Page 44 of Royal Reluctance

Or maybe it’s strange that Timothy brushed off my concern last night. I said that I didn’t want her to become too attached yetuntil we figure things out, and he didn’t even ask what we needed to figure out.

Their relationship, I wanted to snap, and how Bo can be a part of her life when we live so far away.

“But he doesn’t live in the castle, at least not all the time,” Tema argues with just enough certainty that I have to smile. “He told me he lives in a forest and he cuts trees. I asked if he was a woodcutter like Hansel and Gretel’s father, and he said he didn’t know their father was a woodcutter. How can he not know that?”

Tema likes dark fairy tales.

“Because we read all the fairy tales and Bo reads other books. I don’t think he’s the same kind of woodcutter.” The air feels cold outside the covers, so I snuggle down. At home, Tema has her own room, leaving Abigail and me to share, and my favourite nights are when I fall asleep in Tema’s bed when I’m reading her a story and we wake up together.

“I really hope not, because that father was horrible and abandoned his kids to die,” Tema says vehemently. “Do you think Bo would do that? I don’t think he would.”

I do my best to stifle my laughter. “I don’t either.”

“Do you think he’ll lock us in the castle and I’ll have to grow my hair really long to escape?” Tema asks with the sweetest serious expression on her face.

“No, I don’t think he’d do that either.” I love her imagination.

“Is the king a good king?” is the next thing she wants to know.

“Yes, a very good king,” I tell her with the patience of the mother of a seven-year-old. These are normal discussions with Tema.

“Have you met him?”

“Years ago.”

“Before me.”

“Before you.”

It’s difficult to remember what life was like before Tema. When I lived in Battle Harbour, when I was with Bo—it’s all coated in a haze now. Almost like it happened in a dream.

Only sometimes, I’m hit with super sharp memories and have to wait until the haze coats it again.

It’s easier that way.

“Mommy, if I’m a princess, does that mean I’ll be different?” There’s a note of concern in her voice that tugs at my heart.

“You, Tema-toot, will be the same as you’ve always been.”

“I don’t think you should call me Tema -tootif I’m a princess,” she says in a haughty voice.

“Oh, that just means I’m going to call you that even more. Tema-toot, Tema-toot,” I sing, rolling over to tickle her until she makes an adorable sound of passing gas and I laugh.

“You are a horrible mommy,” Tema cries as she hops off the bed.

“Am I?”

She stands there, looking at me. “No, you’re really not.”

I hold open my arms and Tema jumps back onto the bed. “You’re the best Mommy.”

“And you’re the best Tema.”

“I’m the only Tema I know.”

“There’s got to be more of them out there.”

“I don’t want more. I like being the only one.”

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