#PastelPrincess

Chapter Fourteen

Mama’s office is something of an oddity.

The long walls have built-in bookcases, each shelf a different length and height, so each is a different distance to the shelf above. An eclectic array of things fill these cases… trinkets from her childhood, from Romania, from her early years with Papa, from Benovia, but also things relating to me and our life in America. All of those items are spread strategically made of a combination of books, magazines, vases of flowers, framed pictures of our family, and candles.

It’s a plenty spacious room, even with the foot-thick bookcases on either side, taking up half of the second floor (roughly the same floor plan of the master bedroom the floor above, though a jack-and-jill bathroom attached to the den). Along the wall of the door there are two fat, leather armchairs flanking an antique cherry wood, oval side-table. Opposite, just below the window, is a matching wood desk that is her workspace. (Though Papa got her the best-of-the-best when it comes to laptops, she insisters she needs a desk with a big keyboard and separate screen to write.)

It’s here that Mama and I sit - her in her plush computer chair, me on a stool I snatched out of the closet - to have a video conference call with Papa. He is so excited about the news of what I have decided to do with University and a career that he rushed back to the Prime Minister’s home in Benovia to talk with us. It’s lucky I had therapy today because I had just enough time to come home, eat, talk with Papa, and then head back to the school for another rehearsal before ballet.

Due to needing a secure line and all that nonsense, it’s always easier for us to wait for Papa to call and accept. We only just get settled, Mama with her tea on the coaster, when the video pops up on her screen, the ringing coming softly through the speakers.

Accepted and there Papa is in all his husband-father glory. Tuffs of a little too long black hair curl from his side-part to the left, the sides tight and cut short. It makes me smile every time I see it, almost wanting to laugh because I remember when his team said a ‘more modern’ haircut ‘would be appealing’ versus the long hair he’d kept in a knot at the base of his neck that ‘frankly, made [him] look like Rasputin’. His bushy eyebrows have almost no arch and when he pulls them together, they are low enough to touch his lashes. But no matter how stressed, how logical, how diplomatic, or hesitant he may be, his brown eyes give away the gooey-caramel center of his unconditionally loving heart. The little wrinkles in the corners that deepen when he smiles is one of my favorite things.

Seeing Mama first, his tired face brightens, his shoulders drop, and he leans towards the camera. They greet each other, talk so quickly in Benovian I only catch a few words here and then, and then I can see his eyes dart to the left of his screen. “Lorianna! Hello, my little one.”

I hold a hand up, my huge smile pushing my cheeks to my eyes, “Hi, Papa!”

“I cannot chat for long tonight, it’s almost twenty-two thirty, and I have an early flight tomorrow. But! I am just so excited to hear from you and your mama about all your plans for education and career.” His eyes so warm, his smile so proud, he folds his arms on his desk. “Is this something you’ve been thinking about for a while now?”

Previously worried that the nervousness or anxiety of it all would kick in when talking to Papa, I’m not only relieved but a little shocked when I feel just as secure and determined as before. Not wanting him to have insight into my anxieties, I fib a little. “I was talking with Macen Hathaway and Sophia Johnson about our classes and extracurricular activities and the conversation lead to what we hope to do after next school year. It occurred to me that even though I’ve made it clear I have no want to continue in politics, the only other thing I’ve mentioned is wanting to change lives.”

He nods and lifts a finger towards the camera, “You are so passionate and caring, thoughtful and understanding, I have no doubt in every area of your life you make a difference.”

I look to Mama, and she nods with him, a huge smile on her face, her right hand reaching out to cover mine. “We are so proud of you, iubit. You’ve been so successful in almost everything you’ve done, and even when you weren’t you tried your hardest and that’s all we could ever want.”

Putting my other hand over hers I squeeze it, noting to myself how truly lucky I am to have such involved and supportive parents. “With looking at all the things I love to do – at school or in my spare time, looking at all the classes I already take and the ones I want to take next semester – the path I’m on became crystal clear.

“I talked to my Journalism teacher today to double-check and he confirmed that to be an editor, I’d either need a bachelor’s in Journalism or English. Then I’d continued on to my masters, either a further English degree or a Creative Writing one. I’m not exactly sure what’s required for the teaching side of things, but I’ll find out. My American Literature teacher said I might even need a doctorate but that’s less of a requirement, more that it would help further my chances in getting a position. I’ll complete whatever it is I have to so I can become a creative writing professor.

“Side note, and though it may be a bit ambitious, I also want to get two minors, one in social media correspondence, which is under Marketing, and a second in Psychology. I honestly believe that studying psychology and sociology would help, in general, in life.

“So....” I look between Mama and Papa, “What do you think?”

Though it’s well past eleven at night for my papa, he seems so pleased and excited to be talking with me about such important things he’s unaffected. “When did you become so brilliant, floarea mea? I cannot wait to visit next weekend and see you perform!”

My eyes pulse wider, my breath catching for a moment. Though I had known and am excited for and having been talking about his visit for weeks, it had totally slipped my mind the reason of why he was visiting. Me as Juliet… in the school play…. Exceedingly glad Macen talked me into at least doing one performance, I can’t even let myself think of not being able to do it or do the two other performances.

Mama laughs a little and says “Speaking of which, this one needs to get to rehearsal, huh Anna? You’re squeezing that in between this and ballet, yes?”

Papa has his cell phone out and must be looking at his calendar because he says, “And that performance you’ll be Clara in The Nutcracker, which is… the weekend after Thanksgiving, yes?”

I nod with a smile. “Yes, Papa.”

“Well! Your mama and I will be there for it all, right in the front row. I don’t want you to be late, though, floarea mea, and I am feeling rather tired. I’ll talk to you both soon, all right?”

Mama and I nod. I lift from my chair and bent over blow him a kiss and say goodnight. Just as I turn to leave, I heard them both speaking quickly and lovingly in Benovian. I try not to listen this time, knowing how much they miss each other. After closing the door softly, I then take the stairs two at a time up to my room; the conversation did run longer than anticipated and I have to rush to get ready.