
"Ken!" cries Izzie from the living room. "You miss everything!"
Groaning, Ken rests his forehead against mine. "Not much of a loss," he mutters.
I give him an encouraging smile, leaning back a little in his embrace. "He'll be back in a minute, sweetheart," I call to Izzie. Hopefully it'll be enough to stop her from coming to investigate where her new friend ended up.
While Jake is still markedly wary around Ken, Izzie has taken to him in typical exuberant fashion. Joy and Dan are away for the weekend, and with me roped into babysitting duties, there was nothing for it but to bring Ken along. Initially, I wasn't sure how well that would play out, but having seen him and Izzie sitting chummily on the couch earlier, it seems to have worked out quite well. Now there's just Jake to bring around, though I have a feeling that –
"Penny for your thought?" asks Ken.
I blink at him. "It's nothing." (The last thing I want is to antagonise Jake further by talking about him without his permission.)
Ken doesn't seem convinced, but doesn't press the issue. Instead, he moves a hand to brush a wisp of hair from my face. "Are you alright?" he asks. "I mean, because of…"
He trails off, but I know why he's asking. Earlier today, we finished cleaning out Mrs Weisz's flat and while it's been a month since her death, that added another layer of finality to it.
Ever since that awful day in April, Ken has been nothing short of wonderful. He postponed a week's worth of engagements so he could stay with me and help me organise the funeral, despite getting quite bit of grief over it from the press. (The funeral, incidentally, was when the photographers finally got their first picture of us together, if grainy and from some distance. It has me all pale and puffy-eyed, with my face half-hidden against Ken's coat, and him looking ahead all stony-faced. Without context, it's an odd picture, but it's been reproduced quite a bit since.) Except for the two of us, only Joy and Jake attended, which I believe they did more for me than for Mrs Weisz, who they knew only fleetingly.
When Mrs Weisz's will revealed me as her sole heiress and the landlord started piling on pressure on me to have her flat cleared out and ready for renovating by mid-May, Ken stepped up again. He arrived a few days ago and helped me sort through the contents the flat without complaint, even though it mostly consisted of him doing the work and me sitting on the sofa with a textbook, occasionally deciding whether something should be thrown away or donated. (For myself, I only kept the contents of the green folder and the framed photo of Mrs Weisz and me. What I want to do with the money she left me, I haven't decided yet.)
"I'm alright," I assure him with a smile.
It's not wrong either. I am alright. I miss Mrs Weisz, especially in the evenings when I normally would have gone to hers for a hearty dinner, a good cup of coffee and a re-told romance story, but after a month, the sharpest grief has passed. Instead, it's a dull prodding that I'm slowly getting used to.
Strangely, the hardest thing to come to terms with wasn't even her death, it was her life. After thinking of her as having a large, if mostly absent family for so long, the revelation of her loneliness came as a shock that I needed a while to process. And though Ken assured me time and again that my presence must have done a lot to alleviate her isolation, I still can't help thinking I should have done more, been there more often. If only I had known…
My train of thoughts must have shown on my face, because Ken shakes his head slightly. "Don't," he pleads quietly. "Don't do that again. It's not your fault. None of it is."
I sigh, letting my head drop forward against his shoulder. "If I only understood why she did it…"
The tales, I mean. The pictures of strangers and the fictional relatives. Everything she did to mask her real life.
"There's no way to know, now," Ken replies quietly. "I imagine she made them up to help against the loneliness. By the time you came into her life, she was so used to her own stories that she didn't know how to walk away from them."
We've been over this before, of course. More than once, actually. Every time, what he says sounds reasonable and every time, I still come back to the subject after a while.
"But she knew it wasn't true, right?" I ask, peering up at him.
This, too, has been discussed in depth, which probably means I'm looking for reassurance as much as anything.
"I believe so," nods Ken. "She had a sharp mind and was alert to the end."
And yet, there's no saying with part her psyche might have played. Which is really what it all boils down to: we can never truly know.
"Ken!" comes the insistent call from the living room and I know I'll have to put the subject to rest again.
Raising my head from his shoulder, I gently push Ken backwards. "Go, or you're liable to incur her wrath. I'll just finish up this chapter and join you for the next movie."
Ken nods, but only lets go of me when I've managed a smile that must have been halfway convincing. Dropping a kiss on the tip of my nose, he turns to re-join Izzie, leaving me with my textbook and my thoughts.
Once I've managed to shake off the most nagging questions, I make quite decent progress, too, finishing not only the chapter I was working through but the next one as well. It's only when the unmistakable opening cry of The Lion King can be heard from the living-room that I shut the book with a smile and go to join them.
