8. Genevieve
Genevieve
Our Sunday passed quickly, much to my surprise. Carrie spent the morning cleaning the house, not that it really needed it. The place was practically spotless.
Not wanting to be a rude guest I did what I could to help out including unloading the dishwasher and running the duster over the surfaces in the living room. Carrie seemed surprised that I was helping, no doubt she figured I was spoiled. Which was fair, but I wasn’t totally a brat.
“Don’t you have a maid at home?”
“I have a cleaning service that comes in once a week, but that doesn’t mean I don’t pick up after myself. I like to keep things tidy.”
Just before noon she told me she was going upstairs to paint.
“Upstairs?” I asked. “I thought this was one level.”
She pointed to a door next to the kitchen entry that I’d assumed was a closet. “I have a painting studio in the attic.”
I was dying to go up there and see her art, but she’d been clear with me before that she wasn’t comfortable with that, so I respected her wishes and held my tongue.
“Happy painting.”
“Just holler up the stairs if you need anything.”
“I will.”
After she left I read for a while, then did something I never did: I took a nap. I’d never been one to sleep during the daytime, but then again, my mother frowned on things like naps. When I woke up I was groggy and hungry.
Carrie was in the kitchen, staring into the refrigerator like it held all the secrets to the universe.
“It’s pretty slim pickings in here,” she said. “I need to go grocery shopping, but I hate going on Sundays, it’s always a madhouse.”
“I order groceries in,” I ventured. “And I get a lot of those pre-prepared meals.”
“Of course you do.”
I resisted mentioning that at least I cooked for myself. Or reheated anyway. My parents had offered to hire me a chef a dozen times, but I’d always rebuffed them.
Carrie closed the door, then gave me a look.
“Do you like burritos?”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever had one.”
Her eyebrows winged up almost to her hairline. “You’ve never had a burrito? How is that possible when you’ve lived here so long?”
I shrugged, unwilling to admit that my diet tended to be pretty limited. I wasn’t the most adventurous eater, and growing up under the spotlight made me nervous about going out to eat alone.
“It’s time you found the deliciousness you’ve been missing in your life. We’re going to my favorite burrito cart,” she said.
I started to suggest that we order in, but then I realized it would be fun to go out and explore Carrie’s favorite food cart. Besides, I’d never eaten at one even though they were ubiquitous here in Seattle.
“Let me figure out a disguise,” I said.
Carrie nodded. “Help yourself to whatever you can find in there.”
I returned ten minutes later wearing baggy tan cargo pants, a tank top that hugged my small breasts in a way that made them look larger than they usually did, and a hat I found in the closet.
“You look good in a trucker hat,” Carrie said.
“Do I look like a normal Seattle girl?” I asked lightly.
Her eyes traveled down my body and then up again, and it almost felt like a caress.
“You sure do,” she said, her voice suddenly husky. “Let’s hit the road. It’s about eight blocks, are you okay walking?”
“Yeah, I could use the exercise.”
Her eyes traveled up and down my body once more, but Carrie didn’t comment.
It was a warm, sunny day and as we left the house I inhaled deeply, happy to have a dry day.
Back in Saint Marenne we got our fair share of rainy days, but it was nothing like Seattle where it sometimes rained for days on end.
It was mostly a mist or light rain, nothing terrible, but I definitely preferred the sun.
Burrito Burrito was part of a pod with half a dozen other food carts, but its neon yellow paint job made it stand out. There was a line waiting, despite the fact that it was three o’clock in the afternoon, but it moved quickly. While we waited I studied the menu, trying to decide what to order.
“What’s your favorite burrito?” I asked Carrie.
“Chicken and veggie fajita,” she said without hesitation. “Although there’s literally not one thing here that’s not delicious.”
Fifteen minutes later Carrie and I were ensconced at a picnic table near the far edge of the food cart pod with burritos and two bottles of Mexican Coke in hand.
“I forgot how much better Coke is when it’s made with real sugar,” I said as I took a sip of my icy cold drink.
