“Is this reaction your way of telling me you already have?”
I laugh, helping him clean everything up and throw out the soiled tissues. “No. It’s not. You’ve just never asked me that question before.”
He shrugs. “A father should know these things about his daughter, and you’re not a little girl anymore.”
Today is a good day. Typically, when I come on Sundays, I only stay about an hour or two, depending on where his mind is. But today is Thursday, and his nurse called me early thisafternoon and asked if I could come see him because he’s, well, lucid. He’s himself. So I asked Emily and Althea if they wouldn’t mind watching Sabrina and Zayer, and Javier flew me over here. I sent him back to the palace about an hour ago, telling him I’d take the bus because I had no idea how long I’d be, and he gets Phaedra from her school building since it’s about a quarter mile from the main palace.
I couldn’t bring myself to leave.
“I have no time for love,” I tell him.
He gives me an unimpressed look. “That was always your excuse.”
I don’t tell him it’s because it’s true. That as a teenager, he moved us from one town in France or even Spain or Belgium to the next after only a few weeks or months. Sometimes less. That by the time I entered university, if I wasn’t in class, I was with him, making sure he was okay and safe.
“You should be out enjoying your life,” he continues when I don’t follow that up. I want this conversation to be over. “You spend it all working and tending to me. It’s not healthy. You have to have some happiness.”
“I’m happy,” I reply indignantly.
“You are twenty-one, Amy. Twenty-one-year-olds should be out meeting people. They should be going on dates and spending time with friends.”
It all sounds so easy and fun when he puts it like that. And maybe part of me longs for it, even. I’ve never done any of that. I’ve never gone to a bar with friends or picked up a guy for a night of sweaty no-strings sex. I tried once. Shortly after I put my father here, I was broken. Sad and so fucking lonely and dejected I could hardly stand to be in my own skin. So I went alone to a bar and ordered the cheapest rotgut they had.
A man came up to me and we talked. It wasn’t much and he wasn’t all that interesting, if memory serves. I let him take me into the bathroom and kiss me. His breath smelled like stalebeer and his hands were sloppy and gropey over my dress. I closed my eyes, but it wasn’t even like I had someone better to imagine. I’d never had a boyfriend. No first crush or lost love I could pretend I was with. He pressed me into the stall door and started lifting my dress, and then reality hit.
I’m a virgin.
And this guy wanted a quick, hard fuck in a public bathroom. I may be physically innocent, but I’ve done enough research into sex to know that a quick, hard fuck is not what a virgin should have. Still, I was tempted to simply get it over with and be done with my v-card. I just couldn’t work up the nerve with that guy. Hell, he didn’t even make me wet. So I left.
That was it.
The culmination of my sexual experience. Which is sad and sucks, but it is what it is. Doesn’t stop me from lusting after my boss like a horny teenager.
“Find love, Amy. One day, promise me you’ll do that. Promise me you’ll love and live and laugh.”
His earnest, almost begging expression knocks me out at the knees. My eyes smart with unshed tears. I clear my throat. “I’m fine, Dad.”
“You are better than fine. You are strong. I know I’m sick and I know you’ve sacrificed everything to care for me. I see it in you constantly, even if I’m not fully aware that I am. A father who loves his daughter as I love you never wants to see her sacrifice everything for him.”
“You’re seeing too much.”
He shakes his head. “The heart is built to love, and the mind is built to hurt. They’re rarely balanced and aren’t always fair. Choose your heart and follow its passion and eventually your mind will have no choice but to follow.”
“I love you, Dad.”
“Ah, no tears, Amy. I love you too. Now go. Go find a life. Golive and love. Please. For me. For you. I’m fine. It’s you who is not, and that needs to change.”
I leave the facility, the air chilled and the evening already getting dark. I should immediately get on the bus. It’s Thursday and I need to get back to the children. To the palace. But I find myself wandering around a bit, my father’s words heavy on my mind. On my heart.
I think about who I am. The things I want. What’s important to me.
What I don’t do is think about what I’ve sacrificed or given up on. That’s useless. It’s toxic. I don’t regret taking care of my father and I never will.
Instead, I focus on potential.
I want to finish university. I want to impact people’s lives somehow. Maybe work for a charity. Maybe work in a library or go back to teaching, but have it be something other than English. I don’t know. But as I wander along, I also realize that I love what I’m doing. As unexpected as it all is, I love being at the palace. I love being with those kids. I love helping them find happiness and joy again.
And…well…I might also love the king. I mean, not a lot. Just a small bit.
