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“Of course not. Because Matthew wasn’t here.”
“But …” She trails off. “We never meant for you to carry the burden of any of this. His death. What his life would have been.”
“I know you didn’t. But I still did.”
Mum sighs. Deeply. And I don’t know how to move the conversation forward. Perhaps I’ve made a massive mistake in calling and stirring all of this up.
The music feels distant now. Chloe feels distant too—a wispy dream that’s becoming a mere shadow sifting between my fingers.
“Matthew didn’t want to be an advisor.”
Dad’s remark cuts through the silence. I blink, trying to grasp what he’s saying. “What?”
“We fought. Before he left on that trip. Before he died.” Dad’s normal monotone gentles, and I can sense the pain rimming the edges. “He told me he wanted to move to America and pursue music, of all things. And I told him in no uncertain terms that he would be an embarrassment if he chose that path instead of serving on the king’s advisory board. I’d already gotten the king to agree to allow him to shadow me. The cogs were in place. All that was left was for him to finish his schooling and his future would be set.”
My pacing stops right there in the grass. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “I didn’t know any of this.”
“Of course not,” Dad grunts. “I didn’t want you to. Because then I’d have not just one son who despised me, but two.”
“I could never despise you, Dad.”
“I despised myself, Frederick. The last thing I told your brother was that unless he returned from Peru with a different attitude, I never wanted to see him again. And then … he never came back at all.” His voice is raw, and I fear he’s spiraling right back into the pit. But something about it also sounds stronger. Despairing but not weak. Like he’s finally letting go of something he’s been holding onto for so long.
Coincidentally, I know just how he feels.
Dad continues. “For a long time, I thought that somehow I’d manifested his death with my terrible words.”
“Dad.” Wow. I had no idea. “But surely he knew how much you loved him. How you just wanted him to be happy.”
“I told myself that’s what I wanted, but what I really wanted was prestige for myself and my family. Our family status and reputation were everything to me. But then I lost it all anyway. It took a long time to be okay with that.” He clears his throat. “I was raised not to talk about my feelings, but your mother has been instrumental in showing me a different way. I still struggle, but we are slowly moving forward one day at a time.”
In my mind’s eye, Mum is leaning her head on his shoulder, a gentle smile on her face.
The backs of my eyes burn. “I’m glad.”
“But now, I discover that you have been unhappy, all because of me.”
“Not all because of you, Dad. Because of me and my mistaken notions of what the boundaries of sacrifice really should be.” I run a hand through my hair, gripping my neck. My fingers are cool against my skin. “I think that we’ve both been living enslaved to fear and guilt. Something Matthew would never have wanted.”
“No, he wouldn’t have.” Mum again. “He would have wanted you both to live in freedom and happiness. And he never would have blamed either of you for his death. It was an accident, and it was terrible, but he would have wanted you to learn from it. To really live.”
“She’s right,” Dad says. “And if that means not being a protective agent, then go do something else.”
“Really?” My chest loosens. I take in a huge gust of air. I’ve been living my life at half tank, starving myself of oxygen for so long and didn’t even realize it. “What if I wanted to do manual labor at a winery part of the year, and travel the other part? Would you be disappointed?”
“Of course not, so long as you’re happy. Whatever you do,” Mum says, “we know you’ll give your whole heart and faithfulness to the effort.” A pause. “Or perhaps, to the woman?”
How does she know? But maybe mums just always do. “You may regret telling me to follow this path.”
“And why is that?” Her voice is fully alive with teasing and laughter now.
“Because”—and here’s the crux of it—“it might mean that I move to America to be with that woman.”
“Then that’s what you have to do,” she replies.
“Wait, is the woman in question actually the princess?”
Mum and I both laugh at Dad’s confusion and disbelief. “It is,” I say.