I find Izzie sitting on the floor in front of the TV, far closer than Joy would ever allow, while Ken is sprawled on the sofa. He raises his head to smile at me when I enter, while Izzie is obviously too enthralled with the various animals appearing on the screen to notice. (Never mind that she's seen the movie often enough to be able to recite it word for word.)
"Found something to watch, I see?" I ask Ken quietly as I settle into his welcoming embrace, my back against his chest and my head against his shoulder.
"It was strongly recommended," he mutters back, his arms closing around me from behind and pulling me into him.
On screen, Rafiki, the vaguely new age-ish (and almost certainly completely stoned) monkey, is currently blowing an ash-like substance into the face of poor Simba, before holding the bewildered cub up for all the other animals to bow to.
"You know," I whisper to Ken, "if you don't hold up your firstborn on the balcony of Buckingham Palace like that, I shall be severely disappointed."
When he doesn't immediately answer, I crane my neck to find him looking down at me. "What?"
He shakes his head, a smile creeping to his lips. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."
I want to demand an answer, but he silences me with a quick peck to the lips. This is immediately followed by a stern "Shhhhhh!" from Izzie. Thus chastised, we both fall silent, sharing an amused glance as we do. I can feel Ken's body shake slightly with suppressed laughter.
We manage to be good about keeping quiet, too, until Simba breaks out into his grand solo number, I Just Can't Wait to be King.
"Foolish lion," murmurs Ken into my left ear.
I turn my head a little to look at him. "Don't share in the sentiment, do you?"
It was meant as a light, joking question, but his expression remains pensive. "The thing is that the day you become king is the day your father dies. Le roi est mort, vive le roi," he explains, his voice almost too soft to hear it. "No matter what the tabloids say, I wouldn't mind that day being on the other side of never."
Not knowing what to say, I twist around in his arms so I can touch his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't think."
He gives me a reassuring smile in return, before pressing a quick kiss to the palm of my hand. "It's alright. Most people don't make the connection."
"Shhhh!" chides Izzie, throwing us an annoyed glare over her shoulder. (She looks so like Joy when she does that!)
I look at Ken, trying to convey an apology with my eyes, but again, he just shakes his head. 'Later,' he mouths and perhaps that is truly a conversation we should be having at another time and in another place.
We remain quiet for the rest of the movie, except when Mufasa gets trampled to death and Ken quietly questions whether I'm quite sure this is a children's movie. I can only point out that it wouldn't be a proper Disney movie if at least one parent didn't die a tragic and/or gruesome death (TM).
By the time Timon and Pumbaa make their appearance, I feel myself nodding off. When Ken pulls a blanket over both of us a few minutes later, I allow myself to fall into a light slumber. I finished going through one of the assigned readings for one of my English classes last night after Ken had fallen asleep and truth to be told, I'm pretty knackered.
It is, therefore, only when Simba has reclaimed his rightful kingdom, that Ken gently shakes me awake again. Izzie is already on her feet, surveying us with an irritated expression.
"Another one!" she demands.
Even half asleep, that makes me laugh. "Not a chance, young Miss. It's past your bedtime as it is."
Izzie pouts, and only just refrains from stomping her foot. "But I want another one!"
Tough luck, kid.
As I try to summon the strength for an argument with Izzie, Ken detangles himself from me and gets up from the sofa. Both Izzie and I turn to watch him fetch something from his bag sitting in a corner of the room.
"If you're good and go to bed now," he states as he returns to us, "we can watch this one tomorrow."
In his hands, I notice, he holds a plain silver CD, with one word scrawled upon it. Brave.
"Brave? That movies isn't even out yet," I remark and raise an eyebrow.
Izzie's face, however, visibly brightens when I say the name of the movie. She's seen the trailers and is quite impatient to finally watch it in full. (With the lead being a red-haired princess who knows her own mind, even Joy tentatively agrees.)
Ken grins at me. "I told you that being me has its perks."
Show-off!
Stretching my arms above my head, I get up from the sofa. "You heard him, Izzie. If you don't kick up a fuss about going to bed tonight, we can watch it tomorrow."
For a moment, Izzie looks at me speculatively, obviously considering whether there's a chance of her getting to see the movie today. I make my sternest face and she seems to sense that it's a fight she can't win.
"Promise!" she demands from Ken instead, and it's only when he's basically sworn on the life of his yet-to-be born firstborn (the one that will be held aloft the Buckingham Palace balcony) that she believes him and strolls off into the direction of the bathroom.
"Don't forget to brush your teeth," I call after her, but of course Izzie wouldn't be Izzie if she deigned to react.
Instead, I turn to Ken. "She'll want a bedtime story," I inform him. "Are you up for some reading? The current book should be on her bedside table, but don't let her talk you into reading more than one chapter."
(Izzie, to Mum's eternal delight, has discovered the written word for herself in recent months and always tries to coax or bully someone into reading to her.)
