“Ah…no,” Myshtal replied, casting her eyes sheepishly towards the ground.
“No?” I repeated, somewhat surprised. “Then I don’t understand. Why would your clothing take on that appearance if you weren’t about to turn in?”
Myshtal suddenly looked at me with an odd expression on her face. Emotionally, I could sense something like anxiety within her – butterflies in her stomach and an abundance of nervousness. Her lip trembled, slightly, but then she steeled herself and prepared to speak.
However, before she could utter a word, a familiar voice cut in.
“There you are, boy,” muttered Gramps.
I turned to find that my grandfather had entered the room. Dressed as I was in a tuxedo, he actually cut a rather dashing figure, and it was easy to imagine what he must have looked like in his prime.
Gramps turned to Myshtal. “I hope you don’t mind, Princess, but I was hoping to have a quick word with my grandson.”
“Not at all,” Myshtal replied, sounding almost relieved before hurriedly stepping from the room.
After she was gone, Gramps gave me a once-over, eyeing me from head to toe.
“Very nice,” he said, brushing a piece of lint from my shoulder. “You look good.”
“Runs in the family,” I replied with a wink, causing us both to chortle. “I’m sure Indigo’s return dashed a lot of women’s hopes.”
“Ha!” Gramps guffawed. “I took myself off the market long before your grandmother came back, so any hopes got dashed decades ago.” He then took a moment to clear his throat, and I noted that his demeanor became more somber as he added, “However, that does segue into what I wanted to talk to you about.”
I nodded. “Okay. What is it?”
“We really haven’t talked in depth about this situation you have with Myshtal. It basically seemed like a business arrangement – a deal you had to make in order to get you and Indigo back here. That being the case, it appeared to be a reasonable choice, and I didn’t fault you for it. In fact, it showed a level of maturity and decision-making that would have been beyond most people your age.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled. This was all stuff he had told me before, so it really wasn’t news. Obviously there was more on his mind, and it didn’t take him long to get to it.
“Anyway,” my grandfather droned, “I didn’t think much of it. I mean, it struck me as peculiar, but apparently it’s standard operating procedure for Caelesians. Plus, it wasn’t bothering your grandmother, so I saw no need to worry.”
“So what’s changed?”
He gave me a curious look, but – rather than answer my question – asked one of his own. “So what did you think about breakfast?”
“Uh…” I mumbled, not sure where this was going. “It was okay, I guess. I enjoyed it.”
“I meant, what did you think about Myshtal preparing it?”
“Oh. She did fine. I mean, it was essentially eggs and toast – kind of hard to mess that up.”
My grandfather let out a weary sigh, and I sensed a slight bit of exasperation in him. “Let me ask another way: how many times do you think Myshtal has prepared breakfast for anyone, including herself?”
I frowned. “What – in her life?” I let the question roll around in my head for a second. “As a Caelesian princess, probably a handful at most, since that kind of stuff is usually done by servants. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if today was the first time she ever touched a skillet.”
“That’s precisely my point,” Gramps stated with a nod.
I stared at him in confusion for a moment, still not understanding. “What exactly are you getting at?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, a wistful expression settled across his features, and after a moment he said, “Years ago, shortly after we met, your grandmother decided to do some ironing for me one day. It wasn’t an activity she was familiar with to any degree or something she’d shown a knack for. Still, it came as a bit of surprise when she burned a hole in my favorite shirt.”
Needless to say, a laughing fit took hold of me at that juncture. Telepathically, I sent my grandfather an image of himself wearing an expensive designer shirt riddled with scorched holes.
“Hilarious,” Gramps said with a deadpan expression, although I could tell that he really was amused. “And while you’re yucking it up, you’ll be happy to know that’s exactly what happened – I wore the shirt.”
“What?” I nearly exclaimed, his admission cutting short my mirth. “You did?”
“Of course. Because I knew what it represented.”
“Which was what – that alien princesses are terrible at domestic labor?”
“Well, that’s a given,” he admitted with a smile. “But what it really showed was how your grandmother felt about me.”
“How’s that?”
“Because in ironing my shirt, she did something for me that she didn’t ordinarily do for anyone, even herself. In essence, she was saying, ‘This I don’t do, but I’ll do it for you.’”
I blinked as it suddenly started to dawn on me what my grandfather was talking about.
“It’s a symbolic gesture among Caelesian royalty,” he continued. “Something you do for someone you consider special – usually an action or activity you wouldn’t normally undertake. Doing their laundry, for instance, or washing their clothes.”
“Or cooking them breakfast,” I mumbled, the scales falling from my eyes. “But we don’t have a bunch of servants running around doing any of that stuff, so eventually she’d have to do it anyway – if only for herself. Why can’t this morning’s breakfast simply be an example of Myshtal being a good houseguest?”
“Because your grandmother says that the person performing the act traditionally makes certain kinesic expressions, and she noticed Myshtal engaging in some of them as we ate.”
I contemplated this for a moment. “So something in Myshtal’s body language conveyed to Indigo that this symbolic gesture was being made towards me?”
“Yes.”
“What was it?”
Gramps shrugged. “I don’t know, boy. We’re talking about Caelesian versions of winks and nods. It may be things too subtle for the rest
