Arthur - 6 Weeks 1 Day

It’s not even eight in the morning, yet I’m already dressed in a suit, sipping coffee and trying to stay awake whilst our media consultant, Dylan, leads us through a “Vomitgate Brainstorming Session.” Tessa has agreed to skip the meeting, but only because as soon as she got up and tried to dress this morning, she ended up talking into the big white telephone.

So far, Tessa hasn’t missed anything I’d want her to hear. Dylan’s spent the last ten minutes reading out a thread of #vomitgate tweets, as well as giving a brief overview of what the newspapers had to say about last night (and let’s just say, none of it is particularly flattering to my wife). For a woman in her early forties, Dylan is a ball of energy who simply won’t stop talking. Ever. I’m pretty sure if we required a urine test, we’d find her so full of coke that her piss would come out as a white paste. It’s either that or she mainlines Red Bull before coming to work every day.

I wish I were still snuggled into bed with my nauseous wife (well, sort of; to be honest, it’s a little bit frightening to sleep with a woman who vomits repeatedly, uncontrollably, and without warning). I’ve taken to sleeping on the edge of our king-sized bed, on my side, just in case I need to make a run for it. It’s actually really uncomfortable, and my right shoulder aches by the time I get up in the morning for my daily workout (which I had to skip so I could be here). So, maybe it’s more accurate to say that I wish I were asleep on a bed in the same room as my wife, rather than in the same bed. I wonder if she’d go for that? Hmm...

“Prince Arthur? Your turn...” Dylan gives me an expectant smile.

“What’s that?”

“It’s mind-map time! Your turn.” She holds a bright green marker out to me and gestures with her head for me to stand up. I look at the whiteboard behind her and see phrases like ‘stomach bug,’ ‘food poisoning,’ and ‘possible overseas vacation to hide stint in rehab’ sprawled randomly around at various angles.

I stand and take the marker from her, then I pick up the eraser and start to work.

“Oh no, Your Highness, you can’t erase!” Dylan chirps. “We’re in the creativity phase. The evaluating phase comes later!”

I continue erasing, in spite of her chipper protests and explanations about how the process works. When the board is clean, I take the lid off the green marker and write two words, “Morning Sickness,” then hand the pen back to her with a little nod.

Dylan’s mouth hangs open. “She’s...she’s...”

“Yes, if all goes well, we’ll have a baby very early in the new year.” I look over at my father, who gets up and – what is he...? Huh, he’s hugging me.

Well, I wasn’t expecting this. I think the last time he initiated a show of affection was...well...maybe when I was a small child? I’d have to ask Gran if she can remember. I pat him on the back stiffly, feeling rather awkward, yet strangely close to him at the same time. When he pulls back, he gives me a hearty handshake.

“Well done, Arthur.”

“Thank you.”

It seems wildly inappropriate to be praised for ejaculating in the proper orifice, doesn’t it? And yet, I’m now being surrounded by the rest of our team, who are lining up to shake my hand. My senior assistant, Vincent, who saves my arse on a regular basis but also brings with him the pungent aroma of blue cheese everywhere he goes, is first in line.

“Congratulations, Prince Arthur. I’ll be at the ready for whatever you and Princess Tessa should require during this delicate time.”

“Thank you, Vincent. I know I can count on you.”

Next is my father’s new senior adviser, Phillip Crawford, the one who replaced Damien, A.K.A. Twitter.com/WeHateTessa. Phillip’s a surly sort, all business and formalities, but the news of a possible heir causes his lips to curve just a hint. The various other assistants to the assistants are next, smiling and expressing their excitement. Yes, yes, everyone, I had unprotected sex. By all means, pat me on the back. 

Dylan slaps the table with one hand, causing everyone in the room to jump. “Love it. LOVE the baby angle. That plays incredibly well internationally. This baby is exactly what we needed to put Avonia on the map!”

“Avonia already is on the map, exactly where it’s been for over eight hundred years, in fact.” I take my seat again, and the others follow suit. “We’d like to keep things quiet for now. So, until further notice, this happy news stays within these walls. We can just issue a statement that the princess had some bad seafood at lunch yesterday but that she’s almost fully recovered from her sudden bout of nausea and will resume her regular activities shortly.”

Dylan shakes her head. “With all due respect, Your Highness, the people will be very upset if they find out we lied.”

“Which they won’t unless someone in this room tells them.” There’s an edge to my voice that I fully intend.

“They’ll do the math,” Dylan counters with a tight smile.

One of the assistants to Phillip pipes up. “Isn’t it possible that she could have been pregnant and had food poisoning at the same time?”

“Yes, thank you, er...”

“Randall.”

“Thank you, Randall. That’s our angle. So, if someone can draft up a quick statement, I’d like to go check on my wife.” And by check on my wife, I mean pass out for an hour because I am exhausted from being up in the night with her. I stand and nod to my father before turning to leave.

“Oh, hang on, Prince Arthur,” Dylan says. “I really should get started on preparations for the official announcement.”

“Yes, that’s fine. Go ahead, as long as no one finds out before I give the okay.”

“I’ll need the due date.”

“Certainly. According to her GP, January seventh, but that could change after she’s had her first obstetrician’s exam.” I turn to leave again, then hear, “Uh oh.”

“Uh oh?” I turn back and sigh.

“That’ll never do, sir,” Phillip says.

“Any why exactly?”

