A Kiss in Time (14 page)

A party! I glance down at my attire, blue trousers and something Jack called a tank top.
Shall I wear my blue gown? I ask Jack. Or my red one? I am fairly jump- ing up and down,
for I love parties. This one shall perhaps make up for the birthday celebration I missed
at home. In fact, perhaps it will be like my birthday celebration in one important
particularthat it will be the day upon which my true love will find me. When Jack gazes
upon me on the dance floor, he will surely Whoa, whoa . . . he says. Its not that kind of party.

I glance at Meryl. She is laughing at me. What kind is it, then? The fun kind.

I have never heard of a party without gowns. This is turning out to be a very
disappointing century.

Within a few minutes, Jack has invaded Meryls room (over her protests) and procured for me
a shirt with the words
ABERCROMBIE
&
FITCH
emblazoned across the chest. There was a Fitch family in Euphrasia, but they were plagued
by insanity. I decide not to mention this. He also tries to get me to wear something
called a bathing suit, which consists of a rather small scrap of yellow cloth.

I cannot wear that, I say. It is immodest. It is . . . obscene.

I have a fleeting notion that Jack is playing a trick on me, that this garment is merely
an undergarment and his insistence that I wear it merely a ruse to see me unclothed.
Although he will be within his rights to demand such privi- leges after our nuptials, I
cannot consent before.

Its a one-piece, Jack says. One piece of what? I demand. I cannot wear it. I dont want her
to borrow it, anyway, Meryl says.

You go, girl! Tell him you wont wear it. Not helpful, Jack says. To me, he says, Thats what people wear to go swimming nowadays . . . in this century.

Well, then, it is very simple, then, I say, because I cannot swim.

Jack sighs, and I know he is angry. For this, I am sorry, as he has been kind and I wish to please him. I wish to marry him, in fact.

Can you get out of my room now? Meryl asks. I note that she is once again clutching her
sketch pad. Some people are trying to work.

I am sorry, I tell Jack. Perhaps American young ladies wear such garments and swim and . .
. I think of the young girlsI would not call them ladieswho have just left. . . . and hang
on to young men in a shameless manner. But I am not an American young lady. There are
certain compromises I am unwilling to make. I do appreci- ate your kindness.

If Jack is indeed my destiny, he should understand, and love me for myself.

Of course, at the moment, he does not love me at all.

I
m sitting on the sofa with Talia, eating Doritos and watching Judge Judy. Meryls in her
room, sulking. This is fascinating. Talia licks Doritos cheese off her fingers.

Whats fascinating? I ask her now. Me?

No. She laughs. I mean, yes, of course. But I was talking about your American system of
justice.

Weve been watching two women argue about whether the first womans pit bull damaged the
second womans car when it climbed on top of the car to sunbathe. The pit- bull woman is
wearing a tube top and has nails that are longer than most peoples fingers. The other
woman has on sequins. Whats fascinating about it?

What isnt? Talias eyes widen. This woman, Judge Judy. She is so wise. I shrug. I guess.

And they let her decide the whole casethey leave it up to her?

Shes the judge.

Yes! But she is a woman, and yet they trust her opin- ion. Had I stayed in Euphrasia, I
would someday be queen. I would have been charged with appointing all the magistrates in
Euphrasia. But women could not become magistrates, for their judgment is warped. They
would be inconsistent.

I think of Amber and how she acted sometimes, totally in love with me one day and then
like I wasnt fit to carry her used lunch tray the next. It doesnt sound like a totally
terrible system of justice to me. Not that Im going to say that to Talia.

But if you were queen, couldnt you appoint whoever you wanted? Isnt that part of being
queen?

Talia frowns. I do not know.

Judge Judy is ordering the first woman to pay for the pit bulls damage. Talia claps with
delight. That is exactly what I would have done.

She looks so cute I feel like kissing her. Thats when my mother walks in.

Mom apparently used the opportunity of me in Europe and Meryl at camp to get some work
done. At least she looks rested, code for the fact that her face is frozen into a stiff
smile. Jack, darling! she says through lips that dont move sideways. Youre home! She blows me a
little air kiss.

Meryl, who has come downstairs to witness the scene, mimics it. Yes, youre home, dear boy!

