Page 20 of Prince Un-Charming

The soft lines of her cheekbones lead down to her neck so gracefully. Her professional dress and unassuming manner make it easy to overlook the elegance of her form.

"Get a grip, Caesar. She’s your secretary, not your girlfriend."No matter how much I might wish otherwise.

Tomorrow, we will simply act like today never happened. I will forget I ever looked at her in any way other than my employee, and I’m optimistic she’ll follow suit.

I pull the car over and call Marcus back. "Hey, Marcus. You know what? Give me the number of your friend."

"Really?"

"No, actually. Just have him send me a list of candidates. The kind of women who would impress a King. I'll vet them myself."

"You got it."

I wait until he hangs up. Then I let out a long sigh. "Time to find a wife."

10

VIVIENNE

If I were a normal New Yorker, I’d be starting my Sundays with a sunrise jaunt around the Central Park Reservoir, paying tribute to Jacqueline Onassis Kennedy’s favorite walking spot.

Then, with marimbas in my head, I’d have bubbly bottomless brunches with my millennial versions of Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte. Of course, I’m Carrie, just mine is played by Issa Rae.

But no. I’m not a normal New Yorker, or even really a normal girl of my generation. I probably skip right past Generation X and fit in best with the boomers.

So, I’m in the car, heading to the Poconos, about to spend my Sunday with my mom and dad in the cabin they bought so their children could gather together as soon as they started giving them grandchildren. They’re still waiting for mine, though. I have to have sex first for starters.

Being old before your time is just what happens when you’re the youngest child in a brood of six, especially when your father happens to be Delano Douglass Carter, U.S. Senator from the great state of Missouri. Not to mention when your mom is Adela Carter, the woman behind the man.

As far as dads go, I think I got off easy. Just look at all the trouble Caesar’s dad is causing.

“Will you marry me? Geez.” I scoff at myself, thinking about his question. “Who’s crazier, him or his old man? Or me?”

I’m coming down to the cabin solo, of course. Just me, myself, and Weekend Edition on NPR, spending some quality time together.

I pull into the gravel parking area and wonder to myself how long it will take for my mother to raise the topic of my single status. I’ll bet an hour.

Three of my nieces and nephews, Eva, Marty, and Dougie, come running and shrieking down the pine stairs of the enormous wraparound deck.

“Aunt Vivi’s here! Aunt Vivi!” they shout, jumping up and down.

“Come sit with the brainy bunch!” Marty yells.

That’s what the Carters call ourselves. It’s four daughters – Bobbi, Loretta, Dionne, and me – and two sons, Malcolm and Cory. Between all of us and Mom and Dad, there are more advanced degrees among us than people, not even counting honorary ones. Three Ph.D.s, five master’s degrees, four J.D.s, three MBAs, and one M.D. At least I think that’s the current count. Not to mention all my siblings’ brilliant kids.

I’m among the least educated of us, and I studied international relations at Columbia.

As I approach, the group waves hello, lifting their bloody marys and Pimm’s cups in acknowledgment.

“Vivienne! Hi, honey!” It’s my sister Dionne, the sibling I’m closest to, both in age and in general, ambling down the wooden stairs. She holds her little baby boy, Felix, and I just want to squeeze his chubby little cheeks.

We kiss each other on the cheeks, and then I move on to the bundle of cuteness in her arms.

“Nom-nom, let me eat your toes!”

I pretend to eat his perfect little brown feet, and he thinks I’m the funniest person alive. If only everyone were that easy. Purely coincidentally, I have that thought while looking at my mom.

I make my rounds and kiss everyone, starting with Mom and Dad.

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