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“In any case,” Grandmère went on, not even noticing I hadn’t said anything, “isn’t That Boy moving to Japan anyway?”
“Yes,” I said. And as usual, my heart twisted at the sound of the word Japan. Just proving that:
a) I still have a heart, and
b) I still love Michael, despite all my efforts not to. I mean, how could I not?
“Well, what does it matter, then?” Grandmère asked cheerfully. “You’ll probably never see him again.”
That’s when I burst into tears.
Grandmère was pretty alarmed at this development. I mean, I was just sitting there, wailing. Even Rommel put his ears back and started whining. I don’t know what would have happened if my dad hadn’t walked in just then.
“Mia!” he said when he saw me. “What are you doing here so early? And what’s the matter? Why on earth are you crying?”
But I just shook my head. On account of how I couldn’t stop crying.
“She broke up with That Boy,” Grandmère had to shout, in order to be heard over my sobs. “I don’t know what she’s carrying on that way for. I told her it’s all for the best. She’d be much better off with the Abernathy-Reynolds boy. Such a tall, handsome young man! And his father’s so rich!”
This just made me cry harder, remembering how I’d kissed J.P. in the hallway, right in front of Michael. I hadn’t meant to, of course—but what did that matter? The damage was done. Michael was never going to speak to me again. I just knew it.
The fact that I so desperately wanted him to, in spite of everything that had happened between us, was what was making me cry hardest of all.
“I think I know what she needs,” Grandmère went on, as I continued to wail.
“Her mother?” Dad asked hopefully.
Grandmère shook her head. “Bourbon. Does the trick every time.”
Dad frowned. “I think not. But you might have your maid ring for some hot tea. Maybe that will help.”
Grandmère didn’t look very hopeful, but she went off to get Jeanne to ring for tea, while Dad stood there, looking down at me. My dad’s not really used to seeing me cry like that. I mean, I’ve cried in front of him plenty of times—most recently over the summer when we were at a state function at the palace and I walked into a low-hanging roof beam while wearing my tiara and the combs dug into my head like tiny knives.
But he is not used to me having dramatic emotional outbursts, because for the most part over the past few years, with a few notable exceptions, things have been going fairly well, and I have been able to keep it together.
Until now.
I just kept on bawling, and reaching for tissues from the box on the end table by the couch. In between wails, it all kind of poured out, about the Precious Gift and Judith Gershner and the snowflake necklace and how Michael had come to school to see me and instead saw me kissing J.P.
I have to admit, Dad looked pretty stunned. I don’t really talk about, you know, sex with my dad, because, um, ew.
And I could tell the Precious Gift thing was freaking him out, because he sank down onto the end of the couch like he had kind of lost the ability to stand up. And he just sat there listening to me until I finally wound down and couldn’t talk anymore and was just sitting there, blowing my nose, the worst of the tears over.
Only when I’d cleaned up most of the snot from my face did Dad think of something to say. And when he did, it was NO
T what I was expecting.
“Mia,” Dad said somberly. “I think you’re making a mistake.”
I couldn’t believe it! I’d basically just told him that Michael is a man-slut! You would think my own father would want me to stay far away from a man-slut! What was he TALKING about, a mistake?
“True romantic love really doesn’t come around that often,” he went on. “When it does, it’s foolish to throw it away because of some silly thing the object of your affections did before the two of you were even dating.”
I just stared at him. I don’t think it was my imagination that he looked so much like the elf king in The Lord of the Rings.
If the elf king had been totally bald, I mean.
“It’s even more foolish to let someone you feel that strongly about go—at least, not without a fight. That’s something I did once,” Dad went on, after clearing his throat. “And I’ve always regretted it, because the truth is, I never met anyone I felt that way about ever again. I don’t want to see you make my same mistake, Mia. So think—really think—about what you’re doing. I wish I had.”
