TWELVE
Guess Who’s Coming to Live with Us?
Arthur - 15 Weeks
It has rained for threesolid days. Not just a sprinkle, but pouring rain. The banks of Langdon River are rising quickly, and as I stare out my office window, I watch as a troop of soldiers stack sandbags on either side. The river has only flooded once before—the year I was born, in fact. For some stupid reason, this pleases me, knowing I now have a child on the way. It’s as if somehow Mother Nature flexing her considerable muscle is also a welcome to the next generation and a sign that everything will be all right.
And the fact that any of this is running through my mind right now is truly a sign I need more sleep because that was some seriously sentimental horse shit. I thought I’d get more sleep as soon as Tessa’s nausea was over, but the truth is, I’ve been keeping myself awake, my mind spinning about how to keep the baby and Tessa not only safe, but happy as well. It can’t bethathard to make sure I provide my wife with a calm, easy life from here on. I’m the Crown Prince of Avonia, for God’s sake. If I can’t make that happen, what good is all the money and power?
Yet, for some reason it’s harder than I thought it would be. I’ve managed to get Dylan off Tessa’s back here and there, but overall, I know Tess is worried about her reputation affecting the baby, about us doing a horrible job of co-parenting, and well, basically the baby turning out to be a total tyrant. The crap part is that I don’t have any solid foundation on which to reassure her—I’ve never raised a child before either, but I can’t very well say, “Sorry, babe. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing here. Let’s just wing it and hope for the best.”
No. I need to seem confident at all times for Tessa to have someone she can rely on. I need to be her rock, the man she can lay all her worries on, knowing I will gladly shoulder the burden. I’m not just any man. I’m the future king, which means I better bloody well have the answers at all times. Even when I don’t.
Like this morning, for example. I’ve been trying to write a memo to the staff, but I cannot seem to find the proper wording that won’t make me look like some chauvinist who considers pregnancy a medical condition. I’ve been accused of being a chauvinist on more than one occasion (mostly by my grandmother), and I’d rather not provide actual written proof that this is the case. This is what I’ve got so far...
Memo from Prince Arthur to all Palace Staff:
Good day to all. I hope this finds you well. As you know, Princess Tessa and I will be welcoming a child early in the new year. I would like to ask that we all do whatever possible to ensure her life will be stress-free during this delicate time. Please direct any and all questions/problems/issues to myself or Vincent Hendriks...
You see why I can’t send it. “Delicate time” is definitely not going to go over well. In fact, I’m wondering if perhaps some people may take exception to me making this request at all, really. It does suggest I don’t think Tessa capable of handling stress or problems whilst pregnant, and I have a feeling if she finds out, she’ll be pissed. After all, she did give me the whole ‘I can’t hide behind you if I want people to respect me’ thing a few weeks back. And she’s not wrong. But is it so awful of me to want to shoulder the extra burden while she’s carrying my child? I mean,really?
I wonder if I should ask for a second opinion on this. Gran’s, perhaps? Or Arabella’s?
Hmm, I wonder if the very fact that I think I should check with a woman makes me in some way sexist...
Anyway, chauvinist-tendencies aside (or as I prefer to call it, ‘protectiveness’), I intend to find a way to make my wife’s life shiny and wonderful. It’s the least I can do since she’s the one who has to suffer through the pregnancy. Not suffer through. I don’t mean it like it’s an illness. It just doesn’t look all that easy or fun so far. But if I really think about it, things are looking up already—her morning sickness is long since over and we’ve had no major scandals or embarrassing incidents since Vomitgate, so that’s a huge win already.
Huh...maybe I’m worrying needlessly. As long as nothing else crops up that may cause undo stress, she should be just fine.
My cell phone rings, and when I pick it up, I see my father-in-law is calling, which has honestly never happened before.
“Ruben, how are you?” I say.
“Hi, Artie. Not too well, I’m afraid.” Ruben’s voice is oddly quiet, and it gives me a bit of a fright.
“That doesn’t sound good. What’s happened?” I sit on the edge of my desk, bracing myself for the worse.
“First off, Evi and I are fine.”
In the background, I hear Evi’s voice. Even though I can’t make out what she’s saying, her shrill shrieks say she’s anything but ‘fine.’
“Okay, I’ll tell him,” Ruben says. “Mr. Whiskers is also alive.”
“That’s...good.” I have no bloody idea what he’s talking about right now. Oh Lord, is this early onset dementia? Or wait, how old is he? Maybe it’s just normal onset dementia?
“But we’ve had a bit of an accident—”
His voice cuts off, and I hear a rustling sound, then Evi’s voice comes on the line. “He’s smoked out the house, Arthur. Completely smoked the entire bloody house out! Burnt the kitchen to a crisp. My knives melted! Myknives! All the gold’s come off my royal commemorative collection...” She sobs loudly, unable to describe the horror.
“Oh shit. The Smoke-R-Ator 3000?”
“Yes! That bloody smoker! The genius I married thought it a good plan to bring that damn thing into the house and smoke a salmon in the kitchen! You can’t even imagine the smell, Arthur!” she screeches. I hear her suck in a deep breath, then her tone is suddenly low and measured. “I’m sorry to have lost my temper and used such strong language. I’m just really upset. We’ve lost everything.” Her voice cracks, and there’s a rustling sound again, and she’s gone before I can offer her my condolences.
Ruben clears his throat. “So, not my best idea, I suppose.”
“The important thing is that you’re both all right. Possessions can be replaced. People can’t.” My mind swirls with how this will affect Tessa. She’s going to be very sad, which is the last thing I want right now. “What can I do to help, Ruben?”
“Nothing, really. We’ve got insurance, which will cover the losses. At the moment, we’re trying to find somewhere to stay for a while. Lars and Nina don’t have room, same with Noah and Isa. Bram’s just had Irene move in, so it wouldn’t exactly be the right time for us to camp on his couch. Finn’s place is too small...”