“Yeah, I like Coke fine, but this shit is delicious.”
I watched as Carrie rolled the foil halfway down her burrito, leaving the bottom wrapped, then I did the same with mine.
It was a huge burrito, large enough that I had to hold it with two hands, and when I took my first bite I couldn’t help the sound of pleasure that left my mouth.
The chicken was perfectly grilled, and combined with fresh vegetables, cilantro, guacamole, and cheese it was delicious.
“This is incredible.”
“Right?” Carrie mumbled around her food.
As we ate I studied her, noting the way the sun brought out the gold in her hair. She had a smudge of blue paint that she’d missed on the inside of her wrist and several small speckles of paint on her shirt that I was pretty sure she wasn’t aware of. Or maybe she was and didn’t care.
“What do you paint?” I asked.
Carrie chewed a bite of burrito before answering, her voice carefully neutral. “Things that interest me. People. Landscapes. Animals.”
“Have you ever put your paintings in an exhibit?” I asked. “Or sold them on Etsy or something?”
“Nah, I’m not that good. But what I lack in skill I make up for in enthusiasm.”
I wanted to ask her more, but she changed the subject.
“Tell me about growing up in a castle,” she said.
“It’s really more like a giant villa than a castle,” I said.
“It was… restrictive. Even though Saint Marenne is a small country, there’s still a lot of security around the royal family.
We spent a lot of time attending balls and ribbon cutting ceremonies and entertaining foreign dignitaries.
It was dreadfully boring. My sister never seemed to mind but I wanted to claw my eyes out every time I got dragged to one of those things. Still do.”
Carrie looked thoughtful. I knew I was playing the ‘poor little rich girl’ card but everything I was saying was true. But I also didn’t want to give her the wrong impression about my family. All things considered, they were pretty great.
“I love my family,” I continued. “My sister never acted like she was better than me just because she was born first and next in the line of succession. My parents love me and up until now they’ve mostly let me do whatever I wanted, as long as I didn’t embarrass them or do something unsafe.”
“Why ambush you with a fiancé then?” she asked. “It was such a dick move.”
I couldn’t help but smirk. Carrie had a way with words.
“I can’t figure that out either,” I said. “They haven’t even asked me if I’m dating or mentioned getting married recently, at least not since my last visit home. I have no clue what brought this on. My sister was as surprised as I was by the whole thing.”
“You think they’re spying on you? Then they’d know you weren’t dating, theoretically.”
“I have wondered if they have secret security following me,” I admitted. “My mother said something the other night about me not dating and unless my sister told them I wasn’t, the only way she could have known that was if she had eyes on me.”
“You need to talk to them.”
“Yeah, I know, and I will. Eventually.”
I’d left home for college at eighteen and lived on my own since then, but somehow I’d never mastered the art of standing up to my parents.
I always went along with them to keep the peace, until now.
They were probably as surprised by my running away as I was.
I knew I was being ridiculous and immature, honestly I did, but I wasn’t sure how to address things with them.
Hopefully after another day or two with Carrie things would blow over and we could talk about their stunt.
Or they’d go back home and we could pretend it never happened.
Carrie opened her mouth to say something, but just then every cell phone in the area went off with an alert, including hers. She read the notice, her eyes growing wide before she slid her phone over to my side of the table.
Missing Person Alert! $50,000 reward for information leading to the whereabouts of Princess Genevieve of Saint Marenne.
Below the notice was a picture of me, one of the official ones that the palace kept on the website, and a hotline to call for tips.
I tugged my trucker hat lower and set down my burrito, my appetite suddenly gone.
“Damn it, I need to email my sister.”
Carrie shook her head as she wrapped up the other half of her burrito.
“I knew the minute I saw you in the back of my van that you were going to be trouble,” she sighed. “And I was right.”
As we exited the food cart pod she said, “Hey! Maybe I should turn you in myself. I could use fifty grand. We need a new catering oven.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” I said, sure it was true.
She sighed. “No, but it is tempting.”