“You haven’t suddenly gone deaf, too, have you?” Uncle muttered, huffing his impatience.
I shook my head because I had heard. Hearing and understanding weren’t the same, though, and Uncle wasn’t making much sense at all.
I fished my phone from my jeans pocket and unlocked it without looking, still slow to digest his words. What did I even say to this?
“Well?” Uncle demanded.
“I’m confused,” I finally typed out and showed him. “Why are you excited about a Ball? I didn’t think you wanted to be Matched.” His first marriage had been a pairing, just him and a partner. As much as I loved my cousins and would never wish them out of existence, their parents hadn’t been soulmates. It wasn’t the same, and no one in the house dared mention Uncle’s fading to his face.
“Don’t be stupid, of course I don’t want to be matched,” Uncle snorted, tossing his briefcase in the recliner and loosening his tie. “It’s going to be a grand party with all the respectable members of Prince Enterprises and their families.”
“Families are invited too?” I typed out, eager to find out if that meant I could go too - but Uncle was too excited to stop and read my text, pacing to the kitchen to dig in the fridge.
“The Princes themselves are going to be there,” he continued. “It’s going to be a golden opportunity for the girls. Anyone invited would be acceptable.”
That didn’t sound like a Ball. That sounded like picking out Christmas presents or looking at puppies. A matching Ball was a Ball. Not a line up of dolls. “Acceptable for what?” I texted. This time I was in his path and he glanced down and saw the words.
“For a son-in-law, of course,” he scoffed. “You are slow tonight, aren’t you? They’ll go for a pairing. It’s not a real Ball, so not everyone will be so hell-bent on that nonsense. It’s better to be practical.”
Holy Hellmarks, he was serious. He practically collapsed on the couch and popped open his beer with a smile. It wasn’t a real Ball, and he wanted to get his daughters paired.
I still wanted to go. I wouldn’t have many chances. We couldn’t afford a Ball, not even for the girls. We had to hope to be invited to someone else’s Ball, or set our hope in destiny. There were other matching services, of course, but Prince Balls were the best.
That sounded a lot dirtier than I meant. I meant the events, not his bits. I shifted in the doorway between the kitchen and the livingroom and wondered what it would have been like if Mister Prince had actually spoken to me. I craved that interaction for some reason, though my gut knew why.
He hadn’t spoken to me. He’d respected First Words when he thought I couldn’t speak. It’d been so long -
“The girls will need new dresses, of course. Dress to impress, for them to attract - maybe strike up a pairing-exploration.” Dating. He meant dating. “It’s always better to be practical. Victoria, at least, has a solid head on her shoulders. And even though Liza has a bit more imagination, she keeps them to fantasy and knows when to work.”
Uncle’s words snapped me out of my thoughts and sent the edges of my vision hazy. “They’re too young to be chasing career men! Half the people at that party will be twice their age, and the rest three times older!” I texted.
“Weren’t you paying attention?” Uncle had a wicked smile on his face I did not like at all. “Whole families are invited. Besides, age is just a number. Love doesn’t care about an age gap. And my girls will soon be old enough to pursue a relationship. It won’t hurt to start looking a bit early.”
The thought of Liza or ‘toria dating someone so much older had me gagging. I didn’t like the idea of them dating even though I knew they already were. It wasn’t that they were young and needed to be protected; I just didn’t trust all the other people. Victoria and Liza were both smart enough to say ‘no’ if anything went in a direction they didn’t like, but men were jerks and drunks were worse. Would anyone even notice if they got hurt or sick? They needed friends around them.
Or an older brother. I had taken on that role more than once, and was happy to do it again. It was basically the truth.
“You won’t be going to party, of course,” Uncle said, and I felt the world tip sideways. “It’s a party to mix, mingle, and match,” he continued in a slow drawl. “What good would it do to have you show up when you won’t even whisper a single word?”
I slumped, and sat down in one of the kitchen chairs. As I slowly learned ASL, I had also learned it counted as First Words. Mute classmates found Matches just like the speaking. But Uncle had never believed such things, just as he never believed in soulwords.
He never believed in marks, or matches, or faith, or love.
This was the closest I would get to going to a Ball unless I was chosen, and my words weren’t ones any database could easily match. Not a Question or an Answer, no names or locations. Nothing identifiable.
My thumb rubbed the words on my left wrist, the ones that made me sound like a lost puppy. I’d had a dream once that I met my soulmate by saving her pet. Another that it was a teasing joke.
Another that my match was some sort of mafia-mob-something and decided to just claim me and take me away. I’d had that dream for weeks as a teenager.
If I couldn’t go then I couldn’t watch out for the girls, but I also lost the opportunity for my own search. My own match. If I was lucky I might get a chance to work the Ball - cleanup or something - but it wouldn’t be the same. No one looks at the help the same way they look at a guest.
“Tell you what,” Uncle said, staring at the TV as he flipped on some game show. “If you manage to say something - actually speak to me - before this weekend then I’ll let you go party. All it takes is a few simple words. Ask me to let you go.”
A sharp pain slammed into my wrist and my eyes watered. I’d banged the bone against the table in an angry jerk, and Karma was telling me how stupid that had been. Uncle wouldn’t care if I broke my hand; he only cared if I spoke.
He didn’t understand. I couldn’t anymore. I actually couldn’t. It wasn’t a choice, and hadn’t been for years.
It was so unfair. The Ball might be my one chance. What if there wasn’t another one? What if I had to sneak into Balls in the future just for a glimpse?
Okay, now I understand why all the trolls in the forums liked to make jokes about Balls. The name was unfortunate.
“Daddy! We’re home!” Victoria called out as she and Liza walked in through the door. I turned away to start dinner, rummaging through the cabinets for a pot for the tomato soup. If I moved fast enough I could get dinner on the table before my wrist bruised.
“Hey papa,” Liza greeted, stopping to give her father a hug.
“How was the study group?”
Victoria shrugged, so Liza took up answering. I wanted to pay attention, but I couldn’t focus on that and dinner and stay calm. Slow breaths helped get the tightness from my chest as I pulled out two cans of condensed soup and mixed them with milk, set up a skillet for frying grilled cheese, and a second for getting the crushed cheese crackers browned. The crackers made an excellent topping for the soup, and if the sound of pounding them drowned out uncle telling my cousins about the party that was just an added bonus.
I startled at the hand on my arm, almost dropping the knife I was using to butter the bread. Liza was at my side with a curious frown on her face. “You don’t want to go to this party thing?”
I fought down the mix of hurt, anger, and humiliation. Of course Uncle would lie about why I wasn’t going, and of course he would say that I wasn’t interested. The girls wouldn’t understand his ultimatum.
I shrugged in response and didn’t give more of an answer, turning away from her. I flipped the first grilled cheese. It was burnt. I did my best not to crawl to my bed and silently scream. One way or another, I’d be going to that Ball.
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