Fangirl

The capital was buzzing with the hustle and bustle of coming holidays. Crowds were rushing on sleighs along the main streets. The bakeries and confectioner shops were full of guests; hot chocolate and sea buckthorn tea were flavouring at the doorstep. The shopkeepers did not think to stop their trade even for a minute. The week would pass, the joyful fervor would subside, everyone’s purses would become empty; then they could rest. I got stuck in one of the places with my sister. She and her friend had decided to go shopping, and it was my responsibility to accompany them. We had already been to the tailors and haberdashery, had coffee, and admired the fairground hustlers, but the girls in the eager of being entertained, were unstoppable. At the momemt they were hanging around one of the jewelry counters, having dragged me to the most expensive jeweler’s. I wandered along staring at the pieces with a meaningless gaze. Until I came upon a little thing that caught my eye. It was a thin silver bracelet with a molded rose fixed in the middle. Its petals were covered with black enamel — pretty unusual. ‘Picked anything out for yourself?’ Ksenia hung around my neck, hugging me from the back. ‘No. Are you finished?’ I pulled sister away from me. ‘Yes. We'll pay and go. Are you sure you didn’t choose anything?’ ‘I told you. Nothing.’ ‘When are you going to get a girlfriend so I can help you with the presents?’ ‘I'll do it myself.’ ‘Of course not.’ My sister said indignantly, adjusting the fur collar of my coat. ‘You have no taste.’ ‘As if you have any.’ I rolled my eyes — that’s what my sister was all about: self-righteous, pushy, and oppressive. ‘Cheeky!’ She slapped me on the shoulder in a fake indignation.   ***   In the evening, at the table where the whole family gathered, there was a mood of celebration and joy. Though a reunion was compulsory, we were glad to see each other, for the occasions were not so frequent. At the head of the table sat my father, with my mother to his left. Father was a tall, broad-shouldered, statuesque man with a long, graying beard and hair tied at the back with a ribbon. He wore a red camisole that distinguished him as a firebender and black galifee pants. He rose, holding a crystal glass, and said: ‘The first toast, as is tradition, I raise to our family and to our prosperity in the new year.’ ‘To prosperity!’ The rest of the party rose in unison and followed. Glasses clinked, faces smiled. ‘I hope the second toast will be to procreation.’ My aunt, Svetlana, said quite loudly and wryly. My mother's sister, a lady in a bright orange outfit and colorful feathers in her hair sat on my mother's left side. After her ambiguous comment, she gawked at Ksenia with her mascara-lined eyes. I immediately dropped my hand to sister's knee. She sat to our father's right in the seat of an heir, me sitting next to her. Ksenia exhaled slowly and smiled. ‘What a lovely thought, auntie Sveta.’ The woman in the opposite wrinkled her nose. She couldn't stand that address, having long ago forced everyone to turn to herself no differently than Svetlana Vitalievna. ‘It would be even lovelier for someone to finally take over.’ Aunt put her elbow on the table and leaned forward as if she could press her niece by the pose. Father didn't interfere, sipping champagne with calmness of a boa constrictor, my mother was diligently slicing peas with a knife, and I squeezed my sister's leg tighter, trying to prevent the outburst of anger to which she was prone, having inherited not only out father's element but also his fervent temper. ‘No one will dare to say a word to you if you decide to shake the foundations at your age. Auntie Sveta.’ Replied Ksenia, holding back with all her might. ‘How dare you!’ The lady rose from the seat. ‘Let's save the serious talk for later.’ My father cut them both off. It might have seemed from a side that he was stopping too pushy relative, but what really mattered was that he thought the conversation was serious and had just promised Ksenia to return to it. Aunt, with a look of satisfaction on her flabby, plastered face, sank back into her seat, raised her eyebrows, pulled in her dimpled cheeks, and took up the sip as if nothing had just just happened. That's why I didn't regret not being the heir. My sister graduated from the academy a few years ago and had taken a job as a junior assistant in the ministry. She was happy with her position and duties, having been active and agile since she was a little girl. She had already seen how she was doing a career, changing the lives of the people entrusted to her care for the better, when the talk of marriage went from in-the-near-future’ to ‘it's-high-time-to-make-a-decision. She didn't want to get married. Not because she was too serious and independent, just her picture of an ideal spouse looked quite definite, and to match it was not an easy thing. If anyone thought that further I will unroll an endless list of characteristics, they would be mistaken. In conversations on this topic, she always made do with a couple of simple hopes. First of all, her spouse should be as nice as our father. At this point, my father always looked flattered and pleased. When Ksenia was younger, he even encouraged such an attitude. Of course, his girl was worthy of the best. The second request was strength, and this was not some vague definition. Her spouse had to defeat her in a duel! I don't know if she was joking or being serious when she came up with these conditions, but she didn't change them over time and stuck to her own. What was there to do? A stronger wizard was required, while my sister was incredibly strong, and a husband as worthy as our father. If hope could still breathe at this point, it was worth mentioning that the family as a whole also had requirements for someone who would become the carrier of the lineage with my sister. How could I not be glad here that I wasn't sitting one chair to the left, close to my father. I shifted my gaze to my two younger brothers and sister — they were cowering to my right, even farther away from trouble thanks to their later birth. The oldest was about ten and just listening, trying to make sense of adult problems. After dinner, everyone scattered around the living room, swapping news, sharing plans. At one point I noticed my father and sister leaving the drawing room. ‘How are you doing, sweetheart?’ Mom came over and squeezed my hand just below the elbow. ‘I'm fine, don't worry.’ ‘No difficulties with your studies?’ ‘Not at all.’ ‘How was the fire test?’ Mom knew everything that was going on with me. ‘Just perfect.’ I stretched a wide smile. ‘I think I've made a deal with the fire.’ ‘Really?’ My mom looked astonished — no one had been able to help me for so many years, even my father and sister had given up on me. ‘How did you manage?’ ‘I found a great teacher.’ ‘Then why didn't you write about it?’ My mother, who always followed social graces, looked astound; my manners and tact are to her credit. ‘I would have sent him a thank-you gift. It's very awkward now.’ Mom bit her lower lip. ‘No, we need to congratulate your teacher, even if it's late. Who is it? I'll pick up a gift while you're staying with us, and you can take it to the academy later.’ I hesitated a moment, but decided not to create secrets between us after so many years of trust. ‘It's her.’ I said quietly, taking advantage of the fact that there was no one else around. ‘We're in the same group.’ ‘Why are you whispering?’ Mom asked in the same conspiratorial tone. I gave her a long, meaningful look and took a sip of my drink. ‘Oh, even so?’ She got it right. ‘Honey.’ A faint wrinkle of concern creased between her eyebrows. ‘You know this may be difficult, don't you?’ ‘I don't doubt it even a moment. So please don't tell father. I'll try to figure it out myself.’ Mom hesitated. Not telling my father was not an easy thing to do. ‘Mom, don't worry, please.’ I squeezed her hand in return, looking into her eyes. ‘You've always given me the one thing I needed most — your love. That's the only reason why I believe I can find my happiness, no matter how hard things get in this family.’ Mom stared intently into my eyes, as if trying to see what I wasn't ready to say, but she knew one thing for sure: I was determined to do things my way. ‘I'm with you, son.’ She finally gave in, committing herself to silence. ‘But if you need my help or support, promise me to tell.’ I nodded, smiling. ‘What are you two whispering about?’ My aunt floated over, alas, missing the most savory part. ‘I ask Phillip to balance his studies with rest. He looks exhausted. I don't like the color of his face.’ My mother dodged an uncomfortable questioning without blinking an eye. ‘Yes, indeed. A little pale.’ I had time to talk to all my relatives: uncles and aunts, nephews and nieces, cousins of all degrees. Having refreshed the lines of other people's lives in my own memory and shared the affairs of my studies, I chose to bow out. Conversations would fill these walls all the days of vacation — there was nowhere to hurry. As I walked down the hall toward the front staircase that led upstairs to the bedrooms, my sister almost bumped into me. The door to my father's study flew open, and she was out tearful and angry. Her curls were a little mussed, her skin glistening with light sweat — they must have been arguing fiercely. Seeing me, Ksenia nodded, I responded short: we have always understood each other perfectly without words. With a sprawling gait, slightly raising the hem of a multi-layered crimson skirt, Ksenia headed for the bedrooms. I did not hurry, giving her a little space. For further conversation, she was clearly not in the mood. The father came out next, saw me. ‘How are you, son?’ ‘Everything is perfect.’ ‘Would you like to talk?’ ‘There is nothing special. Same as always.’ ‘Then I'll say good night. It's been a long day.’ And we said our goodbyes. Life would be long, and busy, I thought, if you belong to one of the capital's noble families. And not just any noble family, but the chosen one. The one that everyone who didn't belong to dreamed of being born in and hated sincerely by those who were unlucky enough to be born in. My complaints may seem ridiculous to many, for I was the one who was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, What could I complain about? In fact, my life was more like an endless pursuit of duty and the path that matched my origin and status. And even though I wasn't an heir, that didn't mean I wasn't being asked. Many of the things Martha noted in her fiery speech there in the gazebo had been forged by my father and nurtured by my mother. They endowed me with as many virtues as they could. But even that made me neither an obedient puppet, nor a self-loving fanfaron, nor a decent son of the family. Though the latter definition suited me most accurately, if you didn't look too deeply into. Beneath the skin I managed to remain, in part, a perfectly ordinary person, no stranger to the sorrows and hardships of my sister, whom I loved fervently, despite our difference in everything. And I was also selfish enough to count on my own happiness. Like my sister, I had spent my life watching my parents' reverence for each other — a rarity in arranged marriages, and yet they were lucky. Like my sister, I wished the same happiness for myself should the opportunity arise, by which I meant, should such a person come along. But, unlike my sister, I had the advantage of not inheriting the duty as the head of the family, and therefore had a little more, albeit conditional, freedom. And if Ksenia did not give up, then I will certainly try. I was not frightened of neither a formidable father, nor public opinion. I was going to argue with both. I did not have the status of heir, but I had enough dignity to fight for my own life.