Sean Cullen - The Prince of Two Tribes

“You should have called,” Brendan said, trying to hide his fury with a light tone.

“I’m sorry.” She smiled sweetly. “My cellphone, she die an hour ago. Like I said, I was ’oping to surprise you.”

“Oh, it’s a surprise all right,” Brendan muttered between gritted teeth.

Delia shouldered her way between her parents. “Who’s this?”

“I’m Charlie,” the girl said with a smile. “You must be Delia. Brendan’s told me a lot about you.”

Delia managed to look disgusted, surprised, and suspicious all at the same time. “He has?”

“Oh, yes!” Charlie assured her. Then she shivered theatrically.

Brendan’s father practically leapt to take her arm and draw her into the house. “Come in out of the cold. We’ll make you some tea.”

Brendan didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. All he could do was stand by helplessly as his parents ushered the girl into his home.

^ 29 Being a Toronto Maple Leafs fan can now be used as a mental disability claim and a legal defence.

Half an hour later, the Clairs were sitting around the kitchen table watching their visitor devour leftover sloppy joes.

For such a scrawny little runt, she can sure put it away, Brendan thought bitterly, watching his alleged girlfriend mopping her plate with a piece of thick white bread. He had no idea how he was going to get her out of the house. She was playing the part of the new girlfriend meeting the parents to a T. One sure way to get into his mother’s good books was to show a healthy appreciation for her cooking. Charlie didn’t demur when offered something to eat and even asked for seconds, making her a superstar in his mum’s eyes. Brendan watched, despairing, as his mother made sure the girl didn’t run out of food. His father was conducting a mild interrogation, but Brendan could tell that he was utterly charmed as well. The only one who looked unconvinced was Delia, who leaned in the doorway watching with intense interest, like a hawk examining a mouse in an open field.

“So how did you meet Brendan? At school?” his dad asked.

“Mais oui.” She stopped chewing long enough to grin at Brendan. “I ’ave just moved to the area, and Brendan was kind enough to show me around.”

Brendan glowered back. What a barefaced liar! he wanted to shout in her face, but instead he just smiled, choking back his anger.

“He hasn’t mentioned you at all,” Dad said. “I would’ve thought he’d want to let everyone know he had a girl as pretty as you.”

“Oh, come on,” Charlie said, blushing.

“I had an inkling something was up.” Mum smiled knowingly. “He was probably just embarrassed.”

Brendan kept a straight face but inside he was seething. He wanted to yell at her, Who are you, really? What are you doing in my family’s house? Get out of here!

Instead, he bit his tongue and listened as his father asked her: “Where are you from? You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

“Montreal,” she said, finally pushing back her plate. “My father is in banking. ’E was transferred.”

“I’m sure Charlie has to get going,” Brendan said, looking to move her along. He just wanted to get her out of the house before she said something that didn’t ring true for his parents. “I’ll walk you to the streetcar.”

“Brendan.” His mother glared at him. “You’d think you didn’t want us to get to know her. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“So, what are you into?” Brendan’s father asked, offering the girl a chocolate chip cookie. “Do you like music?”

She took a cookie. After popping a piece into her mouth she shrugged. “I like the music, me. I play the guitar and sing. I like busking in the street sometimes.”

“You busk?”^ 30 Brendan’s father’s eyes lit up. He loved performers like himself. “Are you any good?”

“I like to think so.” She grinned at Brendan.

“We have to jam sometime. I’ve tried to interest Brendan in music but it’s really not his thing.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Brendan said flatly, annoyed that his father would volunteer personal information.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Charlie said, with a wink at Brendan. “Brendan ’as a lot of ’idden talents. ’E could surprise you.”

“He already has.” Mum laughed, punching Brendan’s arm lightly. “We had no idea he had a girlfriend.”

“It’s not like that,” Brendan groaned. “We’re friends. That’s it.”

“Then, my son,” Dad said, shaking his head, “that only proves what I’ve thought all along: you’re crazy.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Brendan said. “I appreciate your support.”

“I’m just saying,” Mr. Clair laughed. “If I had a girl this cute, I’d be bragging to everybody!”

“Edward,” his mother warned.

“I’m just saying!”

“Brendan,” Charlie said, giggling before he could respond, “I never imagined you ’ad such a nice family.” Brendan could tell this act of hers was working on his parents. They’d been so worried about him since they’d told him he was adopted. Finding a girlfriend would be a good sign that he was a “normal” teenage boy and not suffering some secret pain. Whoever this Faerie named Charles actually was, she was playing his parents like a violin. And that accent! She was really laying it on thick. How could anybody be fooled by it? It was up to Brendan to get her out of the house before she could cause any trouble or expose his secret. Every second she stayed was fraught with disaster.

How am I going to get rid of her? Brendan wondered.

While she chatted amiably with his parents, Brendan had time to study her more closely. She was pale of skin, like him. She had dark hair, but he couldn’t tell if her colour was natural or the result of dyes or even Faerie glamours. Her eyes were violet, lustrous, and deep. Brendan found it hard to tear his eyes from hers when she chose to hold his gaze.

If Brendan had to categorize her appearance, he would have put her in the goth/punk genre. Her hair was streaked with green and held up in a spiky mass by gel or mousse, or perhaps by Faerie means. Several silver earrings studded her ears, and her nose had a ring through one nostril. Tattoos of animals chased each other up and down her arms: stylized boars, stags, eagles, peacocks, serpents, and many others Brendan couldn’t identify. A charm bracelet dripping with skulls, pentacles, and various obscure symbols jingled on her wrist. Her eye makeup, thick black liner and green eyeshadow, hovered somewhere between Egyptian goddess and circus clown.

Brendan decided to go on the offensive. “Charlie, I don’t want to rush you, but my parents have a lot of stuff to do tonight and I have to get up early tomorrow so… ”

“Brendan!” his mother scolded. “You don’t have to be rude.”

“I have a social studies project due the end of the week!”

“Brendan… ” his father began, but Charlie interrupted him.

“Brendan is right, certainement. I ’ave also to be going.” She stood up. “I ’ope I ’aven’t imposed?”

“Never!” Brendan’s dad was on his feet in an instant, taking her hand and grasping it.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mrs. Clair assured her. “But you have to come back for a proper dinner sometime soon. Not leftovers.”

“If this is the leftover, I don’t want to miss a real meal!” Charlie laughed.

“Where do you live?” Delia said suddenly. She’d been quiet the whole time, watching from the doorway as Charlie worked her magic.

“Pardon?”

“I said,” Delia enunciated slowly and clearly as though she were talking to a child or an idiot. “Where… do… you live?”