“When’s the baby due?”
“Who’s the father?”
“Don’t be an arse, Finn!”
“Is it boy or a girl?”
“Please make it a girl! I don’t want any more stupid boys in this family.”
“Tabitha! That’s not nice.”
“But you told me to always be honest. That’s the truth. Boys are stinky.”
“Well, at least we don’t have cooties.”
“Will you give birth at the palace or at the hospital?”
“Have you been taking folate already? Because it’s too late to start now.”
“No, it’s not. It can still help.”
“That’s not what I read. Once you know you’re pregnant, it’s too late.”
“Oh, God. Is that true? Because I never started with those pills until I found out about each pregnancy.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about it now. All our children are fine.”
Arthur wraps an arm over my shoulder and leans into my ear. “God, I love your family.”
“That makes one of us,” I say quietly.
***
AFTER DINNER, MY MOM, Arthur, and I clean up the kitchen while my dad, Bram, and Finn watch cricket highlights. Lars and Nina, as well as Isa and Noah, took their broods home so their older children can do homework and prepare for another week of school. I wash a pot and think about how it seems like only a month ago Lars and Nina found out they were having Tabitha, my eldest niece, and now she’s suddenly a teenager with very dark eyeliner and resting bitch face.
Arthur’s drying the dishes with a towel bearing his father’s image on it. He seems to take particular pleasure in using it face down and vigorously scrubbing each plate as though he could wipe the King’s smug grin off the fabric. But he’s certainly got reason for all of that pent-up anger towards the man, so I’m glad when we can come by for some ‘dish towel therapy.’
My mum wipes the counter top, wearing the huge ‘I’m going to be grandmum to the future king or queen’ grin. “I can’t believe you two are having a baby already!”
Arthur looks over at her. “I do fast work. Well, not fast...”
I flick some dish water at him and give him an exasperated look.
“Efficient,” he says in an effort to correct himself.
“I just couldn’t be more thrilled. Ruben, too. I’ll have to get Grace next door to start on a blanket. She does the most beautiful crocheting!”
“Oh, Evi, we were hoping to keep it a secret a little while longer,” Arthur says.
“Call me ‘Mum’, and don’t worry about a thing. Your secret’s safe with Ruben and I.”
“And Grace next door?” I ask with more than a hint of suspicion in my tone.
“Grace is a vault.”
I’m just about to protest when my mum changes the subject.
“Do you need the number for Dr. Dropp’s office, Tessa?”
“Oh, yes, please. Can you text it to me? I don’t have a pen handy.”
“Of course. Call right away, it can take weeks to get in to see her.”
“We will.”
Once we finish with the dishes, my mum pulls out the latest copy of theRoyal Commemorative Catalogand starts a long list of plates, cups, and saucers in various styles she hopes will have the baby on them. Not that she’s expecting Arthur to be able to make sure all twelve will be made, of course, but as a huge collector, she’s hoping her eye will help make the selection process easier for the staff, and there’s no sense dallying about when important decisions remain to be made...