“Because according to this reverse conception calculator, this means you conceived on the anniversary of your great-grandfather, King Edmund the Third’s, death.” Phillip shakes his head, looking quite scandalized.

I pause for a moment. “It certainly wasn’t that day. That’s a day of great reverence and reflection for all Langdons, Tessa included.”

What a lot of horse shit. We definitely did it that day. At least twice. And to be honest, I have no idea what day we conceived. We had a lot of sex last month. And the month before. No condom sex has a certain allure that neither of us can seem to resist. It’s so...convenient, and well, just better. I’d never tell these people, but we even did it here on the table. That could have been the time. Or that night in the shower. Or...oh, I should stop thinking about this, or Excalibur is going to wake up.

“Let’s just be vague about the due date, shall we? We could say sometime around the New Year.”

“They’ll want an official date. The media will need to have people on standby for a minimum of a month prior to and two weeks after whatever date we give them.”

“So, pick a date near there,” I say, walking toward the door. “Babies are rarely born exactly on time anyway, so it really shouldn’t matter.”

***

SO MUCH FOR MY NAP. As soon as I get back to our apartment, I find Tessa sitting on the couch, deep in conversation with Xavier, who has quickly become some sort of irritating pregnancy expert.

He sighs. “Should we try the ginger tea again?”

“No, I can’t bear it. Last time, I rejected it the second it hit my stomach.”

I walk over and sit down next to Tessa. “Still feeling lousy?”

“Yes,” Tessa says with a sigh.

Xavier shakes his head and makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “We’ve tried saltines, sour foods, exercise, rest, mint. Nothing is working. I’m running out of ideas.”

Which makes sense since he’s a bodyguard, and not a midwife.

“Maybe a good nap?” I suggest.

Tessa smiles and takes my hand in hers. “You’re the one who needs a nap. You look exhausted.”

“Me? Never. I’m full of energy today.”

Xavier leans in closer to look at me. “You sure, sir? Because you do look rather pale, and you’ve got dark circles under your eyes.”

“And yet, I’m fine.”

Something about my tone tells Xavier that now would be a good time to excuse himself. He stands and says that he’s going to run a security check on the halls surrounding our apartment. As soon as he leaves, I look around for something to do to prove how wide awake I am. Spotting Chester, our Betta fish, swimming around in his bowl, I stand and cross the room, putting a little extra spring in my step to show how ‘not tired’ I am. Plucking the bottle of Betta Than the Best fish food off the counter, I open it and drop a couple of pellets into the water.

"You're not feeding Chester again, are you?" Tessa asks.

"I can't let the poor lad swim around in circles without finding something to eat. It’s bad for his tiny self-esteem.”

“Arthur, seriously. He's going to get sick if we overfeed him. It is literally the worst thing you can do for a Betta fish.”

"Well, not literally. I’d say removing him from his water and just letting him flop around on the counter would be the worst thing."

"You know what I mean,” she says, yawning. “Besides, Xavier already fed him this morning.”

Christ, Xavier again. Why can’t he just stand still and watch for trouble, like every other bodyguard? Dropping a few more defiant pellets into the bowl, I say, “Chester’s been absolutely fine for the past two years that he's been living with me, so I really don't see how letting him have one more little meal in his day is doing any harm.”

“The guy at the store said four pellets a day, max.”

“The guy at the store doesn’t know how athletic Chester is.”

“Athletic?”

“Yes,” I nod indignantly. “He’s constantly swimming around. If there were an Iron Fish race, he’d win.”

Tessa laughs at me and shakes her head. “Oh, would he, now? And how would he ride the teeny bicycle?”

I give her a sideways grin. “With his fins. Now come on, let’s get you back to bed for a while. I’ll even lay with you until you fall asleep.”

Tessa raises one eyebrow skeptically but takes my hand anyway and allows me to lead her to the bedroom.

“I’ve told the PR team the truth but that it’s not to be leaked. They’re going to say you had a sudden bout of food poisoning.” I pull off my suit jacket and tie, dropping them on the chair next to the bed, then toe off my shoes.

“Okay. That sounds smart. Let’s just hope people buy it. Apparently, the media is under the impression that I’ve developed a sudden and serious drinking problem.” She crawls into bed, and I get in with her, maintaining a safe distance.

“Not to worry. Once the news of the baby is out, they’ll forget all about Vomitgate.” I yawn and close my eyes. Oh, this bed is deliciously comfortable.

“I wonder if I’ll ever get used to...” Her voice grows distant as I feel myself drifting off to sleep.

I wake to the sound of pages flipping. When I open my eyes, Tessa is sitting up in bed, reading Healthy Mum and Baby magazine, which Xavier picked up for her earlier this week.

She grins down at me and runs her hand over my cheek. “Feel better?”

“I feel amazing. What time is it?”

“Nearly one. You’ve been asleep for over four hours.”

I bolt out of bed. “Oh fuck, I’ve missed two meetings and a lunch.”

“It’s okay. I texted Vincent and told him to cancel them. He was going to make up an emergency for you. I thought it best to let you sleep...even though you obviously didn’t need it.”

“Obviously not,” I say, giving her a little grin of admission.

“Because sleep is for normal humans.”

“Exactly. Which I am not.” I pull my collar up so I can put my tie back on. Giving Tessa a quick kiss on the lips, I say, “I should run. I’ll be back by five.”

I turn and hurry out of the room, grabbing my suit jacket on the way.

“Don’t forget your mask and cape!” Tessa calls to me.

“Already got them!” I holler as I rush out the door.