My sisters wearing this shirt that says: Im multi- talented. I can talk and annoy you at
the same time. An understatement. Except that my sister doesnt actually talk that much.
She either sulks or does stuff to try and bait me. Right now, shes carrying around that
stupid sketch pad shes completely obsessed with and will never show anyoneprobably because
shes drawing our muti- lated corpses. I glare at her, and she sticks out her tongue. Arent
you going to introduce Mommy to your friend, Jack?

Do you ever brush your hair? I snap back at her. Only for people who are worth the effort.
I decide its time to give Mom a big hug. Mom! You look great! Id forgotten how young you are. I gesture to Talia. This is Talia, the girl I
met in Belgium.

One thing about my momshes always calm, like the time last year when Travis and I got
caught egging cars on Eighty-second Avenue. Mom stayed calm, calm enough that I wondered
if she even cared.

You have to really know her to know when shes freak- ing. I do. Her smile is wider than
when shes actually happy, and her voice is higher.

Now she smiles blindingly. Holding out a hand with nail-polished talons, she squeaks, How
lovely to meet you. Jacks told uswell, actually, hes told us nothing about you. Are you here visiting family?

Talia glances at me, then says, No, maam. Mom continues to smile. Ah, friends, then?
Another glance at me from Talia. In a manner of speaking. I cut in. I told you, Mom. Shes staying with us. Silence. Then Meryl says, I
think theres a Naruto marathon on Cartoon Network. My sister hasnt watched an episode of Naruto in at least two years, but I guess its like how birds and squirrels disap- pear before a hurricane.
The flight instinct just kicks in.

Mom doesnt even seem to notice shes gone. Seriously, Jack, where is Talia staying?

I look her straight in the eye. Seriously, Mom, here.

Jack has been so kind to me, Talia says in her most princessy voice, helping me come to
America and all.

Moms eyebrows shoot up. Talia, dear, would you mind joining Meryl in the family room for a
moment?

You dont have to do that, I tell Talia.

Talia looks from me to Mom. I believe I do, Jack. Your mother has asked me to, and it
would only be courteous. She curtsies to Mom, then leaves.

Mom watches her go, then turns to me. What do you mean by this, Jack? First, leaving the
tour, which we spent so much money to send you on?

Its always about money, isnt it? . . . and then bringing home some stranger you met in Europe?

Youre always after me to expand my horizons.

By visiting a museum or somethingnot by bringing home Dutch drifters. Mom still hasnt
raised her voice, but her unraised voice is getting a little strained.

Shes from Belgium. I stick with that because thats what her passport says. And shes got
perfect mannersI thought youd like that.

That type always has perfect manners. That type? Grifters, tricksters. They take you in
with their perfect manners, and then they swindle you. She could rob us, even murder us in our sleep.

I laugh. Talia wouldnt do that. How do you know that, Jack? I stop and think about it. Of
course, I know because I know Talias actually a princess, heir to a throne, whos had a witchs curse placed on her
and slept three-hundred-odd years until I woke her while looking for the beach. But I dont
think that explanations exactly going to fly with Mom. Shed call the FBI before you could
say grounded until graduation, or she wouldnt believe me.

So instead, I say, Shes a really nice person.

I bet she isnt even a teenager. Shes probably some middle-aged woman preying on young boys
. . .

Actually, shes three hundred. . . . in those sleazy clothes . . . Theyre Meryls clothes! Shes taken Meryls clothes? I begin to pace. Does she look
middle-aged? Do I look middle-aged? Its irrelevant. She cant stay here. I stop pacing. Why did I agree to take Talia back to America with me? Oh, yeah, because if I didnt, Id still be rotting in a dungeon. But that
doesnt explain why I didnt ditch her at the border. I definitely could have. So why didnt
I?

Oh, yeah, cause Im a nice guy . . . which translates to sucker.

So why do I care if Mom kicks her out now?

I have no idea, but I do. If Mom doesnt let her stay, shell be all alone in Americaa
foreign country to herwith no family, no friends, not even the skills to use MapQuest to
find someplace to go. And shes so trusting. And beautiful.

God, shed be dead in a week.

