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Additional confusion cuts through my glare.
“Once upon a time, there was a noble and mighty king, beloved by many, who had been bitten by the Golden Bug very early in his life…” he begins, clearly having planned this entire moment. “The bite was big and nasty and often turned him into a cold, cruel, and uncaring king.”
“Like an anti-Spiderman,” J.T. interjects.
“A king that sought ruthless ways to acquire riches upon riches and conquer kingdoms upon kingdoms,” emphasizes Lauren.
“Like a dick,” my better half murmurs under her breath before sliding a salmon fillet onto my plate.
“This king wanted an heir. In fact, he told his queen, that it was the only thing he really wanted, that all the riches in the world would be dull in comparison, that they wouldn’t matter nearly as much as they did once he had one, yet after she bore him his son, his greedy ways still continued,” Clark proceeds, attention fixated on me.
“So, a dick and a liar,” grumbles Bryn between sucks of her sticky fingers.
“The king spent ludicrous amounts on extravagant clothing for the queen that she did not want. The king also insisted every night be accompanied with the most expensive food and music and alcohol that he could find,” Lauren illustrates further.
“His drinking made all of his Golden Bug symptoms worse. Much, much worse.” Clark’s eyebrows soar to the ceiling, and I thoughtlessly sink into my seat. “Most of the kingdom – outside his queen and his faithful royal adviser – had no idea about the ongoing war he faced with the bottle, but it was real. It was as strong if not stronger than any adversary he had sent his men to face in battle.”
Bryn and J.T. join me in leaning closer to him.
Into the tale.
“As the young prince began to grow up,” my Head of Household shifts the reins back to her, “the beautiful queen often feared for his life because of the Golden Bug bitten king’s drinking. And then one dark and stormy night, her worst fear came true.”
“How?” whispers her daughter.
“During dinner, the king grabbed the young prince’s wrist so roughly for refusing to eat his peas that it almost snapped.”
Gasps from the other guests aren’t surprising.
And what’s even less surprising is vaguely remembering that moment.
Or something like that moment.
Was it peas?
Why is there a niggling in the back of mind that it was a different vegetable?
Asparagus, maybe?
“The queen knew – she knew – she had to do whatever it took to protect her only son,” Lauren proceeds, “so, she gave the dreaded king a no-win choice before bed.”
“A Kobayashi Maru!” squawk the Star Trek twins at the table.
“When morning came, he could leave or she would,” finishes the woman I have no doubt knows more about parts of my upbringing than I do.
They gasp again, yet I let my gaze drift to Clark.
Focus on what he’s going to say.
“The next day the heartbroken king made the sober decision not to rip his child and wife away from the palace so long as she promised that after enough time had passed, they would talk. Attempt to reconcile. He didn’t wanna lose her forever.” A wistful glance in the distance is taken. “The queen reluctantly agreed and off he went.”
“I get it,” Bryn quietly concurs on a mouthful of couscous.
She does.
And I hate that she does.
I also hate how much my father and I have in common.
