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“You?”
“Yes, I told you I’m too young to be called ‘grandma,’” she replied, pulling out her phone. I really couldn’t believe she was serious right now. But of course, she was. “Okay, Marmi, Gamma, Gams…I like Gams…Ummm…then Amma, Cici?”
“Cici?” I repeated, completely confused. “How does that come from grandmama? Are you just making up names?”
“Anyway”—she rolled her eyes at me, scrolling—“They can call me, Minnie, Willa, or Wilma…oh now that I say it over again, I think I really like Wilma.”
“You want a little kid to call you Wilma? Like the Flintstones?”
“Oh, why did you say that? Now you’ve ruined it,” she groaned angrily as she started to type or delete it.
She had only been here for a week, and yet I felt like we’d reverted back to how we were pre-royalty…at least when we were in the same room. She’d wanted to come right after the whole drama with Augusta but instead began to sue Yvonne for a breach of contract. And, of course, Yvonne was not going down without a fight. They ended up clashing again. Yvonne argued that Augusta didn’t break the contract because she didn’t say anything to the press, and she wasn’t talking to anyone but me. Eventually, I just told my mom to let it go, so we could forget it. I’d forgotten how hard it was for her to do that because the moment Augusta went back to the States, my mother apparently kicked in the door like a SWAT team and had a “conversation” with her before dropping the lawsuit.
Now she was back here beside me, and truthfully, that was just what I needed. I’d been so angry and upset over Augusta, my blood pressure sky-rocketed, I nearly fainted twice, and now they had me on bed rest, even though there were still a few more weeks until I gave birth. The only problem was I hated bed rest. They told me to just take it easy and how long I should rest for a day, but I still…I felt so…lazy.
“I feel like I should be doing something other than eating snacks and watching movies with you in bed.”
She glanced up from her phone. “Why?”
“What do you mean why? I am Queen. There are still a few events I could handle and—”
“Babies make everything harder,” she said to me, putting her phone back down for her yogurt. “Sleeping becomes harder, eating becomes harder…walking becomes harder. Simple things become so much harder when you have a baby strapped to your boob. And if not that, then there’s the constant worry. Are they okay? Do they need me? Why are they crying? Did they burp? Did they poop? What color was it?”
“Mom!” I cringed.
“Oh, don’t make that face. You need to get used to bodily fluids because babies have a lot of them. And they never seem to want to hold it inside themselves. I remember one day I wanted us to take a picture. I got us all dressed up—me, you, your father…you were so cute…”
“What picture is this?” I didn’t remember seeing that.
“It doesn’t exist. Why? Because just as the camera guy was getting ready, I picked you up, and you threw up on my face.”
I gasped and started shaking with laughter. “I did not.”
“You did. And then your father tried to take you so I could clean up, and of course, you got diarrhea…ruined both your clothes and his shirt.”
“Oh no.” I covered my mouth, still cringing.
I couldn’t let Gale hear this story. This was exactly what he was saying when he called children biohazards.
“Oh yes, and then we started to panic because we thought something was wrong with you. We left for the hospital, where they said you were fine. By the time the day was over, I never wanted to take a photo again. And your father was…sitting on the ground, exhausted watching you laugh at him. For no reason. You’d look at him and laugh until finally, he started to laugh.” She grinned, shaking her head, laying back beside me. “You were a handful, Your Majesty. But you were a really happy baby, so it was hard for us to be frustrated with you.”
“How did you do all those pageants with me then?” I asked.
“God’s grace and my sheer stubborn personality,” she muttered. “Children take up every second of every day. So, while you have the time, rest in bed. Take it, Odette. You aren’t going to get another chance until…you are looking for alternatives to the grandma name.”
Knock.
Knock.
“Come in.”
“Pardon me, ma’am, I have your schedules,” Wolfgang said when he entered and bowed his head.
“Oh yes, I’ve been waiting for those.” I handed my mother my yogurt cup, sitting up straighter, outstretching my hands for them.
“Schedules? For what?” My mother leaned over to see.
“There are daily, weekly, and monthly schedules, and I must approve all of them. Plus, themes of the month and any plans for upcoming events, even those for secondary family members. You see here? Eliza is going to the royal Ersovia dog show tomorrow. They basically let me know if I think it is all right.”
