Page 72 of Prince Material
“I’m sorry,” Tia said quietly, sitting beside me. “I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that.”
I sighed, unable to be angry with her. “You were trying to help.”
“I wanted Uncle Bill to get off your back.” She bumped my shoulder gently. “I never expected him to react like that.”
“Neither did I.” I stared at the twinkling lights across the street, thinking of Floris’s smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. “But maybe he’s right. Maybe I don’t belong in Floris’s world.”
“That’s bullshit.” The curse word sounded forceful. “You belong wherever you want to belong. And from what I saw at Thanksgiving, Floris wants you in his world.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?” She turned to face me fully. “Look, I may be younger than you and not, like, experienced with relationships, but I’m not blind. I saw how he looks at you, like you’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. And I saw how you are with him—happier, lighter. More… you.”
“More me?” I repeated, confused.
“Yeah. Like… okay, remember when we were kids and you used to get so excited about old buildings? How you’d drag me around the French Quarter, explaining about architectural styles and historical preservation? You stopped doing that at some point, instead focusing on nothing else but studying. Everything became about safety and prevention and being perfect.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “But with Floris, I saw that old spark come back. When he was here, you lit up like you used to. I overheard you talk to him about the classic New Orleans architecture, and he got it. He actually listened and asked questions and seemed genuinely interested in what you were saying.”
I remembered that day: Floris’s enthusiasm, his intelligent questions, the way he’d encouraged me to share my knowledge. “He makes it easy to get excited about things.”
“Exactly!” Tia grabbed my hand. “And that’s what Dad would’ve wanted for you. Not just surviving, butliving. Being passionate about something. Being happy.”
“But Uncle Bill?—”
“Uncle Bill isn’t Dad.” Her voice was firm. “He didn’t know Dad’s heart like Mom did. And Mom loves Floris. You can see it in her face whenever she talks about you two.”
I thought about Mom’s warm acceptance, how she’d welcomed Floris into our home without hesitation. “She does seem to like him.”
“Because she sees how good he is for you.” Tia squeezed my hand. “And because she’s not stuck in the past like Uncle Bill.She wants you to live your life, not spend it trying to make up for something that wasn’t your fault.”
The words hit home, echoing what Floris had been trying to tell me all along. “I miss him,” I admitted quietly. “More than I thought possible.”
“Then call him.” Tia picked up my phone from where I had put it down next to me and held it out. “Right now.”
“It’s after 11p.m. there.”
“So? He won’t mind if it’s you.”
The simple truth of her words made my chest tight. I took the phone, staring at it for a long moment before hitting the call button. It rang a few times before Floris’s voice came through, warm and familiar. “Orson?”
Just hearing him made something in my chest unclench. “Hi. Yes, it’s me.”
The background noise on his end quieted, like he was moving somewhere private. “Is everything okay,lieverd?”
“I just…” I swallowed hard. “I needed to hear your voice.”
There was a pause, then softly: “God, I miss you too.”
“Today’s been rough,” I admitted, aware of Tia still sitting beside me but needing to get the words out. “My Uncle Bill is here, and he looks so much like Dad, and then Tia accidentally told everyone about us, and?—”
“Breathe,lieverd,” Floris interrupted gently. “Start from the beginning.”
I took a shaky breath, letting his voice ground me. “My uncle, my dad’s brother, he always pushes about following in Dad’s footsteps, about living up to his sacrifice. And then Tia mentioned you, trying to change the subject, and he… he said some things.”
“What kinds of things?” Floris’s voice had taken on that protective edge I’d come to recognize.
“That I don’t belong in your world. That I’m getting distracted from what matters, from what Dad died for.” My voice cracked slightly. “That you’ll get bored eventually and?—”
“Stop.” The word was firm but gentle. “First of all, you belong wherever you want to belong. Second, you’re not getting distracted. You’re the most focused, dedicated person I know. And third…” His voice softened. “I could never get bored of you, Orson Ritchey. You fascinate me more every day.”
