A King's Meal
a short story from ancient times
Over 20 years ago, I wrote a short story for a competition and never submitted it. I’m sharing it because I don’t have much to give right now by way of thanks, but I want to thank you all for your tokens of appreciation and for allowing me to be vulnerable, when too often exposing our own imperfections can be used as a weapon against us.
I recently re-discovered this story in a folder hidden away with other writings inspired by old boyfriends and lovers. There was even some smut! I couldn’t bear to read those stories but I took note. Maybe I’ll share them some other time. The story below is not inspired by any particular person. It’s probably not what you’re used to from me. “There are many different sides to me/ a little like geometry…” There’s a book I’ve had in my head since high school that is definitely not a romance, and this story maybe gives you a hint of that.
Again, the short story below is over 20 years old and I have not re-written it or edited it to make it nice or more mature, so be gentle. As always, thanks for being here.
A King’s Meal
The boys were silent, still. They were usually loud in the kitchen, as children should be, but now they sat motionless, no laughter, no double-dog dares competing with the sounds of utensils dropping or water running. Their father had done this to them. He’d told them he had guests coming by for a special dinner, and he wanted them to make a good impression.
The silence bothered Helena. It slipped unbidden words into her thoughts, reminding her how close the forest was, how easy it would be to run. She shook her head, relaxing the fists she hadn’t known she’d made. She touched the crucifix tucked beneath her shirt. She would prepare the meal their father had requested, and then she’d leave. She’d find a priest.
A large pot began to boil; its contents pushing at the lid, forcing Helena from her introspection. She removed the pot from the stove, and as she was setting it aside, she thought she sensed a movement behind her. She turned quickly, but the children hadn’t moved. She avoided the looks in their eyes as she scanned the room for what she’d felt, but there was nothing—just three unnaturally quiet teenagers, waiting for the evening meal.
Helena wiped her hands across her apron as the children’s father came into the kitchen. He was of average height, but never tell him that. Golf-course tanned, Mr. Douglas glanced at the children and seemed pleased. Helena’s eyes were red and her face seemed too pale, but he trusted her to have dinner ready on time.
“Helena, as you may know, the former Mrs. Douglas and her lawyer, now husband, are coming over tonight,” he began as he walked over to where his middle son, Brad, sat with the chopped carrots. “Hmm. I guess I should call her by her married name now. Mr. and Mrs. Matthews will arrive shortly after 7 o’clock to discuss a rather important matter. It seems Mr. and Mrs. Matthews would like full custody of my boys so that they can take them on some sort of world tour. They think that traveling the globe, by boat no less, with a live-in tutor, would be better than the stability I have to offer here.”
He paused to pick up a bit of carrot, and Helena turned her head before he placed it in his mouth.
Chewing, he continued, “Don’t they know that Connor gets seasick? And Mrs. Matthews knows Anthony is allergic to seafood. Why would she want them out at sea for the next two years?” He walked by to ruffle Anthony’s hair, and Helena pressed a hand to her stomach. Seeing the movement, Mr. Douglas turned to her.
“Are you unwell, Helena?”
“No, Mr. Douglas,” she carefully shook her head, keeping her eyes to the floor, unwilling to meet the odd glint in his.
“Good.” He moved to Connor, the youngest, and tilted his head to stare more fully into his face. “You have her eyes, don’t you, Connor?” he murmured to the thirteen-year-old. Picking up a nearby spoon, Mr. Douglas disregarded Helena’s whimper and set to work on the offending brown eyes.
“Helena, be sure Mrs. Matthews has them in her soup, won’t you?” he suggested as he left the kitchen.
*
The newly-married Mr. and Mrs. Matthews held hands all the way to the dining table. Mr. Douglas refused to be seen as bitter and commented on how lovely she looked. Mrs. Matthews had the nerve to blush. Seeing that the newlyweds were loath to sit across the table from each other, Mr. Douglas recommended they modify the seating arrangements so that the two could be next to each other. They moved quickly to follow his suggestion and thought the smile he pressed to his knuckle was in tender mockery of their lovesick foolishness. Laughing at herself, Mrs. Matthews was about to beg his forgiveness when Helena walked in, ready to fill their glasses. The smile she hoped to share with Helena crumbled.
“Helena! You look so sad this evening. Is anything wrong?”
She tried her best not to look at him as she poured his wine. She watched his index finger touch the knife at his place setting.
“No, Mrs. Matthews. Everything is as it should be.”
Mrs. Matthews frowned at Helena’s retreating back and the room suffered an awkward moment of silence before her husband cleared his throat, regaining her attention. Her smile returned, despite the small furrow between her brows.
“Christian, where are the boys? We want them here, too, to hear this. You’ve been so wonderful about this custody matter…,” she began.
Mr. Douglas dismissed her words with a wave of his hand.
“The boys will turn up shortly. In the meanwhile, Helena has made a delicious soup I’m sure we’ll all enjoy.” With a discreet notion, he signaled for Helena, who was waiting just beyond the door, to bring out the dish.
The three of them all complimented Helena on the soup. Mr. Douglas was only slightly displeased that she had not followed his instructions regarding Mrs. Matthews’ helping, but he realized it was too soon to be so dramatic. As Helena returned to the kitchen to bring out the entree, Mrs. Matthews suddenly laughed aloud and turned to her former husband, slipping her hand back into the comfort of the man beside her.
“I can’t wait any longer to tell you. I’m horrible with secrets. You know that, Christian. You’re the one who could always get away with everything.” There was no resentment to her tone, and her smile reminded Mr. Douglas of why he first noticed her almost twenty years ago. Something sent his heartbeat to his throat, and he reached for more wine to swallow it down.
Helena sensed a private matter arising and was about to step back into the brief hallway, but Mrs. Matthews waved her in.
“Please, Helena, you’re family, too.” Turning back to Mr. Douglas, she continued, “I know how willing you were to let David and I have full custody of the boys so we could take them with us on our little trip. You don’t know how much your cooperation meant to us…” The dishes rattled on the tray in Helena’s hands. “…but we wanted to tell you it’s all unnecessary now.” Her smile’s glow did nothing to combat the beginning darkness around the edges of Mr. Douglas’ vision. “David and I are pregnant! I know, I know—I’m forty, with three teenage boys already—where are the devils? I can’t wait to tell them, but it all was such a surprise. Well, not a surprise, really, but…”
Helena decided to forego etiquette as Mrs. Matthews, mother to be, warbled on about the life growing in her belly, and served Mr. Douglas first.