Chapter 12 Leticia
LETICIA
A DISTRACTION
Leticia:
Would you want to do something together tonight?
I feel so childish asking that question, but alone in my room all night doesn’t sound as appealing as it normally does.
Royal:
What do you have in mind?
Leticia:
We can start watching the same show at the same time and text about it?
Or I saw one of those cool websites where you can play games and stuff together?
Or we could call and talk about nothing, pretend like we’re not from rival families and wouldn’t get scolded for talking to each other.
But I don’t text him that. I don’t send it because, despite being our reality, ‘friends’ with Royal feels a whole lot easier than being ‘friends’ with Ashton or the girls from school.
I’ve never had sleepovers or girls’ nights out, but I don’t think it should be hard to talk to people you call friends, especially since it’s not that hard to talk to Royal.
Royal:
I can’t. I have to watch some screens. I could talk though. I understand if maybe you can’t call. Rules are different for princesses than they are for the second-born son.
Ugh. That word. Princess.
A knock comes to my door, and I freeze. I draw a slow breath. “Who is it?”
“Who else would it be?” Berto huffs. “You opening the door or not?”
“I’m changing.” I lie on instinct, but I know my cheeks are pink from smiling as I talk to Royal, and I don’t want Berto to shove question after question down my throat, all because he notices my face is flushed.
“It’s fine. I’m headed out. There’s a problem we’re handling before we take off for Italy.
Mom is in bed, she took her medication and a glass of red.
Dad is where I’m going. We won’t be back before we go to Italy.
There’s a little heavier security, so you’ll be safe until your flight later after finals.
Unless Mom changes her mind again and you really do stay home,” Berto rattles off.
He doesn’t even wait for a response before his footsteps retreat.
No goodbye. No love you. No frills.
But it does change my answer to Royal.
Leticia:
I can call. But only if you promise to never call me princess ever again.
Royal:
I swear on my favorite computer mouse’s life, I will never call you princess again.
I call Royal, not wanting to dance around the whole ‘you call,’ ‘no, you call’ routine, and it doesn’t even trill through the first ring.
“Hey, Leticia.” The way he says my name, velvety and smooth, makes me pause.
I try to pull it together, but my stomach is replaced with a giant butterfly swooning for no reason. “Royal, hey.”
“It’s good to hear your voice,” he says softly with a chuckle. “Now, let me put you in my ears as they say.”
“Ditto.”
I know he’s making fun of me for saying it, but it doesn’t feel malicious. I find my second set of earbuds, tucked underneath my mattress, and pop them in one at a time.
“What’s the difference between a jeweler and a fisherman?”
Royal’s question catches me off guard.
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“One sees watches and the other watches seas.”
I laugh. The joke is actually kind of funny. “Ooft. I haven’t heard a dad joke like that in a long time.”
“Thank you, I’ll be here all week.” Royal announces himself like a cheesy stand-up comedian.
“Leticia’s distractions and side quests at your service.” I keep the humor rolling with an odd voice, nasally and nothing like my own.
Royal laughs, and it’s warm but also kind of forced. “What sort of distractions do you have on the services menu?”
“Well, we have the basic packages: twenty questions, two truths and a lie, and would you rather.” I offer the first three things that come to mind.
“Hmmm, very standard. What else have you got?” Clicking and typing sound in the background on Royal’s end.
“The gold packages include things such as polite small talk, readings from textbooks, and explaining plots of Italian movies you’ve never seen before.”
“Tempting. Very tempting. But I don’t fancy myself a small talker.” Royal hums for a moment. I hear more clicking, this time like a mouse tapping. “Maybe something less structured but conversation deep?”
“Okay, but I warn you, the diamond package is usually reserved for longtime friends and trusted allies.” I rack my brain.
Anything deep to talk about. You can do it.
Just come up with a subject. “It includes offerings like: advanced would you rather, childhood trauma, and dreams, goals, and aspirations.”
“Hmmm, advanced would you rather? I didn’t realize that came with tiers of difficulty.” Royal stops typing. “Let’s try it.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I go over to the stack of textbooks on my desk, open the folder for my psych class, and pull out the list we had been given.
I pick the third one down on the page. “Would you rather never be able to celebrate your birthday again or be forced to have a big party each year?”
“I thought you said these were hard. I’d rather have a big party each year.” Royal answers quickly like that was an easy decision for him. “The Cavanaghs are really close as a community. I couldn’t imagine not having a celebration that didn’t involve everybody.”
“Really?” I shake my head, not like he can see me. “I could never. Like, sure, I have all these cousins, but after you turn sixteen, there are no more birthday parties for you. And honestly, I didn’t like the attention. I was eager to turn seventeen and not have the —”
“The?” Royal prompts.
“Well, this falls outside the ‘would you rather’ game territory.” I warn him.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I just like hearing your voice.” There’s more typing on his side of the phone.
It feels easier to tell him knowing he’s a little distracted.
“And not have the pressure of being a well-behaved birthday girl and the fake happiness. It’s so much work trying to be perfect for appearances.
Even from a young age, it was always ‘Leticia, no man will want a woman who doesn’t’ — insert a laundry list of expectations. ”
“That’s gross.” Royal’s words are harsh and unexpected. “Grooming, I’ll never understand. You didn’t deserve that. You don’t deserve that. I’m so proud of you for recognizing that.”
“It’s life.” My face heats, and I try to dismiss the conversation.
He’s proud of me? I can’t remember the last time someone said that to me.
“Doesn’t make it right.” Royal pauses for a beat, and the clack of a bunch of keystrokes sounds over the line. “So does your family go all out for Christmas and Easter?”
