Chapter 5

I joined el padre in the breakfast nook, my mind reasonably cleared of last night’s near miss. Obviously, I was feeling too ... sanguine ... No, I was feeling too happy about the coming evening.

“Someone’s getting excited for tonight, I think.”

Fuckety-fuck fuck! I had forgotten the cardinal rule due to my anticipation of the dance tonight and the relative happiness I still felt from the affirmation of Emma’s care and liking of me. I’m not at all used to feeling ... emotions like that, so I’m not experienced with suppressing outward expression of those emotions. Of those emotions. I have extensive experience ... more than I ever wanted ... at suppressing the physical expression of negative emotions, like anger.

I mentally breathed in, altered my facial expression slightly – not so much as to draw a response about the change, though, then replied, “I admit to feeling pleasant anticipation about this evening.”

He chuckled at me. I mentally shook my head ... hard. I had been ... and still am flummoxed by the man of the house’s alteration in how he treats with me, and I still lacked an understanding of, first, why he’d made that change and, second, why I was having trouble dealing with a father who was ... pleasant.

I joined him at the small table, at which point he said, “Cook has options today, so you’ll want to tell her which you’d like.”

I removed myself from the chair and went into the kitchen and selected a waffle and scrambled eggs. With dancing on my docket tonight, I needed the carbs. On my approach to the table this time, I had schooled my expression, so elicited no further comment from my table partner.

My, someone’s happy. Are we going to erupt into song or poetry?

I don’t hear you.

Hah! We hear us all the time. We have no choice. Something about ... hyper proximity, I think.

[]

Blink, blink.

In case you were wondering, that’s me ignoring you.

Blink, blink.

“Moi otetz, I think Cook’s waffles are particularly tasty this morning. Do you know what the nearly infinitesimal addition is?”

Do you think you can truly ignore us ... or me?

“I’m not sure, but I noticed that, also. Something a bit alkaline, I think. Perhaps cocoa or coffee?”

Perhaps cocoa or coffee ... blah, blah, blah.

“Hmm, I can see that, but it’s not strong enough for me to select one. Perhaps it’s both.”

Perhaps it’s both. Perhaps it’s arsenic. Perhaps it’s...

Perhaps you should go fly a kite off a short pier, if I may mix metaphors.

“I didn’t consider that, but that’s just the sort of thing Cook would do. Of course, she won’t tell me. Perhaps you can worm it out of her.”

Perhaps it’s worms.

“I doubt it. I got one thing out of her once, and I used major subterfuge to get that. She’s onto me.”

“Ah. Pity. I’d threaten to fire her if she didn’t tell me, except that she’s so good that she’d have a replacement position ten minutes later. I’d rather enjoy her cooking, even if I don’t know exactly why it’s so good.”

“Papa, that’s sound thinking.”

He stared at me for a few moments, then said, “Thanks,” and frowned. He quickly added, “I’m heading out on some errands. I’ll see you at the ... What did you call it? Soiree?”

I mentally rolled my eyes at the patronization, but nodded, and he departed.

Why the fuck are you mad at us?

Whyever would you ask such? No, whyever would you need to ask such? And how is it that you fucked up on a pronoun?

That shut the voice up for much of the rest of the morning, which enabled me to do some serious thinking, some of that on a particular topic. With Emma able to come to today’s ... party, I guess, how will we coordinate on ... Oh. Fuck, this having a friend is ... hard to internalize, since I’m so unused to that. I called her.

“Annah! How was the rest of your night?”

“Relatively benign. Thanks for that last night. I don’t know what would happen if I let ... if I lose to...”

“The voice in your head?”

I was stunned by her question, her way-too-fucking-prescient question. So stunned, that enough time passed that she asked, “Are you still there?”

I inhaled deeply, then replied, “Yes. How ... how do you know?”

“I’m afraid that I asked around. As you said, you have zero friends. You need to talk to someone, figure out how life works. Girls like you ... and me ... have few other options for discourse.”

“You ... too?”

“Why not?”

“You seem so ... so much ... I don’t know. With it? More than I’ve ever felt.”

“Hah! I think that of you!”

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

I thought furiously, leaving Emma hanging for a while, but letting her know by saying, “Wait.”

I followed that by holding mental fingers to my mind’s ears and thought more ... and with even more furiousness, even some ferocity, trying to answer many questions.

How can Emma be so much like me in some respects?

Given the above, how can I...

That one was scary, but I managed to articulate it.

Given the above, how can I like her so much. Certainly, that can’t be because I like myself or am likeable. Can it?

I frowned in concentration as I tried to analyze the seeming disparity between disliking myself but liking someone much like me, at least in some fashion.

I got lost briefly in that conundrum but kicked my brain back onto the track I wanted.

How...

I lost the other questions I had lined up in my head. But how can that be? How did they get away?

“I’m lost. I ... I think my brain tries to think of too much at the same time and...”

