Page 110 of Prince Charmless
Taylor
Melina’s childhood home is the right unit of a duplex on the outskirts of the city. It has a white porch and a rickety bench swing. Before we walk up the steps, a boy riding a skateboard zooms past us. He probably doesn’t have a care in the world besides homework, girls, and TikTok. What a life.
Ever since Melina let it slip to her mom that we’ve been seeing each other, she’s apparently been begging to meet for days. She’s met my father, so it’s only fair. It’s a little weird her mother has talked to Tom and not me.
In the past two months, Melina and I have fallen into a groove. We’ve been spending nights and whole weekends at each other’s places. I didn’t know she had a cat. One day, I woke up to it sleeping between us like a child who got scared in the night. Where we stay depends on whether my snoopy brother is home. He has a habit of wandering out of his enclosure. She says she likes my place better, but I like hers more. I like that we have to bump into each other to navigate the space. I like that every room has her stuff in it, stuff she lets me look through. You can learn a lot about a person by doing that. Except she got a little crotchety when I found her vibrator in a nightstand. I had to spend all night proving to her that me knowing exactly where her vibrator is kept is actually a perk. God, she can be so stubborn sometimes.
We’ve learned that I like making dinner for her, and she likes making breakfast for me. I especially like her cooking when she does it while only wearing a slinky negligee, and I have torestrain myself from bending her over the counter while she’s trying to pour a glass of orange juice.
We don’t even have sex every night. Sometimes we just fall asleep together, like yesterday when we watchedThe Devil Wears Prada. A former low-level palace aide I barely knew called me a ‘total Miranda’ in a recent op-ed, and I asked her what that meant. After seeing the movie, I now understand it’s a compliment.
I just about died when she went to Argentina to visit her family over Christmas. It always feels like something is missing when she’s more than a drive away. She gave me her present beforehand and specifically told me to wait until the birth of Christ to open the card. Though I should have waited until after church.You’re being fidgety,Grandma had whispered in my ear during the Eucharist. Maybe I was a little on edge because an hour beforehand, her card adorned with a golden retriever wearing a Santa hat had scattered a bunch of photos all over my floor. Melina’s adamant that Rachel doesn’t shoot porn, but they were damn near close to it. Even when she’s thousands of miles away, leave it to Melina to make me get on my knees to see her naked. She said she took Polaroids to prevent my gift from floating around in the Cloud. It’s a good idea, but having a bunch of nudes in physical form makes me feel like a real eighties perv. Where am I supposed to keep them that isn’t creepy? In a sock drawer where a maid could find them or in my nightstand like a serial masturbator. In my pocket during Christmas mass doesn’t seem to be the solution either.
I begged and pleaded to find out what Melina wanted, but me buying her things ‘isn’t fair’. Eventually, I asked Rachel who told methe key to a girl’s heart is a Dyson Airwrap,which at first I thought was a vacuum cleaner, but I guess it’s a magic stick for hair? Melina seemed to know what it was, then proceeded to call me a bastard for giving it to her.
Right before she knocks on the front door, Melina turns to me. “You’re absolutely okay with this? I know it’s awkward, but she won’t stop asking to see you. She’s probably going to open fire with a million questions.”
“It’ll be fine. I’m great with moms.”
She groans. “Ugh, don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“I’m great with moms,”she mocks in a low voice. “It sounds like they’re your type.”
I really am great with moms. My publicist says I’m very popular with them.
“She’s always been a little royal obsessed,” Melina continues. “She had this commemorative plate of your parents’ wedding. It was microwave safe. I used to use it for Pizza Rolls.”
Royal weddings are always great for tourism and the economy. However, I didn’t know the extent of our merchandising.
“Everything will be all right,” I say. “Meeting people is my whole job.”
“This isn’t a job, though, okay? This is my mother.” She raps on the door. “Oh, she invited Mateo too.”
“Wha—”
The door swings open. I don’t think Mateo and I got off on the right foot last time. I’d put it at a fifty-fifty chance. Every time I open my mouth, he probably hears, ‘I’m the one defiling your sister’.
Mateo gives me a very firm handshake. “It’s weird you’re standing on my mom’s porch,” he says.
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I hold up the bottle I’ve been clutching and say, “Wine.”That’s not a sentence.“I brought wine,” I clarify. There. Subject, predicate. Kill me.
Mateo takes it and guides us in. My nose can already tell that someone has been cooking for hours. It makes me alittle nostalgic, actually. My mother was insistent that we keep up the ruse of us being a normal family. Making our own meals and eating together was very important to her. I try to make her recipes, but they never taste the same for some reason. She may have written down some measurements a little incorrectly, so she could take her cooking to the grave. I wouldn’t underestimate my mom to find that hilarious.
The walls of the house are pale yellow and filled with family photos. I notice an older man in some of the pictures, who I’m guessing is her father. Melina says her parents divorced when they were children due to financial issues. Sonia must not hold that much animosity to take the pictures down. One that catches my eye is of Melina, probably around twelve, holding up a painting I’m assuming she made. Her stupid face is all smiley.
“I like this one,” I say, pointing to the photo.
“That’s the day I won my school’s art contest,” she taps the blue ribbon at the bottom of the painting. “I beat the older kidsandMateo.”
I bend down to read a framed newspaper clipping. The title of the article reads,Why This After School Program Is Teaching Girls To Code.The photo underneath is of a teenage Melina at a computer wearing a yellow polka-dot sweater and a scrunchie-bound side ponytail.
“What?” she asks after my snicker.
I would’ve placed Melina as the most popular girl in school, with every boy falling at her feet.
“Nothing. You just never told me you were a total dork—ow!”