"Sure," agrees Ken easily.
I smile at him. "Great. Thanks. I'll go have a look at what Jake's doing."
Before walking over to Jake's room, I make sure that Ken and Izzie are comfortably settled in hers with a book and then go to tidy up the living room. I'm stalling, but in my defence, at least I know that I am. That's got to count for something, right?
The problem is that I still have no idea how to tell Jake that I'm leaving. I can't put it off any longer though, because Mum and Dad are coming down next weekend for my graduation. There's a good chance they'll want to talk about my plans and what with how Mum hates secrets, I can't ask them to keep it from Jake. Plus, Ken says the tabloids are starting to make noises about what our future is going to look like and that Arlene expects one of them to break the story soon-ish. And I can't let Jake read about it in a paper first.
Besides… even if all of this weren't true, it's about time.
Fluffing up the last pillow, I'm left with no more excuses to put it off any longer, so make my way over to Jake's room. He refused to join us for movies this evening, citing homework. I'm reasonably certain that's not true, but I could hardly have told him to ignore his homework and go watch the muppets with us.
When, after a soft knock, I open the door, I find him sitting on his bed, an opened book in front of him. It doesn't look like a textbook (in fact, I'm reasonably sure it's Jules Verne's Around the World in Eighty Days), but this isn't what I came here to talk about.
"Hey, Huck. Can I come in?" I ask carefully, still hovering in the doorway.
Jake hesitates for a moment, but finally inclines his head slightly.
Sitting down next to him on the bed, I just manage to control the urge to ruffle his hair. He's nearly twelve now and I've noticed that some things he suffered politely at nine or ten aren't as well-appreciated anymore.
Either way, it's time to stop beating around the bush. "There's something I need to talk to you about."
A beat, before Jake turns to look at me. "You're moving to England," he states.
Right. That was unexpected.
(Or maybe, it wasn't. Maybe I had an inkling he'd figure it out. Maybe that's why I gave him ample time to do it.)
"So, you know that," I remark, quite needlessly.
Jake just gives me a look, which leaves little doubt that, were he less his father's child, he'd tell me that of course he knows, he's not stupid after all.
"Are you alright with it?" I ask tentatively.
He shrugs. "Your life. You can move to England if you want."
"I know I can," I nod. I'm not going to pretend to need his permission for it. "But I'd like to know what you think."
Another shrug. "Good for you."
I take a deep breath. (When did he stop being a sweet little boy anyway?) "Do you understand why I want to do it?"
"To be with him," is the immediate reply, accompanied by a little grimace.
"He's actually nicer than you give him credit for. Izzie likes him," I point out.
Jake throws me a disdainful glance. "Izzie would."
Yeah. Izzie would.
"He's very important to me," I tell him, changing tracks slightly. "And I have to move to be with him, because he can't move back here."
"Because he's a prince." Now, Jake's voice is full-blown mocking.
Okay, this is not going the way I would like it to.
"He is," I confirm, trying to remain calm. "Which is why his place is in England."
Jake is back to shrugging. "Sure. Whatever."
Definitely not the way I would like it to.
"I'm not doing this because I want to leave you, Jake." This time, I reach out a hand to lay it on his arm and he holds still, at least. "I just can't be in two places at once."
"Yeah," nods Jake. "Obviously."
For a moment, I close my eyes and try to order my thoughts. I used to be so much better at this.
"Look, how's this?" I suggest, after having opened my eyes again. "My visa doesn't become invalid until 60 days after graduation, which would be mid-July. That gives us a month after the school year finishes and we could, I don't know, spend time together. Just the two of us and maybe Izzie sometimes. We could pretend to be tourists and do all the crazy tourist stuff real New Yorkers never do. Go to Coney Island, take stupid-looking pictures in Time Square, get up Empire State Building, take a carriage ride through Central Park…"
I had originally planned to head for Halifax much earlier than that and I guess that staying in New York until mid-July will cut it rather close with regards to Betty's wedding, but I'm just hoping she'll understand. I can't be in two places at once, so I'm just going to have to figure out a way that works for everyone. (Though of course, my grand plans rely on US immigration not giving me the boot before mid-July after all. But Dan said their lawyer was confident it would work out okay.)
Jake considers me out of the corner of his eye. "We could do that," he relents, careful not to be too enthusiastic.
"And you're all heading for the Island in late July as well, your Mum said," I add. "So we'll see plenty of each other over the summer."
"Until you move away," points out Jake.
(And here I was, thinking I was actually getting somewhere.)
"Until I move away," I repeat with a sigh. "Look, Jake, if you actually talked to him once, you'd see he's not so bad. I know he'd like to be friends."
He folds his arms in front of his chest. "I don't want to talk to him. I don't have to talk to him. I've heard enough."