“You lose track of where you were heading, what you wanted to accomplish.”

“Please don’t tell me that happens to you, too.”

“Sorry, Annah. I don’t want to lie to you.”

“Please! No! How can we be ... How can I like someone so like me if I don’t like myself?”

Oh, my crazy bone! You told someone!

“Aren’t we the duo? But, Annah, while we may share some ... idiosyncrasies, if you will, we’re not identical. One very important difference is that you are blessedly free of siblings, particularly narcissistic, megalomaniacal siblings. You’re also...”

“Who says? Why can’t that fucking voice in my head be at least somewhat equivalent to your sister?”

“Ah. You admit that I’m worse off than you.”

“How can that be? I’m saddled with this ... voice ... Oh.”

“Oh, indeed. I have a corporeal megalomaniacal, narcissistic sibling as well as a noncorporeal version of same. I think ... Annah, I’m ... hoping to the bottom of all that’s holy that one or more of our individual afflictions will cancel each other out to leave us with only one between us. If you don’t mind sharing my extra one with me, although I wouldn’t wish the corporeal version on anyone but my sister, and ... Oh.”

“Deal! Your voice cancels my voice and, with both of us sharing your sister, I can’t see how we don’t run rings around her. While I don’t know her very well at all, she never seemed like a mentally maleficent malignancy, just a...”

“... boorishly banal bunion of a bitch.”

I moved my phone from my ear, held it in front of me, and stared at it in incredulity for a while.

When that while came to a quick end, I responded, “You’re better at that than I am. I graciously and gallantly genuflect to your greater skill.”

“I thank you, but I suspect that your voice didn’t try to challenge you in that mental game.”

“Yours did?”

She sighed loudly in my ear, then answered, “Yes. But Annah, it’s how I beat her, that voice. It’s how ... I can be your friend, because I know what you battle. Annah, friends help in that battle, and I’ll help you with your battle and with ... anything.”

“There’s a story there.”

“Yes, but it’s a story the telling of which requires no non-approved listeners, even the one in your head.”

Again, I moved the phone from my ear to stare at it. I’m sure most humans would not understand Emma’s words or, if they did, would not know how a contrary inner voice could not hear a story that one’s ears heard. However, I understood ... not how to accomplish that ... but that she had figured out how to accomplish that.

I moved the phone back to my ear rather than put it on speaker because, of course, I didn’t want Emma’s words heard by anyone but me.

“I believe I understand, Emma. Perhaps we can figure out how to accomplish your requirement. I strongly suspect that the solution is not simple ... nor easy.”

“Not easy and, perhaps, not simple, but somewhat straightforward.”

I cracked up, laughing uproariously, but I heard her chuckling in my ear in response.

Once I was able to speak, again, I told her, “You are the august alliteration Amazon! And, Emma, I’ll be counting the minutes until I see you on the vast veranda before you enter our vestibule in vivacious victory. I shall be your handmaiden.”

When she cracked up, I followed suit immediately.

It was probably minutes before either of us was capable of resuming our conversation, but I think it was during that shared laughter that I fell at least a little in love with her. I have no clue whether that love is platonic or ... sexual, but having that connection made me happier than I’d been in ... a very long time.

Two of the emmas arrived before Emma, but I was able to foist them onto the household staff once I had walked them, singly – they had arrived many minutes apart, to the large room that had recently become this pretentious palace’s dance hall. Being the official greeter got me out of having to socialize with them ... or anyone else once I had accomplished my escort duties so I could return to the front door. Besides, they probably did not want to waste time in inane chatter with me when they could converse with Manuel and Victoria, who had arrived before either of them. I restricted the external version of my internal maniacal grin when I saw Emma at the door upon my return.

I turned to ... Yes, of course, mí padre has a doorman, because Heaven knows that opening and closing a door so many times in a short span is work beneath the Master of the House or, even, at least this evening, the Master’s ne’er-do-well daughter.

I turned to tonight’s doorman and said, “Thanks, Jeeves, for taking care of my friend.”

He winked at me with his left eye, which Emma could not see from where she stood, so I allowed one corner of my mouth to turn up to him, then Emma and I did air kisses, and I began escorting her to the hall.

“He seemed mostly like a real person.”

“He is. Of all the staff, he’s the only one with a real sense of humor. Of course, that’s a bit concerning, as all of Father’s long-time staff have little or no humor to them, at least that they let out. Jeff’s smart, though, and once he learned that I wouldn’t tattle on him if he broke the acceptable persona model of the rest of the staff, he’s allowed me to learn that he’s not a bad guy. And I learned all that about him the first time I called him ‘Jeeves.’ It’s now our little inside joke. I’ve had actual conversation with him, with humor and everything.”

“Doomed. I tell you. He’s doomed. It’s my understanding that actual personality is not something preferred in household staff. At least, my mother’s staff total of personality is probably of a negative value, and one not particularly close to zero.”