15. 15
15
Hettie
W e finish the wine. Eventually, they take pity on me and my constant yawns, and Bo clears the pizza boxes, stacking them outside the door, where, apparently, someone will remove them.
It was so nice to be able to spend time with Spencer and Bo again that I didn’t want to be the one to end it, regardless of the exhaustion that weighs me down. It takes everything I have not to curl up with Bo in the comfortable-looking chair.
I could sit on his lap, throwing my legs over the side. He would put his arms around me, playing with my hair and I—
It’s not fair for me to even think about it. It’s not fair to Timothy or Bo, and I definitely don’t need thoughts like that running through my mind.
I asked Bo for a divorce, and now I want to sit on his lap?
I’m so messed up.
Bo leaves with Spencer and Abigail, so I know he doesn’t want to be alone with me. It’s probably for the best. The more tired I get, the more my mind shifts back to how I felt in his arms this morning .
This morning, I was in his cabin across the country, and now I’m here as a guest in the castle. To say that things are moving fast is an understatement.
It’s after eleven, but with the four-and-a-half-hour time difference, I decide to call Timothy before I go to bed. As I wait for him to pick up, I tell myself the sudden sadness I’m hit with is because I miss him—no other reason. “Hi, you,” I say in a cheerful voice.
“I didn’t expect to hear from you tonight. How’s the castle?” Timothy asks without much emotion—no hint of worry, disappointment that I am so far away from him, not even a touch of jealousy—but that’s how he always is.
When I met him, I’d been struck with how easy he was to be around. Calm, centered, relaxed. He was as good in a group as he was one-on-one. He enjoyed a drama-free life, he told me, and liked it like that.
“Most people have drama in their lives that they brought on themselves,” Timothy would say. “I don’t do that. Nothing really is worth getting upset over.”
My life had been a jumble of emotions when I met him, and I appreciated his calmness. But lately, I’ve been wondering if Timothy thinks I’m worth getting upset over.
“The castle is… big. Beautiful.”
“And your prince?”
“He’s not my prince,” I say quickly.
“I’m glad to hear that. Guess what I’m doing tonight?”
“Meeting Marcus for a drink?” It’s Wednesday night, and on Wednesdays, Timothy meets his best friend for a beer, along with three of their friends that he’s had since high school.
I envy Timothy his circle of friends. He tells me they’re my friends too, but no one has been really that welcoming.
I don’t know how I would have gotten through the last eight years without Abigail.
Abigail and Spencer , I remember and miss part of what Timothy is saying. “… and Thomas said he wouldn’t dream of it.” Timothy laughs and I join in, even though I have no idea what the joke was.
Not that his friend Thomas makes many jokes. They all share Timothy’s even-ness, which comes across as a lack of personality in most of them.
How can I say that? At least I’m not marrying Timothy’s friends—I’m marrying Timothy.
If I get the divorce from Bo.
That’s the plan. That’s why I’m here.
Maybe it’s because I’m so exhausted, but it doesn’t sound like a great plan right now.
I’ve never slept in a more comfortable bed.
And that’s with a squirming Tema tucked in beside me, her little body as warm as a hot water bottle.
We sleep in later than usual because the curtains are so dark and thick and my body clock hasn’t adjusted yet.
Flames still crackle in the fireplace, giving enough heat and light so I can see that Tema’s eyes are still tightly closed. I wonder if someone came in to stoke it already this morning. Bo poked it last night before he left.
Bo.
It was comfortable with him last night, but then again, it had always been comfortable with him. He always made me feel safe.
He made me feel a lot of things—attractive. Wanted. Respected. Seen.
None of those have changed. He’s the same Bo, albeit with thicker walls around his heart.
Or maybe they were always thick, but I had the key.
Tema stirs, rolling over in her sleep to throw an arm out, which hits me in the neck.
“Mommy,” she says sleepily.
“Good morning,” I murmur, reaching out to stroke her back. She curls into me.
“Why are you here?” Her eyes blink open. “Why am I in your bed? And I’m still in my clothes.”
I drop a kiss on her forehead, breathing in her special Tema-smell.
Which is a bit riper than usual, since we missed both bathtime and teeth brushing last night. “You fell asleep and I didn’t want to wake you to get you changed. We’re in the castle, remember? Prince Bo’s castle. We’re staying here with him.”
Tema rolls over and stretches like a cat. “My dad.”
My heart skips a beat at the ease with which she says that. “Your father,” I confirm.
She stares up at the dark ceiling. “It’s very dark here. Is it always this dark in Laandia? ”
“The sun gets up a little later because we’re farther north than in Victoria. And remember I told you it will be a different time?”
