Page 14 of When Kings Rise

I am so tired of parents who don’t think about their kids.

Chapter Six

Selene

PLEASURE. SUCH A small word but one I can’t find in the one-hundred-word crossword puzzle. A cup of tea that had been piping hot when I started has cooled in the mug. I swallow the liquid and continue my search. I have only two more words to find, and it will be complete.

A groan from my grandfather has me glancing at him.

“You know the rules. I intended on finishing off that puzzle.” He slips a small pair of glasses from the breast pocket of his navy shirt and places them on his nose. He stands over me to see how much I have completed.

I continue my search as I speak. “I know the rules. You have twenty-four hours to complete it before I get in.” And his twenty-four hours are up.

“Well, the new newspaper hasn’t been delivered yet, so you are doing the puzzle early.”

With my eyes still glued to the puzzle, I point to the newspaper at the end of the dining table with my pencil. “Your new newspaper is there.” I hadn’t broken our golden rule. He steps away from me and removes his glasses. I hide a smile as I watch him leave the room.

A large arch joins the dining room with the kitchen. The kettle buzzes away as he clicks it on.

Found it. I circle the word and move on to the final one. I can smell pudding and hear the microwave come to life.

“You know Grandmother doesn’t like her pudding microwaved.” I smile softly as my grandfather tuts again.

“It’s a good thing it’s only for me,” he says as he re-enters the dining room with his small timer. He pauses at my shoulder and reads the word I’m looking for. “Hmmm,” he says but continues to his side of the table and sets up his newspaper, opening it up to the puzzle page.

He only gets the papers for the puzzle. I told him so many times that he could buy a puzzle book as he doesn’t read anything else in the paper, but he likes the newspaper and not the small booklet of puzzles.

The microwave still hums in the background as he takes a seat at the head of the old mahogany table. It has some secret drawers that I loved playing with as a kid. I had found the panel when I was coloring under the table on a stormy night. Whenever we had thunder and lightning, my grandmother would make me hide under the table with a flashlight and tell me to color. One particular night, the storm raged for longer than normal, and I got bored of coloring, so I started to touch the table and discovered the secret drawers. Old twine, a pair of scissors, and some clippings of newspapers were all I found. To me, they were treasures.

“I ran into your parents yesterday,” he says, and I look up from the crossword puzzle, leaving my memories behind.

“Let me guess…they didn’t ask about me.” I know the answer already; it should stop hurting after all this time, but I still feel the twinge in my gut at how they don’t care.

“No, they didn’t,” he says. He is never one to sugarcoat things, and I love that about him.

I’m tempted to return to my puzzle but can see in my grandfather’s deep brown eyes that he isn’t finished talking. I take another sip of my cold tea and regret the decision straight away.

“I know that your mother is my child, but I promise I won’t play favorites.”

“If you did that, I would be the winner.” I smile at him.

“Yes, very true. I just meant that you could tell me about this tiff that has separated you from your parents.”

I don’t want to talk about it, and it peeves me that I always have to be the one to explain what happened with them.

I don't, of course. How can I tell my grandparents that I only exist to be married off? Discovering that at the age of sixteen was life altering, to say the least. I’d had everything as an only child and could do anything I wanted. A picture-perfect childhood until the reality of what my future would be destroyed it all for me.

I won’t be the one to destroy my grandparents’ world. They would object, but doing so would only cause a rift within our family, and I’d still have to marry. They loved their daughter, and I didn’t want to put my mother in a bad light with them.

“You will need to ask them about that,” I finally say.

“I did, and they wouldn’t answer. That’s why I’m asking you.” Of course, he did. He hates to see me separated from my parents even though I’ve lived with my grandparents for years. Simply saying that my parents traveled a lot, and I wanted company or making the excuse that my mother and I didn't get along has worked for the past few years, but I know the older I get, and my parent's cold response to me, makes my grandparents question this arrangement all the more.

“Móraí, you know I’m not an idiot. If I am not speaking to my parents, there is a good reason.”

His eyes soften, “I guess I can trust that reasoning.”

“You can,” I answer just as the doorbell rings.

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