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“Hello, Paul here."
I turned off my spiffy new riding lawn mower and wiggled a finger in my ear, trying to better hear my cell phone. I’d debated whether to bother answering the call—frankly, they were lucky I’d even felt the phone going off in my pocket—but when I saw the caller’s ID, I knew whatever it was, it would be important.
"Hello, Paul," a familiar, too-smooth voice filtered over the phone.
"Rigel," I started calmly, trying not to bely my mounting anxiety. I’d gotten used to Rigel’s more reserved nature, but the subtle shift from his usual tone made my blood run cold with concern. For some reason, he sounded particularly somber today.
Clearing my throat, I tried to be conversational. "Been a while. How are things?"
Inwardly, I was praying that this wasn't the call Bethany and I always feared—the call that would tell us some horrible event had taken Leila. My daughter was doing well as the Night Queen, and Linus had assured us her court dynamics were improving rapidly, but the tricky nature of the fae was never far out of our minds. Midwest fae representative or not, we knew how dangerous they could be, and we would always worry about our little girl.
"Good," Rigel said, though the way he said it, it sounded like he only half believed it. I knew fae couldn't lie— another fact I’d learned from Bethany some years ago—but that didn’t mean they couldn’t talk circles around you.
When Rigel offered nothing further my mind began supplying its own list of possibilities. Rigel could be “good” because he’d gotten a new weapon—the man always seemed to be carrying a variety of knives on his person. Perhaps he’d helped Leila overcome some political fae squabble, or the Night Court’s ranking had somehow improved?
But if that were the case, why did he sound so grave?
The extended silence made the wait feel longer, and I really wished he’d just spit it out already. Bethany and I had made up our mind to have faith in Rigel, not least of all because Leila did, but moments like this made me wonder how Leila managed to live with all the hidden motives teeming around her.
Finally, I took the initiative and prompted him. "What's up, Rigel?" I asked, trying my best to think positively. "You caught me closing up for the day with the tractor. 'Pologize if you can hear the chickens in the background. Is everything all right?"
"The chickens are fine, Paul,” Rigel responded, which admittedly gave me some relief. If Rigel was humoring me about the chickens, things couldn’t be too bad, right?
Rigel had been pretty good about keeping us informed about Leila’s new lifestyle. He dutifully reported on her many achievements. He made a point to schedule visits for holidays. He even warned us when Leila might need a day away from fae society to recharge. Sometimes he invited us to over to see the mansion.
All of which were wonderful…but all of which were also delivered quickly, often short and to the point with no hesitation. Thus, when his silence stretched on again, things clicked into place, and I had a pretty good idea what was going on.
"So," I started, climbing out of the mower seat and walking to the cart hitched to its back. "You are in the doghouse then, aren't you?"
More silence followed before my son-in-law finally began. “I’ve heard this euphemism from Leila before. I suspect yes,” he confirmed. He paused again. “How did you know?”
The young man sounded so confused I had to chuckle as I unhitched and walked the cart to its place in the barn. "There's a special sort of hopelessness in every young man's voice when he discovers he's displeased his wife," I offered, hoping to bridge some of the divide between myself, a human hobby farmer, and the well-educated fae noble assassin my daughter had married. “That and you’re quieter than usual. I didn’t know that was possible, Rigel.”
Rigel's exasperated exhale told me I had indeed hit the nail on the head.
"It’s okay—it happens to all of us at some point," I offered. "What did you do? Maybe I can help."
"I don't even know," Rigel said, his voice taking on a sour, flummoxed tone, but at least he was talking. "I don't even know if it's a fae vs. human thing, or a me vs. Leila thing, or what it could be."
Rigel’s frustration was both endearing and amusing. He sounded so dejected, and I knew he was honestly stumped and worried about how he’d left things with Leila. Oddly, I was a little pleased with it all. It was a good sign about how much he loved her, and I was glad to know he was willing to go so far as to call me for advice, something I knew couldn’t have been easy. I was Leila’s dad, after all, and nobody wants to report they screwed up to their partner’s parents.