“I remember.” She yawns, showing the spots where she’s already lost teeth. Four gone already, the adult teeth poking up from her gums. She lost her first tooth while eating an apple and didn’t even notice. She was almost hysterical when she realized she’d swallowed it, and thought her stomach would grow a new tooth.
I calmed her down and Abigail helped her draft a note to the Tooth Fairy explaining what had happened and could she still have her money for the tooth even though there was no tooth?
We didn’t have extra money for the Tooth Fairy, but I still found five loonies to leave under her pillow that night.
Money had always been tight even with Abigail’s help. My sister sent money when she could, and when Tema turned three, I started getting strange deposits in my bank account once a month. Since Mabel and Abigail’s parents had been the only ones to know about Tema, I suspected it was Mrs. Locke, but I never said anything, fearing that they would stop.
And I needed the money.
Every few months when things were especially tight, Abigail would make some comment about telling Bo, but I pretended to ignore her. Or I’d have some excuse ready.
“I think I may like Prince Bo as my father,” Tema decides like she can read where my thoughts are headed.
“Because he lives in a castle?” Tema has taken to the idea of Bo as her father with the ease of being presented with a new toy, but it still feels strange to me.
Or maybe it’s strange that Timothy brushed off my concern last night. I said that I didn’t want her to become too attached yet until we figure things out, and he didn’t even ask what we needed to figure out.
Their relationship, I wanted to snap, and how Bo can be a part of her life when we live so far away.
“But he doesn’t live in the castle, at least not all the time,” Tema argues with just enough certainty that I have to smile. “He told me he lives in a forest and he cuts trees. I asked if he was a woodcutter like Hansel and Gretel’s father, and he said he didn’t know their father was a woodcutter. How can he not know that?”
Tema likes dark fairy tales.
“Because we read all the fairy tales and Bo reads other books. I don’t think he’s the same kind of woodcutter.” The air feels cold outside the covers, so I snuggle down. At home, Tema has her own room, leaving Abigail and me to share, and my favourite nights are when I fall asleep in Tema’s bed when I’m reading her a story and we wake up together.
“I really hope not, because that father was horrible and abandoned his kids to die,” Tema says vehemently. “Do you think Bo would do that? I don’t think he would.”
I do my best to stifle my laughter. “I don’t either.”
“Do you think he’ll lock us in the castle and I’ll have to grow my hair really long to escape?” Tema asks with the sweetest serious expression on her face.
“No, I don’t think he’d do that either.” I love her imagination.
“Is the king a good king?” is the next thing she wants to know.
“Yes, a very good king,” I tell her with the patience of the mother of a seven-year-old. These are normal discussions with Tema.
“Have you met him? ”
“Years ago.”
“Before me.”
“Before you.”
It’s difficult to remember what life was like before Tema. When I lived in Battle Harbour, when I was with Bo—it’s all coated in a haze now. Almost like it happened in a dream.
Only sometimes, I’m hit with super sharp memories and have to wait until the haze coats it again.
It’s easier that way.
“Mommy, if I’m a princess, does that mean I’ll be different?” There’s a note of concern in her voice that tugs at my heart.
“You, Tema-toot, will be the same as you’ve always been.”
“I don’t think you should call me Tema - toot if I’m a princess,” she says in a haughty voice.
“Oh, that just means I’m going to call you that even more. Tema-toot, Tema-toot,” I sing, rolling over to tickle her until she makes an adorable sound of passing gas and I laugh.
“You are a horrible mommy,” Tema cries as she hops off the bed.
“Am I?”
She stands there, looking at me. “No, you’re really not.”
I hold open my arms and Tema jumps back onto the bed. “You’re the best Mommy.”
“And you’re the best Tema.”
“I’m the only Tema I know.”
“There’s got to be more of them out there.”
“I don’t want more. I like being the only one.”
I hug her tight. “Are we going to stay here?” she whispers .
I honestly came back without a plan to stay in Laandia, but now that I’m here… now that Bo knows about Tema, things are very unclear.
But Timothy is waiting for me—waiting for an answer. “I haven’t figured that out yet,” I confess.
“But you will?”
“Of course I will,” I tell her with more confidence than I feel. Because that’s what a mother does: never let them see you sweat.
“Good.” Tema burrows into my arms for a moment before wriggling free. “I,” she declares with an undecipherable accent, “must use the loo. Does that sound princess-y?”
I laugh as she crawls over me to jump out of the bed. “Very regal. But keep your socks on, the floor will be cold.”
“This whole place is an icicle. It’s the coldest castle I’ve ever been in.”
“And you’ve been in so many castles.”
I laugh at the expression on her face. “Worst mommy ever,” she sings over her shoulder as she skips to the bathroom.
“That’s because I have a horrible daughter,” I call after her. “But I love her lots.”
“I love the worst mommy too.”
My heart is full and I promise myself that I’ll do the right thing for Tema.