Page 26 of Royal Pain
Zan
That sign-off may have crossed the line. But it’s true. I am hers for the taking. Unbelievable. And if it scares her off then I’m misreading the room. I’ll find out soon enough. I’ll send this as quickly as possible, but in the meantime set up a WhatsApp connection. Tomorrow after getting settled, I’ll call. Yeah. Sounds like a plan.
* * *
The compound is maintained beautifully, but since we’ve been gone new exterior paint is visible on all the separate houses and structures. Mine is the soft butter color I picked last month. Kwai begrudgingly agreed to his second choice, a light mint shade. The electric purple he wanted didn’t pass my mother’s test of good taste. Tarik’s home, which sits between us, is a pale blue.
The king and queen’s residence remains white, but the huge double doors have been sanded and stained a rich golden bronze. The colorful seal of the Royal Family hangs over the entry.
Two stoic armed guards open the doors for me as I pass through.
“Good morning,” I say, knowing I won’t get a response.
It always feels false to me not to acknowledge they are standing there. It’s their job to remain on guard, but I don’t have to be a dick about it. And I know my kindness is appreciated because they’ve told me in their off hours. We have a mutual agreement. Me to say good morning, them to keep their concentration.
Inside the entry never fails to impress me. Ebony wood floors, thirty-foot ceiling, hand painted murals of the riches of Mozia, tasteful gold touches dotting the tables. But it’s the lighting that touches me most. Hand blown glass chandeliers hung down the middle of the space. Each one a variation of the theme, African flowers and tree blossoms, leaves all gilded at the edges.
But as I move to the family room, what my mother told Kwai, Tarik, and I yesterday hasn’t left my mind. How could it? The cancer has spread to his lungs and liver. It’s inoperable. Now it’s only about waiting for the inevitable, trying to fill what time we have with him with love. We knew it was coming, but nevertheless it shocked. Tarik got quiet, as did I. But it was Kwai who cried. That image of my mother holding him in her arms was powerful in its despair.
“Good morning, Son.”
My father’s once booming voice has begun to change. I think this one thing scares him more than the other symptoms of his cancer. We have all ignored it, pretending it’s unnoticeable. But who are we kidding? Not this mountain of a man.
“Good morning, Father. How was your night?” I say, entering the room and walking to where he sits.
That’s another thing. It was rare to see him sit during the day. Now it’s a given. Today he has an African marriage blanket on his lap.
“Excellent. I slept well.”
“I didn’t,” my mother says, entering from the far door leading into a parlor.
I kiss my father’s two cheeks, like I have for decades, then move to do the same for my mother.
“She hasn’t had a good sleep since New York. She worries too much. Never turns it off!” he says, tapping his temple.
Taking a seat next to him on the couch, she tucks the heavy blanket against his legs and I see for the first time how thin they’re getting.
“See what I mean?”
My mother gives a little grin and doesn’t contradict the king.
“It’s a woman thing, my darling. Don’t begrudge me my nature.”
He’s charmed by the comment and lets her fuss.
“You two have set the bar very high, you know,” I say, pouring myself a coffee.
They know without further explanation what I’m talking about. When I turn back I’m greeted by their smiling faces.
“She’s lovely, Zan. Just make sure you take your time getting to know the whole person. It’s very easy to fall for the physical,” my mother warns.
“Like you fell for me?” My father laughs and flexes his guns. They’re still bigger than all three of his sons’ arms put together.
She playfully feels the muscle and sighs.
“Well, you can’t blame a girl. You were a beautiful ebony king, and I was just an inexperienced wide-eyed teenager with zero confidence in herself.”
My father looks at me and tells me the real story.
“She was a beauty whose lack of confidence only made her more appealing. Different from any other girl I’d been with. And of course I’d been with many by that time.”
The queen makes a sour face at the thought.
“But when I saw her, I knew. Right then and there, I knew. There’s no mistaking your destiny, Zan. Is this girl yours? Can you feel the truth of it?”
“Yes, Father. She’s the one.”
“I have something to add,” says my mother. “What you have to do is make sure she feels the same about you. Otherwise, destiny or not, it won’t work.”
As romantic as she is, my mother is a pragmatist and always sees clearly.