I also knew, from the benefit of age and experience, and a hundred marital arguments behind me, that this was almost certainly just a small tiff between them, the growing pains of a new marriage. Twenty years from now, Rigel and Leila would look back and laugh about whatever this was. None of that meant it wasn’t miserable for Rigel right now, however, and I reminded myself what it was like in my own early days, when I was still figuring out Bethany.
The thought helped me school my expression against an indulgent smile. I didn't need my humor coming out in my voice. Something told me that would cause Rigel to shut down, and we didn't need that, for him or Leila.
“Paul?” Rigel queried over the phone, and I realized this time I was the one who’d been silent.
"I’m here,” I assured him. “Why don’t we start at the start, Rigel? Marriage shouldn’t be a you vs. them thing, it’s a both of you vs. the problem thing,” I said, sharing the little nugget of wisdom one of my own neighbors had given me.
“Why don't you walk me through what happened, and we can figure it out together?" I offered. “That’s why you called, isn’t it? Otherwise you’d just have talked to Linus.”
“I did talk to Linus,” Rigel admitted flatly.
“Oh? What’d he say?” I had to admit I was curious about Leila’s fae father and how he’d handle it.
“To buy her a pony, since that worked for Killian and his wife. I know Leila loves animals, but that doesn’t seem right…”
Probably because it isn’t, I thought but I didn’t interrupt him. Rigel sounded half an inch from an exhausted aneurysm.
“Well, I’d say your instincts are a good one,” I confirmed. “Leila does love ponies—Leila loves every animal—but you can’t buy your way out of an argument. Not that way. You’d only irritate her even more. We’ll think of another way.”
“You sound very confident, Paul,” Rigel observed dubiously.
“I may have been where you are a time or two myself. Now, stop dodging and spit it out. What’d you do? Be honest.”
“Fae are unable to lie—”
“Rigel?” I interrupted, cradling the phone in the crook of my neck as I pulled off a set of grass coated work gloves and tossed them on the seat of the tractor.
“Yes?”
“Stop stalling. Start explaining.”
The line went quiet again while the young fae got his thoughts sorted. I puttered about the barn, doing this and that while he took the time to sort his thoughts out. The phone was quiet so long, I stopped to check that the call hadn’t dropped.
I was getting fresh water for the animals when his voice finally came back over the line, causing me to jump and splash myself with the bucket. Luckily, I kept all the cursing in.
"Leila is mad at me," Rigel admitted.
"No surprise there, Sherlock," I offered, and I’d bet dollars to donuts my daughter’s proud fae warrior flinched on the other side. There were some perks to being family when it came to calling out an assassin king.
"You wouldn't have called like this if she wasn’t,” I continued frankly. “What lead up to your argument?"
"I didn’t say we argued,” Rigel evaded.
"Son, there is always an argument before a young man breaks down and asks his father-in-law for advice," I explained patiently, not falling for it in the slightest. "Now we can nurse your wounded feelings while you faespeak around me, or we can figure out what you need to do to get in good with Leila. The choice is yours. Do you want to tell me what happened or not?"
More silence. I imagined Rigel, somewhere over on the Night Court grounds, wearing out the grass as he walked back and forth, ruminating over his decisions.
"I'm not even sure what I did," he finally confessed. "We were talking about the next social event. She asked me what I wanted to do and I said whatever was fine with me. She asked again and I told her I didn't care, whatever she wanted was fine. "
"Ah," I said, still fiddling with bits and bobs in the barn as I listened.
"We went back and forth a few times. She kept insisting I had to have some kind of opinion about the event, but I really don't. I don't care, truly, about what we do for any of the social gatherings. I don’t socialize; I never have socialized, not when I could help it, which is why Leila handles that aspect of court affairs. She also manages the budget. Whatever works best for her is fine by me.”
“Did you tell her that?” I asked, briefly interrupting.
