Pits and The Patriarchy

“Well, I wasn't expecting that,” Margot says as the olive pit she spit out rolls across the marble floor.

“You should know by now that in this family, you must always expect the unexpected,” I say, dabbing my napkin at the mix of spittle and olive juices remaining on the table. I flick my eyes over to an attendant who reads my expression and begins to crawl across the floor, wiping the trail the olive pit made during its flight.

“So that's it? You married him?” Margot says, her face flustered.

“I did indeed,” I say, staring over her shoulder as I watch the attendant pick up the pit between her gloved thumb and index finger and carefully slip it into her pocket. Revolting.

“So what now?” Margot says, grabbing another olive by the toothpick and loosening it between her front teeth.

“Whatever do you mean?” I say as she works it around in her mouth. “We must consummate the marriage.”

Margot widens her eyes at me. She spits the olive pit directly at me this time, and I quickly pivot my head to the right to avoid it. The attendant pursues it like a cat would a mouse.

“You must stop doing that, it's repulsive,” I say, my disdain clear.

“I am not the one who must stop doing repulsive things,” Margot says as she reaches for another olive. I swiftly slap her hand away.

“That hurt! And you call me rude,” she says, jolting her hand back and rubbing it excessively.

“What I did, I did only for love,” I say, my hands unconsciously emphasizing my words.

“Oh, and does this love have anything to do with our father's sudden departure to Malaysia?” Margot says, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms.

“Not a bit, my dear sister,” I say sarcastically.

“Uh-huh,” Margot remarks before quickly snatching another olive by its body and stuffing it into her mouth with a grin.

“Could you be any less ladylike?” I say, disgust plain on my face.

“Could you be any more ladylike?” Margot says through gnaws, removing a piece of peel from her mouth.

“Oh, trust me, I can,” I say, positioning myself upright in my seat and folding my hands neatly.

“Oh, my dear brother—” Margot starts, spitting her olive pit into a napkin this time. “When will you learn that Father couldn't care less about us?” she finishes with a sigh.

“If he doesn't care, then why does he come running to clean up my messes?” I say with a grin.

“Because he is a selfish prude who only cares about his reputation and wealth,” Margot says, exasperated.

“Well, if that's the case, then he deserves the mess I have made for him,” I say with a smirk.

“Oh, he does. But you, oh brother of mine, have truly stepped far over the line this time,” Margot remarks, looking at me sternly. “I mean, marrying outside of royalty is one thing, but to marry a man?” She struggles to find the words. “That's almost as bad as treason in Father's book! What do you want Father to do, Edward? Disown you? Imprison you? Murder you?”

“Well, whatever he decides to do, at least he must face me while doing it,” I say, satisfaction in my tone.

“When this goes bad, remember I warned you,” Margot says as she rises from her seat.

“Relax, sister. I have a plan,” I say, leaning back in my chair and placing my hands behind my head.

“No, what you have is a death wish,” Margot remarks as she exits the dining room, passing a servant on her way out.

“Sir Edward, I am sorry to interrupt, but your… husband… has arrived,” the servant says, contemplating his words.

“Wonderful. Take me to him,” I say, rising from my seat.

“Right this way, sir,” he says, leading me into the hall toward the main entrance. As we approach the parlor, I see Caleb standing there in his overcoat and muddied boots.

“Ah, hello, dear husband,” I say, catching the maids as they pause their dusting of the mantle to watch the scene unfold.

“Hello, husband. It is a pleasure to see you again,” Caleb says as a maid strips him of his outer attire, leaving him in an old button-down and trousers.

“Oh, please, no need to be so formal,” I say as I embrace him, knowing at least one of the maids in the room is likely a spy who will report this to my father upon his return. He returns the favor, one of his hands slipping into my hair—a subtle touch that makes the act seem even more believable. A tingle runs through my body as our embrace ends, and I acknowledge it with a smile.

“I hope your trip was pleasant,” I say, grabbing both of his hands in mine. His calluses rub across my palms.

“Oh yes, husband—I mean, beloved—it was,” he says, slightly tightening his grip.

“Well, we must discuss it. Let me show you to my quarters where we can… attend to this matter privately,” I say, hoping the maids will insinuate a greater meaning to my words.

“Yes, of course,” Caleb remarks. I release his left hand and pull him out of the parlor and toward the stairs. We sprint up to the landing where my quarters are, and I drag him into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. I immediately release Caleb's hand and sit down at the chair by my desk.

“Whatever shall we do first, darling?” I say, grinning at Caleb.

Caleb lets out a chuckle. “Why, whatever you want, my dear.”

“Caleb, I do hope you know how much I appreciate you doing this for me,” I say as Caleb sits on the stool across from me.

“Anything for an old friend,” he says with a smile.

“I was truly concerned that I wouldn't be able to find anyone willing to partake in something so divergent,” I say.

“As you know, I have been nothing but divergent my whole life,” Caleb says, hinting at the old days when we were children.

“Oh, the mischief we would make,” I say, recalling memories.

“Yes! Remember the time we untied Mr. Garson's horses?” Caleb mentions as I laugh.

“The poor bastard ran around for two hours trying to wrangle them back up,” I say with a grin. “And don't forget when we put frogs into the church women's bags! Wasn't that something?”

Caleb laughs too. “It truly was. There was never a better service than that.” The laughter dies down and our eyes interlock. “In any case, there is business we must attend to,” I say dauntingly.

“Ah, yes,” he says attentively. “Debrief me on this masterful plan you have written to me about.”

“As you know, we are now supposed to have secretly wed at a remote location,” I start, looking for approval.

Caleb nods. “Yes, of course. My father was so thrilled when I told him today,” he says, a quick chuckle doubling his sarcasm.

“Regardless, this plan is to get my father's attention. But what for, you may ask?”

“Oh, I may,” Caleb says briefly.

“My goal is simple: to shatter the illusion of our perfect family. I want everyone—my father, the court, the people—to see us for what we truly are. A family built on a lie. And when that truth comes to light, there will be nothing left for him to hold on to,” I say, resentment heavy in my words.

“But why? Won't that hurt you as well?” Caleb asks.

“Of course it will, but I am a man of the people,” I say, gesturing around myself. “What I seek, Caleb, is not simply attention. It is to force him into a position where he must either legitimize my marriage—giving me leverage—or lose face entirely. This will finally put me in a position to take the throne. Our world is built on a delicate balance he has always maintained. If he acknowledges our marriage, a large part of the nation will lose respect for him. It's ingenious, really.”

“So, to be clear,” Caleb begins, “your plan will cause the nation to lose respect for him regardless of which side they take, allowing you to eventually step into a position of authority?”

“Exactly,” I say, slamming my fist onto the table.

“Alright, well, I'm all for it,” Caleb says with a grin. “I never did like your father, in all honesty.”

“Good. Then it's settled. Father will be hearing of this any moment and come running back.”

The door creaks open behind us, and a servant enters, breathless.

“What is the meaning of this?” I say instinctively.

“Your father has returned, sir,” the servant says quickly.

“Leave us be. I will see him momentarily,” I say as the servant bows and hurries off. I stand, nerves pulsing through me. “It seems he got word faster than I had imagined.”

“I can almost guarantee my father must have written to him the moment I mentioned it,” Caleb says, looking at me, rebellion in his posture.

“Well, it seems it's time to face him,” I say, looking at Caleb intensely. “You know what to do.”

Caleb nods in return and grabs my hand and a spark simmers inside of me. We walk toward the foyer together, ready to face my father, and for the first time, I wonder if it is the throne I am truly after.