“Ugh, yes. We do Christmas in Italy every year, and I can’t stand it.
I don’t travel well. I get serious jet lag, and my stomach gets super upset.
Plus, it’s with all the cousins, and for the first couple days it’s like ‘Do I even speak Italian?’ because it’s been almost a year since I last spoke it.
Whether I’m going or not this year is still up in the air.
Dad said I didn’t have to. Then he and Mom talked, and she said I had to go. ” I cut my ranting off.
“Yikes. We do Christmas, but it’s more low-key. Lots of food, the community gets together a few days beforehand and has almost a little festival-type deal, but actual Christmas is just the nuclear family.”
“That sounds incredibly nice. I’d love to experience that sort of calm,” I muse, glaring at the ugly Christmas dress hanging on the back of my door.
I can’t believe I’m expected to wear the monstrosity. Maybe Mom won’t get her way, and I’ll get to stay home.
Ripping my gaze off the dress to quell the anger, I focus on the next question from the sheet. “Would you rather be loved for everything you’re not or liked for everything you are?”
Royal lets me move on without pushing back. “I don’t know how hard these questions are because I’d rather be liked for who I am. I don’t need everybody to love me. Acceptance is good enough.”
“Why are you so well adjusted?” I blurt out on accident.
I scrunch all my features, waiting for a reprimand. It doesn’t come.
“Well” — I can almost hear a shrug in his voice — “I guess it probably has to do with my parents not being the traditional good Catholics and Irish mob bosses that you’d expect.
I came out at dinner one night, and rather than one of those horror stories about coming out, I got ‘That makes sense’ and ‘Which pride flag should we buy?’ I think Valor was the most offended, and it was because I didn’t tell him first.”
“Oh.” Is he gay? How did I not know this? My shoulders fall. I mean, it makes the ‘friends’ thing a whole lot easier. “I know for sure my parents would be the horror story about coming out. You’re lucky to be Irish.”
“So they say.” Royal snorts.
“Which pride flag did they buy, then?” I feel awkward asking, but it’s easier than the question I really want the answer to.
Why does it matter if he’s attracted to women, Leticia? You’re not allowed to fall in love.
“Nah, I told them that the pan sexual flag was ugly and we should get a flag from one of my favorite movies instead. That was vetoed, and the front of the house remains flagpole-free,” Royal answers so casually and unafraid to share these details with me.
I can’t imagine being this free with information. Surely not with the girls from college and never anyone from high school.
“Oh, I have one.” Royal pauses typing for a moment. “Would you rather always feel understood or always feel appreciated?”
I’ve never been either. How am I supposed to know?
Clicking resumes on his side of the call, and after a few seconds, it stops. But I’m still waffling, trying to figure out what those words really mean.
What would it look like to be appreciated? What would it look like to be understood?
“Leticia?” His voice is a little louder in my earbuds.
“I’m here.” I draw a slow breath. “Is it dumb that I don’t know if I’ve ever felt either of those things before, so I don’t know what it’d be like?
I mean, surely, Antonella understands me a little, but then again, she’s always been able to push for things and change her own life.
And I know she’s accepted my help in the past with projects and stuff, but it was never something she couldn’t do alone. ”
“You really look up to her.” Royal hums.
“Until very recently, she was my only friend.” I realize I’ve been standing, holding a piece of paper dumbly for the last few minutes, so I carry it with me to my bureau to pull out pajamas.
Should I change while on the phone? It’s not like he can see me.
“Well, I’m honored to be one of your friends. Especially when I stand with such an interesting and selfless woman in that category.” Royal sounds pleased.
“I’m surprised, truthfully, that you seem open and genuine about this truce thing.” I sigh and give up changing my clothes, dropping the pajamas on the bed and walking back to my desk.
“Oh.” He clears his throat. “Well, the truce happened. I could be mad about it and waste energy, upset that we’re now in a truce and needing to merge businesses.”
I start tucking the paper back into my stack of school stuff.
“Or I can spend time getting to know people I missed out on years of knowing because some long-dead people couldn’t get their shit together.”
“That’s a good way of looking at it. I don’t think Dad and Berto see it the same way.” I freeze, realizing I said that aloud.
Royal doesn’t say anything for a long pregnant minute. “I don’t think Valor sees it entirely the same way either. Though I think he likes getting to know Antonella. He’s always more suspicious than I am. But I really don’t want to talk about Valor.”
“Oh, right. Too much like work.” I assume and reach for my ponytail, where my hair has been up all day.
“Not too much like work.” Royal sighs. “It’s just complicated.”
“Complicated?” Relieving the tension from my scalp feels so good. I try not to be rude and groan. “Complicated how? Oh, you don’t have to tell me. We were trying to change the subject. Sorry. Uhhh.”
My mind goes blank, and I look at the stack of school supplies, trying to remember the questions left on the sheet that would give me anything to talk about that doesn’t feel totally inappropriate.
“Royal!” A girlish squeal comes in the background.
“Kerrianne, no woo girl.” Royal scolds, and I hear a huff of air. “I’m on a call, gimme a second to say goodbye.”
“Okay,” Kerrianne says quietly.
“I’ll text you after dinner?” Royal offers.
“I’d like that,” I answer.
“See you later, Leticia.” Royal almost sounds pained saying goodbye.
“After while, Royal,” I answer, and he disconnects the call.
I sigh, running my fingers back through my hair. I can’t believe how honest I was with him. Worse than that, I can’t believe how good it felt to say things and not worry about being judged.