“No, but she knows. She always plans the socials, and she’s aware enough of my background. I do inform her when her plans contradict fae customs, but Leila doesn’t care much for fae customs anyway, and that didn’t even come up during our discussion. All I know is she kept insisting I had to have some kind of opinion about the socials, then seemed frustrated when I said I don’t. Eventually she stormed off. I found her later and she said it’s fine, she's not mad, but she hasn't talked to me all evening. She went off on her own earlier, even though I offered to join her, so I believe she’s deliberately avoiding me...and that has to mean she is mad, right?”
The poor kid’s exasperated voice continued. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Is this normal, Paul? Do human males have particular interest in social gatherings? Does this have some significant personal value to Leila based on her own history? Did I miss something? Did I screw up somehow?"
"You didn't screw up," I offered, and the immediate silence on the other end let me know I had Rigel's complete attention.
"What you have discovered is that Leila values you and wants to be partners with you.”
“We are partners,” Rigel broke in, his confusion clear as he tried to understand.
“In everything,” I explained, and the silence returned. “It’s convoluted, but Leila is mad because she cares about what you like and dislike and she wants you to be happy. She wants you to be involved. This isn't about the social event at all, Rigel, this is all about building a life with you."
"But it's just a social event," Rigel said, exasperated. "Leila doesn't even like the social events, we just do them because we have to. Why should it matter, much less if I agree to whatever it is she wants to do? Shouldn’t that make things even easier?"
"Well, that's your problem right there," I said, scuffing a board on the barn floor. "To Leila, it does matter. Not so much what you actually do, of course, but that you are happy while you do it. She wants your opinion on what you are doing together, because that's what she wants to make sure of—that you are doing it together, not just going through the motions of it all."
"But we are together at the functions. I stand right beside her," Rigel offered, the echoes of a thousand other young men speaking through him.
"And I hear you, but being physically present is not enough. Leila wants you to be included in the decisions because she’s trying to make you happy. Or less miserable, as the case may be."
"Leila is what makes these events less miserable. Making things convenient for her is what makes me happy.”
"You know that, and I know that, but you need Leila to feel like the event has something you like in it, if only so that she isn't worried about if you're happy or not. Right?"
"I suppose that’s true," Rigel admitted with a bit of a grunt.
“Also, you should probably work on your communication, Rigel,” I told him frankly. “You have a reason, tell her straight out. Don’t make her guess. Leila can’t read your mind.”
“I tell her when she needs to know something—"
“Not just the court stuff, Rigel,” I interrupted. “You can’t keep it all in all the time. There are whole books on this stuff—you can probably find one at the library—but being honest, finding ways to work together, it's important. You don’t want silence to build to resentment, and then you have a whole other kettle of fish to deal with.”
“This is another human euphemism, isn’t it?” Rigel asked me.
“You bet it is. It means bad things happen if you keep too quiet. Whenever you have a problem, or a disagreement, you’ve got to come up with a solution together. If you don’t, you’ll only regret it later. You’re regretting one now, aren’t you?”
“…Point taken,” Rigel conceded. “For now, what do I do? How do I fix this? How do I ‘communicate’ when Leila is avoiding me?”
“Eventually Leila will cool down and she’ll let you close again,” I assured him. “That’s your opportunity to apologize."
"What if do not feel sorry about my actions?" Rigel asked.
"Are you sorry Leila is mad at you, even if you don’t understand why?" I asked, and the resultant silence told me I had him.
"Exactly, so you’re sorry. Trust me. The end of every fight starts with an apology, from at least one of you, sometimes both of you. It’s always easier if you do it first.”
“Is this an expected custom?” Rigel asked, and I could hear his fae wheels turning.
“Not exactly, it’s just easier, believe me. Even better if you bring a gift with you.”
“A gift?” I could hear the surprise in his voice. “I thought we agreed buying Leila’s forgiveness would be error? Do human males often bribe their wives into forgiveness?”
“No—It’s not a bribe!” I warned him, lest he get the wrong impression.
“Is it a bargain then?” he asked suspiciously. “Leila does not like fae bargains, nor would I obligate her into forgiving me—”
“It’s not a bargain, Rigel,” I interrupted. Stupid fae gifting rules. “It’s…a token, a way to show her that you were thinking about her and how you made her feel, and everything that happened, and how sincere you are about your apology. It doesn’t replace the apology, it accompanies it.”