Frowning, I look at him, trying to decipher his meaning. "What are you talking about, Jakey?"
"I don't have the best track record," comes another voice from the door. "That's what you're saying, isn't it, Jake?"
In response, Jake folds his arms tighter and tucks his chin downwards, careful to keep his back to the door. Ken, meanwhile, comes closer, pulling out the chair from under Jake's desk and sitting down. (For a moment, I wonder whether he should have asked permission to enter, but chances are Jake would have denied it, so maybe it's for the best.)
"Izzie asleep?" I ask Ken quietly, hoping to give Jake a moment to adjust.
"Like a log," he confirms.
(Well, at least one of Joy's kids like him, I guess?)
Another moment passes in silence as I watch Jake closely. He seems to be mulling over something, his mind going a mile a minute in the way Joy's does so often, until he suddenly bursts out, "She'll be all alone!"
Huh?
"She'll be all alone!" he repeats, before turning to stare at Ken accusingly.
He… he means me, right?
"Jake," I make sure to speak slowly, hoping to calm him. "I won't be alone. Ken will be with me."
Jake just scowls at Ken, not even acknowledging that I said anything.
Ken, in turn, watches him thoughtfully, seeming to weigh several possible remarks. Finally, he settles on, "I promise to look out for her."
"Like you've done so far?" Jake immediately shoots back.
I open my mouth to intervene, but Ken shakes his head very slightly, not even turning to look at me, and I close it again. If he feels that this is something they have to work through, I'm willing to give them a chance.
"You weren't there when the airport people held her, and you weren't there when they wanted to throw her out of the country, and you weren't there when these men with their cameras bullied her, and you weren't there when they wrote nasty things about her," Jake accuses. His eyes are brimming with tears now and it takes all I have not to reach over and hug him as tightly as I can, both to comfort him and to give myself something to hold on. He really is the sweetest boy imaginable.
Ken takes the onslaught calmly, but it seems to get him thinking. After a second or two, he turns to me, his lips soundlessly forming the words, 'That bad?'
I raise my left shoulder in the tiniest of shrugs.
"Yes," snaps Jake. "Yes it was."
"Hmh," makes Ken, nodding slowly. "And I wasn't there."
"That's what I said," stresses Jake.
They're both looking at each other now and for a moment, I might as well not be there. Then, suddenly, Ken gets up and walks over to Jake's desk, grabs pen and paper and scribbles something down. When he comes back, he offers the paper to Jake.
"Let's make a deal, Jake," he suggests. "This is my phone number. It's my private one and I'm the only one who ever answers it."
Jake, arms still folded, eyes the paper warily, refusing to take it.
"My promise to look out for Rilla still stands," adds Ken, "but you're right that I didn't always do well in the past, so I'm asking for your help. If I mess up again in the future, will you call me and tell me so?"
Slowly, Jake's eyes move from the paper up to Ken's face. "Will you listen?" he asks, clearly wary.
"Scout's honour!" Ken immediately replies, even raising his free hand as if for an oath. I have to suppress a smile.
Jake inclines his head to the side. After another long second of hesitation, he takes the paper from Ken, and nods curtly. "Deal."
Whether he wanted to add anything more to that, we will never know, because that's the moment when I reach out to ruffle his hair and draw him into the tightest of hugs.
"Rilla!" he protests, trying in vain to free his hands and pat his hair down. "You're so embarrassing!"
"Sorry, Huck," I reply with a laugh, catching Ken's smiling eyes over Jake's now unruly mop of hair. "I'm afraid you've earned it."
"What for?" grumbles Jake. (But even as he puts on a show of protest, I can feel him settle into the hug.)
Drawing back a little, I look down at his face. "That's an easy one. For being the most wonderful boy there is."
The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Farewell, Angelina' (written by Bob Dylan, released by Joan Baez in 1965).
To Guest (from July 11th):
First of all, thank you for your review and my apologies for making you cry!
You're entirely right that loneliness is a real problem for many elderly people, yet it's one that is so often overlook. I sometimes feel us younger ones live in such a fast-turning world that it's easy to forget how lonely some people can be - not only the elderly, but often they especially.
To Guest (from July 12th):
I generally post on Wednesday evening European time, which works out to midday or afternoon in North America, Wednesday to Thursday night in most of Asia, and Thursday morning in Australia. Depending on where you hail from, that should give you a good idea when to expect another chapter :).
And I promise there's absolutely no need to analyse. I truly appreciate any and all reviews! And even just a short "I liked this" or "this didn't work for me" is absolutely helpful to me as a writer, because it lets me know when the writing hit the mark and where I can still improve it :). Also, I'm glad to hear that you understood Mrs Weisz's death. I didn't initially plan for her to die, but when the idea entered my head one day, I felt much the same way. It's sad, but it makes sense, doesn't it?
