A Kiss in Time (21 page)

We just want whats best for you, Mom says, and for your college I dont even want to go to college.

Which stops her for about two seconds. Then she turns to Talia. Talia, you must have been
to so many museums growing up in Europe. Which is your favorite?

Can I be excused? Meryl says.

Yes, dear. Mom turns back to Talia. Now, as I was saying . . .

I say, You cant just change the subject and expect things to go away.

She stops in midsentence, looking at the bowl of rice like shes trying to decide whether
to try and change the subject yet again. But finally she looks at me.

The reason I change the subject, Jack, is because it helps me to ignore the fact that my
son, the child I bore and raised from infancy, has no interest in anything we want, no
respect for That is not true, Talia interrupts. Both Mom and Dad stare daggers at Talia, but she con- tinues. I have known Jack only a
week, but already I can tell how much your opinion means to him. When we were traveling in
Europe, you were in his thoughts and conver- sation the whole time.

Is that true?

Young lady, Dad says, I hardly think this is any of your business.

No, it is not. But perhaps as an outsider, I can see more clearly. Jack does respect your
opinion. He craves your approval. But he feels that the only way he can get it is to deny
his true nature and do exactly as you say.

Mom looks at me. Is that true? I nod. Talia continues. It was my idea that Jack should tell you where his real interests lie, in gardening, in being with the earth. I said I was
certain caring parents like yourselves would understand.

Young lady, Dad says. I dont know who you are or where youre from, but you have no idea
the sort of pres- sures a boy like Jack will face, the competition . . .

Dad, I say.

Talia holds out her hand. You are right. I have no idea, and it is none of my business,
and I was taught to obey my parents. But sometimes it is just impossible to obey blindly.
Sometimes a child must strike out on her own. A child cannot be a child forever, whether
that means not touching a spindle or . . . or . . . I know, of course, that shes not just thinking about me but of herself and her own
parents. I think what shes say- ing is pretty profound.

Dad looks away. Ill tell Ed youll be in Monday. I wont be there. I stand. Come on, Talia.
Jack! My mother tries to follow me. Sorry I ruined our family dinner, I say.

Talia follows me out. That did not go well. Its not your fault. It never goes well. She
purses her lips in that cute way she does. It cer-

tainly makes me think about my own situation. She means about leaving, about going home.
Shes still thinking about it. I dont want her to go. Yet I have no idea how to get her to
stay. I was hoping maybe my parents would give in, let her stay a little longer, at least
until the end of summer. After the mess at dinner, thats not looking very good. Thing is, Im falling in love with her. But my parents wouldnt want to hear that, either.

The next morning, Talia beats me downstairs again. When I finally make it to breakfast,
Talia whispers, It did work! Then, louder, she adds, Your mother has been telling me of a
lovely garden nearby, where she volunteers. Will you take me to it?

Im sorry, I say, I seem to have walked into the wrong room. My mother is talking to you
about gardening?

About Fairchild, Jack, Mom says. You must remember. I used to take you there all the time with me when you were younger, and you loved it. But
I never thought youd have any interest in it now that youve grown up.

Jack is very interested, Talia says. Right, Jack? Yeah. Thatd be cool. I remember going
there with Mom, and then we just stopped. I figured she didnt want to be seen in public with me anymore, once I was a
pimply-faced thirteen-year-old. Could it have been that she just didnt think Id want to
go? Was I that much of a jerk?

Mom nods, like shes answering yes to the last ques- tion. Im happy you want to go. Its
been a while since Ive seen you taking a real interest in anything, other than partying.

He has some other interests of which you are unaware, Talia says.

Okay, enough talking about how I dont have any interests, I say, wanting to end the
subject. Why dont we have breakfast, then go?

Talia laughs. Once again, you have slept through breakfast.

F
or lunch, we eat something called a hot dog, which Jacks mother very kindly volunteers to
prepare. She must have slaved all night, for it seems like quite an elabo- rate blend of
sausages and spices on specially made oblong bread, and there are several sauces
available. I try some of each, red, green, and yellow. The yellow one is my favorite, and
I marvel that Jacks mother went to so much trouble, and also that Jack said his mother
could not cook. Might I please have one with only the mustard sauce? Wow, Jack says. Most
girls I know only eat lettuce and diet dressing. Theyre afraid theyll get fat.

