18. 18
18
B o
I head straight to Hettie’s room after I talk to my father because I know she’ll be waiting to hear from me. Nervously waiting, just like I was.
Now I’m filled with a giddy sense of relief. I didn’t really know what my father was going to say, but I thought it would be much worse than this.
It wasn’t all that bad, really. He didn’t understand why I made him promise not to leave the castle today, but he seemed to understand everything else. At least he accepted that I was married and the father of a seven-year-old girl.
He took it better than I did, telling me to go get Tema and Hettie so he could meet them.
Tema—
Dad told me he remembers meeting Hettie at Mom’s funeral. I knew she had been there but had blanked most of the day. The week. The month.
We were together for almost four years, and I never once introduced her to my parents. I tried, so many times, but Hettie sidestepped every invitation or outright refused my suggestions.
She broke up with me when I pushed too hard .
I could tell that while she loved her family, she hated them too. They were never a problem for me, but Hettie couldn’t believe that. I would have been happy to have remained married to her, to see what I could do about getting her grandmother off the street. To help her brothers in some way.
But she wouldn’t let me. And then I let her go.
I knock on the door to her room and Hettie answers almost immediately, like she’d been lurking by the door.
“Bo.” My heart gives a thump when I see her. “How did it go?”
“He wants to meet Tema,” I say without any preamble. “He wants to meet both of you.”
She pushes me back and shuts the door behind her so we’re out in the hall. “So you told him?” she whispers.
She’s standing very close to me, close enough for me to smell the coconut of her shampoo. At least I think it’s her shampoo.
She could have been drinking pina coladas all morning for all I know.
There’s that giddiness. “That was the plan,” I tell her. “Just came from his office.”
She takes a deep breath. “And?” For a moment she looks terrified.
“And he wants to meet her. Like I said. And you, too. Again. He remembers meeting you years ago but wants to say hello.”
“Is he mad?” she whispers.
“At you? Why would he be?”
“Because I kept—” She crushes her lips together.
Ah. The guilt.
“His grandchild from him? I don’t think he’s thrilled about that, but he’s never been one to hold a grudge. ”
“Oh. Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “We’re going to meet the king. When?”
“Now, I guess.” Hettie’s anxiety must have been rubbing off on me because now I’m nervous about the whole thing.
And I shouldn’t be. This is going to be fine. Great. It’s all good.
Hettie gathers Tema, frets about what she’s wearing, that she needs a haircut, tells her to behave six times, all on the five-minute walk to Dad’s office.
I guess it’s five minutes. It feels like forever. But finally, we’re here, standing outside the closed door.
I glance over at Hettie with what I hope is a reassuring look and then I knock. “Enter,” Dad calls.
“Ready?” I ask Hettie.
“Open the door,” Tema orders, grabbing the doors’ knobs and pushing both of them open.
“Well, hello there.”
My father stands by the door, hand stretched out to open it. He’s already shed his jacket and tie and cancelled his next meeting.
Tema stops and stares at him. And then: “Your Majesty,” she says in a clear voice, dropping into a curtsy.
“No need to do that,” Dad says, bending over to raise her up by the shoulders .
“But I practiced for years in case we ever came back and I could meet you. Of course, I didn’t know you’d be my grandpa when we met,” Tema tells him.
“Grandpa,” Dad murmurs with a sheepish smile. “So you wanted to meet me?”
“You’re the king of another country,” Tema says with a touch of scorn. “Why wouldn’t I want to meet you? I have another grandfather,” she adds. “He has a boat. And a great-grandfather. He paints pictures.”
“I know. I have one over here.” Dad points at the picture on the wall.
“Hey! I know that one. He painted that when I was four.”
“Do you remember when you were four?”
“No. But there’s a picture because I got into Grandaddy’s paints and made a big mess. If you look here—” Tema darts over to the painting and points up. “Here. That’s my finger.”
“Well, look at that.” Dad peers at the watercolour of the trees, from the view of someone lying on the forest floor and looking up. “There’s a finger print there.”
“That’s me.”
“I like the painting even more now.” He smiles down at her, and I can see the exact moment the king of Laandia falls in love with his granddaughter.
Hettie takes my hand.