“And this is standard?” Rigel asked again, almost as if he was taking notes.
“Well…it’s not required, but it hardly hurts, so long as you mean it when you say you’re sorry. I buy Bethany flowers usually, or something else small I know makes her smile.”
“Would coffee suffice? Leila seems to best love coffee.”
“Sure. Coffee, sweets. Leila loves to eat. She also loves her animals. Buying something nice for her pets, like a new collar or a leash if hers is broken, or something else that’s useful to her, would also work. I’d still avoid the whole pony, at least as an apology present.”
“All right. So I appear with my offering when she is willing to receive me. What next?”
I puffed out a breath of air. “Don’t be so clinical about it, Rigel. You pick out something to make her smile and then you talk to her. You say what’s on your mind, why you did what you did, and ask what she’s thinking and feeling, and then you talk until you figure it out together.”
“What if my position remains unchanged?”
Now I kicked the hay on the barn floor as I listened. “I don’t think that’s going to be as much of a problem as you think it is. You’ll find something you can change, or something you can do to meet each other halfway. Or you’ll decide together it’s not important, but the talking through it—that part has to happen, Rigel.”
Rigel was silent on the other end, probably mulling over the advice.
“Leila’s mad because she loves you, Rigel. She’s been trying to include you so you can pick things you like, and you blew her off saying you didn’t care after all her trying. You think there’s nothing you can change about that?”
More silence, which for Rigel was tacit to an acknowledgement.
"Exactly. So, you just need to show her you're dialed in too, and that she's not going it alone in these things."
"But she's not alone. I just want her to be happy. I want to make things easier—I want to help her work less."
"I know. Trust me, if you do this, she will be."
Rigel was quiet for a minute. "Marriage is confusing," he finally said, that sour, exasperated note coming back into his tone.
I chuckled. "It is, but you'll get there. It's worth it, I promise you," I offered pulling a bag of chicken feed off the back of the tractor as I cradled the phone in the crook of my neck.
Rigel grunted. "It better be," he asserted, but I'd seen the way he'd looked at Leila. She had him wrapped around her finger.
Rigel was silent for a while, but I just waited, dumping the feed into a large trash can we used for storage.
He sighed. "I guess I'd better talk to Leila," he said glumly. "Perhaps I can help with the wine list. I do prefer reds to whites. Would that be enough?”
"Maybe," I offered brightly, while also cataloguing that information away for our own use. I’d have to tell Bethany. "Just keep her talking and you'll stumble into the right answer somehow. You’ll know it when she starts cheering up. Don't blow her off or try to distract her without giving an answer. Leila is smart, she'll pick up on that."
"I know," Rigel said and I could only imagine how the prior talk had gone.
“You’ll get through this,” I assured him. “And you can always call again later if for some reason you don’t. Bethany can give her a call, or I can. We’ll figure it out.”
Rigel was silent again before speaking. “I am surprised. From my brief introduction to human culture, I expected to receive at least one threat of bodily harm against my person, not offers to call on my behalf.”
It took me a second to parse through that, much less how to respond. “Eh… I’m betting Leila with her magic could probably wallop you pretty decent if she really wanted to. You’re rough around the edges, Rigel, but you love Leila. I don’t think I need to threaten you.”
More silence. Rigel really was a quiet guy.
“Anything else, Rigel?” I finally asked, ticking through my list of things to do.
"No. This has been helpful. I appreciate your time, Paul."
Probably as close as I’ll get to an outright thank you.
“I’m glad. Keep watch over Leila for us, Rigel. That’s our little girl we’re entrusting to you.”
"Always," was Rigel’s easy response, and then the line went dead.
As the screen went dark, I slipped my phone in my pocket. I couldn’t help but marvel at the number of unlikely events in my life that led me to now, where I was advising a fae king how to handle his fae queen that just so happened to be my daughter.
...None of which meant I wouldn't gossip with her mother.
"Bethany," I called, brushing my hands against each other to knock off any loose dirt I’d acquired in the barn. "You wouldn't believe the call I just had..."