I never get fat, I say, although I know the man at the modeling agency said I was. In
truth, I appear to be getting thinner. I hold out the waistband of one of the pairs of
jeans Jack bought in Europe. It fit well then, but now it is much too large. I wonder privately if this is part of the fairies gift. Modern
ideals of beauty have changed, so it may be that I have changed with them. In my day, it
was considered preferable for a woman to have meat on her bones, the better to show that
she could afford food and prove healthy for childbearing. In my day, the young ladies at
the pool party, or Meryls tormenters, Jennifer and Gaby, would have been thought quite
poor and sickly. Only the peasants were so skinny.

I mention none of this to Jack. Talk of hips for child- bearing would only scare him. That
may be why men prefer young ladies to be slimmer now. They do not wish to marry and have
children at a young age anymore. Ladies the age of Jacks mother are plumper. I also note
that standards of male beauty and hotness have changed little.

I look at Jack. He would have been thought quite hand- some in my time.

I sigh. Quite handsome. Hey, Jack says. Earth to Talia. Come in, Talia. I do not know what
this means, so I look at Jack. Sup? he says, which is his way of asking what I am thinking. I can hardly tell him I was thinking how hand- some he is or how nice it might
be to bear his children, so I say the first thing that comes to mind.

Will your mother and Meryl be accompanying us to the garden?

Doubtful. Jack reaches for the red sauce. My mother never accompanies me anywhere. Jacks
mother says nothing but raises her eyes and looks at Jack a long time. Well, I know Im not going, Meryl says.
Whod want to go on some boring old nature walk? I am rather glad at Meryls refusal. I like Meryl,
but she would merely present an impediment to getting Jack to fall in love with me. Already, last
night, she annoyed him greatly by singing a song about Jack and Talia, sitting in a tree.
It probably did not help that we actually had been sitting in a tree that very afternoon.

I wish you were going, I tell Mistress ONeill. I imagine you have great expertise and
could teach Jack and me a thing or two about gardening. I smile at her.

What a lovely, polite girl you are.

She means not like that Amber chick, Meryl says with a mouthful of hot dog.

Yes, Mistress ONeill says. That is exactly what I meant.

I try to blush and look downward as I was taught, but secretly I am checking Jacks
expression at the mention of Ambers name and sitting upon thorns to see his response. To
my relief, Jack does not seem too perturbed by Meryls comment. Indeed, he does not even
tell her to shut up.

Thank you. I was told to respect my elders, even the peasants. Realizing my mistake, I
cover my mouth. I mean, not that you are peasants, only that you are older than I . . . or
rather . . . I mean . . .

Quit while youre ahead, Jack whispers behind his hot dog. Ahead? Meryl says. She just called Mom an old peasant.

It is quite all right, Jacks mother says. I wont go with you, but I hope you have a nice
time, since you will only be here a few more days.

Oh, I have fouled things up now. His mother hates me. She walks away.

Jack is smiling at me. Dont worry about it. He touches my shoulder.

I feel myself blush and look away, nearly overturning my water in the process. But I
glance sideways at him, through my fingers so that he might not guess my motives.

In my time, I would have been expected to marry the man my father chose. But now, that
manany man he might have chosenis dead. I can choose whomever I want. Would I choose Jack,
were he not my destiny?

He is handsome. I have grown accustomed to the out- landish clothes now worn by gentlemen
in this time, and the hair. In my time, mens hair was much longer, with curls flowing well
past the shoulders or even wigs in the style of Louis, Dauphin of France (whose son,
Louis, used to come visit our palace until he became engaged to a princess from Sardinia).
It was quite elegant when compared with the shaggy styles favored by boys Jacks age or the
strange, short cuts of their elders.

And Jack is kind. True, I forced him to take me with him. But after we had made good our
escape, nothing stopped him from abandoning me in Belgium or France. At the time, I assumed that no one would leave a princess, but I now realize many would.
Nothing save his own kind- ness required Jack to bring me through those countries, to
purchase clothing for me, obtain a passport, fly me across the ocean, or bring me home to
meet his parents. He did it for memuch as that man gave his coat for his wife.

