Chapter 20 Stacy's Poetic Assumptions
“Woah! Slow down there, Stace.” My sister came gliding to a stop, her bright red shoes squeaking against the tiled floor, making us aware of her presence.
I caught her by the arm before she hit the table with her head.
“Did Mother tell you to bugger off?”, I chided her, earning a cheeky smile from her. “What did you do now?”
“Absolutely nothing. Your mother is just uptight, isn’t she Stacy?”, my father interjected, immediately taking the mischievous soon-to-be teenager’s side.
“See Daniel, Papa is always right. Because he takes my side. And my side is always right”, she added on, struggling to haul herself onto the chair next to me.
I couldn’t help but chuckle out loud, earning a glare from her. She beckoned to me to help her up to the seat.
“Miss Right can seat herself”, I replied, admonishing her.
Sighing, I ended up giving her a hand when she fiercely continued to struggle, her little legs flailing about.
“Why are you always such a jerk? No one would believe that you’re our father’s son. You’re an arrogant, glib jerk whilst he’s a kind, forgiving and smart man”, she scorned, puffing up her cheeks and looking to our father, hoping for him to back her up and scold me.
I swear to God with the kind of vocabulary and manipulative agenda she had developed at 13, I wouldn’t be surprised if she went on to go into politics and become a senator herself. And a very ruthless and bold-mouthed one too.
“Everyone knows your brother takes after your mother, child. No wonder he’s no fun, always so serious”, my uncle added, suddenly making me aware of his unpleasant presence.
“I completely agree”, the cheeky little thing continued, arguing as if this was a political bid and she was working to secure all the votes… if that had been the case, I would’ve been the one losing.
“I honestly do not understand why the pretty lady is marrying you. She’s sunshine and you’re like midnight rain, she’s so lively and you’re so grumpy. But it is a nice contrast, I suppose. Oh! My English teacher would be so proud if she heard me use such a poetic metaphor. Sunshine and midnight rain… and it fits too.”
I almost dropped the glass of wine I’d been holding.
“Wait, what? Daniel, you’re getting married and you didn’t tell me? Your own father!”, My dear Dad exclaimed, but before I could reply and clear up the obvious confusion he continued on, “ Why would you do this, son? You know I’ve been begging you to get married and when you finally do pick a girl, you choose not to tell me?!
“No, I’m not getting marr….”, I desperately start, my heart suddenly beating too hard in my chest for some inexplicable reason. “Stacy, who told you this?” I ask my little sister, trying to ignore the weird fluttery feeling brewing within me.
“The hairdresser kept congratulating the pretty lady on getting engaged. And since she came home with you, with wedding dresses in her hands, I just assumed…”, she trails off, sensing something was off as my uncle glared at me and my father hid a dissatisfied frown, apparently disappointed with the realization that the pretty lady Stacy was talking about was Ayesha.
“I was there with her too, you little rascal. Why would you assume that he’s the one she’s marrying?”, my uncle defensively argued, apparently being gravely offended by a 13 year old’s fair assumption. That man’s self esteem was seriously hanging by a thread.
“What do you mean, Uncle Ben?”, Stacy questioned, confusion writ on her face.
She looked to me and pointed at our uncle, suddenly laughing out loud,” What is uncle suggesting, Daniel? That she’s marrying him instead of you? What kind of sick joke is that?”
When an awkward silence followed, coupled with our uncle fuming at her, Stace realized that it in fact was not a joke.
“You need to teach your daughter some manners, Aberama”, my uncle seethed at father, only getting a shrug of his shoulders to which he gaped at in disbelief.
“You can’t blame the child, Benjamin. Anyone would assume she’s marrying Daniel instead of you if they saw you three together. That is just the most logical assumption”, my father simply replied, making a mockery out of him, much to my deep satisfaction.
A little hand tugged at the sleeves of my coat,” Daniel, why is the pretty lady marrying that old man?” She kept her voice low so that only I could hear her innocent and totally valid question.
She threw our uncle a dirty look, earning an appreciative grin from me.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out”, I told her. She nodded enthusiastically at me.
“Can you keep a secret?”, I asked her, internally punching myself in the face. I had finally found an ally who was just as against this marriage as I was and it was none other than my own 13 year old sister.
She again nodded with deep interest.
“I’m not going to let the pretty lady marry our uncle. She deserves much better”, I told her, earning a wide grin from her.
“Really? Wow!”, she whispered to me, apparently overjoyed with my revelation.
“And then you’re going to marry her”, she excitedly continued, getting a horrified frown from me.
“What?! No! Of course not. I’m just going to save her from getting stuck in a marriage with him”, I vehemently told her, a weird, fuzzy feeling arising within me at Stacy’s outrageous assumption.
“We’ll just have to see now, won’t we? But keep in mind Daniel, I’m providing you with a very well-researched romance conclusion. That is just how the story ends, the heroine always gets married… to who is the real question”, she stated with so much confidence, I almost questioned my own judgement.
I felt like she knew something I didn’t. Which was totally absurd.
“Well then, I guess we must make sure it’s me”, I played along, earning the widest grin from her.
I obviously was not going to marry her. God no!
Only the lord could help whatever poor lad she chose to marry in the end. I just had to make sure it wasn’t my uncle…. but it couldn’t be me either. She was neither my problem nor my responsibility. The only thing I was responsible for was getting her out of this clearly forced marriage.
It could never be me she ended up with. It just couldn’t.
“She would never agree to marry me”, I told my sister, the sentence escaping me without my mind’s permission.
“And if she did?! Would you marry her?”, that glint in her eye irked me, like she was so sure of herself.
For a second, a horrifying conclusion dawned on me but I immediately shoved it away to the darkest corners of my brain.
My sister was just delusional. Yup, that was it. And I was having a mere lapse in judgment.
“Just drink your orange juice, Stace. And enough with those romance novels of yours”, I grumbled, chugging down the wine. The little creature gave me a triumphant grin like she’d won.
I frowned at her, her all-knowing grin frustrating me, making me question things I had no business questioning.