You cant throw her in the street, I say. Shes just a kid. You wouldnt want someone to kick
me out, would you?

Mom looks down. She can call her family.

Its, like, three
AM
in Eu . . . Belgium. She cant call anyone.

Tomorrow, then. She can stay tonight, on the air mattress.

She cant call tomorrow, either. Why not? Good question. In the family room, Meryls got the TV on superloud. I rack my brain for any
possible, acceptable- to-Mom reason Talia cant call, a reason other than the fact that
Talias family doesnt own a phone. Could I tell her Talia would be a political prisoner if
she went back home? Except Im pretty sure Belgium is a democracy. Mom used to volunteer at
a shelter for abused kids, so maybe I could tell her that Talias dad will beat her if she
goes back . . . except Im guessing Moms charitable instinct doesnt include taking random
abused kids into our house. Finally, I say, Look, her parents are traveling in America, to
the Grand Canyon.

Im sure they have cell phones. She can call them.

I dont think phones work down there. Im thinking fast and stupid now. Its all wilderness.

Moms not buying it. Ill talk to her. She starts into the family room.

How can you kick a princess out of your house? My mom will figure out a way.

I follow her into the family room. When we get to the door, we stop. Talias sitting on the
sofa beside Meryl, who has her sketch pad with her, and shes actually showing it to Talia.
My sister says, Wow, thats incredible. It really does look a lot better that way.

I
am banished to the next room to look after Jacks sul- len sister so that Jack and his
mother might whisper about me.

Hospitality has changed a great deal in the last three hundred years. In Euphrasia, when
visitors came to the castle, no trouble or expense was sparedthe finest food served upon
gold-edged plates, sheets of linen on feather beds. Why, even when Jack came to us in my
countrys darkest hour, my father ordered a peacock killed for his dinner (that is, before
he threw him into the dungeon). The poorest peasant would provide a bed for a weary
traveler, even if it was his own bed he was giving up.

Not now. Likely, Jacks mother thinks I will slit their throats if permitted to sleep here.
I saw it in her face: fear. People are very fearful these days. At the airport, we were poked and prodded within an
inch of our lives, our shoes removed, our trunks placed inside a special machine which
might see inside them, an unreasonable intrusion.

And this is the time in which I must now live, due to wicked Malvolias curse.

I understand, but I do not like it.

Jacks sister, Meryl, sits upon the sofa, looking at the thing called television, which is
blasting like a brass band. The characters in the play she is watchingthey are all odd
drawings rather than real peopleseem quite angry. At least, they are hitting and kicking
one another. Meryl, I note, pays them little mind. Rather, she stares at her sketch pad.
She does not look up when I enter. I should be friendly to her. Our earlier conversation
did not go well, but I have observed my father enough times to know that allies are
important. I must make Meryl an ally.

I sneak up behind her and peer over her shoulder.

The drawing is the same one from earlier, the one which the horrid neighbor girl mocked.
Now I can study it further.

The detail is striking. The ocean surrounding the mer- maid, although only in black
pencil, is so real it seems to roil, the sea creatures around hereels, sharks, octopi seem
actually to swim, and the mermaid herself is so magnificently alive that I can imagine the
sea fish and crus- taceans doing her bidding.

At the palace, my drawing master, Signor Maratti, taught me to draw suitable subjects for young ladiesa bowl of fruit or a landscape. But,
alas, artistic ability was not one of the fairies gifts.

Meryl has talent. Although I meant to feign admiration for her work, I do not have to.
With deft strokes, she adds a curl to the mermaids smile. I breathe a sigh.

Meryl jumps. What are you looking at? She grabs the sketch pad away, making a nasty
scratch upon the drawing with her pencil. Now see what you made me do?

I shake my head. I apologize. I sit down on the oppo- site side of the sofa from her. She
compresses her body into a ball, as if she is protecting her sketch pad from me. She
neither opens it nor begins to draw again. Nor does she watch the television. I attempt to
watch it, but I do not know what is going on. I clear my throat.

Meryl scowls. Are you here to talk to me again?

I would like to talk to her. First of all, I am bored, and second, I would like to know
Jacks sister better. But I sense this would be the wrong thing to say, so instead I match
her scowl with one of my own.