And yet, he is a mere boy, unready for love, perhaps, and certainly unready to marry.

No. He is handsome and kind. He is wonderful and funny and enjoyable to be with. I
remember being with him, up in that tree. And there is a tingling in my shoulder where he
touched me.

If only I could make him love me.

But I am beginning to realize that being a princess does not mean I will be given
everything I want. No, it is up to me.

At the garden, Jack pays our admission, then asks for direc- tions to something called a
tram tour. We traverse a path of dirt and rock, and Jack directs my attention to various
plants and flowers. This is a beautiful place, with the sort of exotic blooms I imagined
seeing on travels to India or China. Blossoms of purple, yellow, fuchsia, and red fill my
eyes like the raiments of bridesmaids at a fairy wedding.

So beautiful, I say half a dozen times, in part to express joy in what Jack
lovesgardeningbut also because it is indeed beautiful, like nothing I have seen before.

On the tram toura tram being a sort of open busI sit closer than strictly necessary. I am a bit afraid, I say, although it is a lie. Do you
mind if I sit closer to the center?

Jack shakes his head. Ill hold you, if you want.

Thrilled, I present my hand, but he does not take it. Instead, he places his arm around my
shoulder. He is so close I can almost feel his heartbeat.

He turns his face toward me and looks at me. Okay?

Yes! The word is a gasp because, in that moment, with his face mere inches from mine, I
thinkI hopehe might kiss me. And I want him to, not merely because of the curse or my
father or wanting to prove that he is my true love, but because I want, once again, to
feel his lips upon mine. He moves closer.

But then, the tram slams to a stop. Jack and I are jostled apart, and at the same time, an
old woman says, None of that shameless behavior here.

Jack and I light from the tram, putting a seemly distance between us, so as not to offend
the old womans eyes, but Jack was going to kiss me. I know he was. Perhaps later.

And then we reach a pool with the most wondrous of flowers. My eyes widen.

Something, isnt it? Jack says.

Yes. Something. I can still feel the sensation of Jack leaning toward me, our lips about
to meet in a kiss. Jack grasps my hand.

Before me, floating in shallow water, is the most enor- mous flower I have ever seen. No
shy young rosebud, this. The plant is taller than a child of eight and, although closed, it is wider than my shoulders and pursed like an enormous pink mouth covered in
spiny whiskers each as long as my fingers.

Magnificent! I say.

Victoria water lily, Jack reads. It says here it can get to be six feet across.

Oh, my. Nothing like that in Euphrasia, huh? No. Nothing at all. I glance away, and when I
look back, it is almost as if the thing has moved. A man standing nearby interrupts. You have
to come in the morning, though. Thats when its open. Really? I keep my eyes glued upon the lily.
Its petals seem to shake. Yes. They open in the evening and close at ten each morning. Jack laughs. Then Ill never see it, right, Talia? He nudges me. But I do not look at him. I gaze only upon the bud because, despite the mans words, despite the late hour, it does, indeed, appear to be
opening, nay, not merely open- ing. It appears to be . . . speaking.

Dear Princess, the time has come, the open bloom says. Its voice is deep, as if coming
from the bottom of the pond.

Who . . . what are you? Although I know.

Oh, Princess. The plants voice changes. You know exactly who I am. Malvolia!

What do you want of me? Why do you keep . . . ? I want my spell fulfilled. It was
fulfilled. He loves me. I know it. You know no such thing. The flowers voice is mock-

ing. I think not. I was cheated. You said yourself that he does not love you.

I said nothing of the sort. You thought it. It is the same thing. Talia? I hear Jacks
voice, far off in the distance. I try to answer but cant. Now the bloom appears to have grown, rising up through the murky water. Talia! Say something! Come, Princess. Green leaves fill my
vision. What do you want from me? I want my due. The flower has turned into a vine.

Each spiny whisker has become a curved tentacle, reaching for me. The green leaves are no
longer the green leaves of Miami but rather the trees in the Euphrasian hills. I am in
Euphrasia.