eyes bright and wide, she asks, “You spent a great deal of time with the royal family. What were they like?”
“Oh, you know… royal. Fairly proper. Serious. And, uh…” Ophelia looks off camera and adds, “But nice, I guess.”
Hamlet’s father had the kind of laugh that made wineglasses vibrate and clink if the staff set them too close together, and Hamlet’s mother, Gertrude, loved to hear it so much that she went to great lengths to provoke it. At this moment, she was telling a story and proceeded to launch herself out of her chair to act out the punch line. The king cheered her with a “bravo,” and we all clapped. She took a little bow before kissing the king and nodding to his brother, Claudius, who was smiling but not laughing. He never seemed to laugh.
As many times as I had been in the family’s private dining room, I would always be slightly surprised to see Gertrude relaxing in track pants and without her characteristic French knot. Gertrude’s gaze met Claudius’s, and her face suddenly grew pinched. She quickly looked back at her husband as she fluffed her blond hair and sank back into her giant pink-and-gold dining chair.
Claudius glowed. “You tell a wonderful story.”
“Indeed, indeed,” the king agreed, his eyes fixed on Gertrude. The king missed Claudius winking at Gertrude, who blushed but pretended to take no notice.
I acted as if I hadn’t seen it, either. From the time I could speak, my father had told me this was my role: silent observer and keeper of secrets. He said it was the only way to survive living so close to the royals.
Claudius was creepy and seemed to dislike everyone but Gertrude. He was so different from the king, who was funny and youthful despite the wrinkles and graying hair. When Hamlet’s dad had time, he tried to see movies that Hamlet liked or listen to some of the bands we talked about. I’m sure he hated a lot of it, but he tried, you know?
The adults turned to one another to converse about some associate who told the most dreadful stories, which left Horatio, Hamlet, and me to chat. The three of us had been friends for as long as we had been alive. Horatio’s parents and my father had been advisers to the king, and we had grown up in the castle.
Ever since we were in elementary school, Horatio and I had been invited to dinners with the royal family. As an only child, Hamlet grew bored at the table, and it annoyed his parents endlessly that he couldn’t sit still and be quiet while they ate. Once we were in high school, our invitations were limited to Sunday dinners. Since the king often missed dinner with his wife and son during the week, his staff knew that Sunday was to go untouched whenever possible. In a matter of weeks, Hamlet and Horatio would leave for their second year of college, making these last Sundays more precious for us all.
“You’ve got to come visit this semester,” Horatio said to me.
“I’ll try, but you know my father.”
“And your brother.” Hamlet rolled his eyes. “Laertes is going back to grad school soon, I hope.”
I nodded. “Tomorrow, actually.”
Hamlet replied with a sigh of relief.
“He’s not that bad,” I said.
Hamlet picked up his knife and pretended to stab an invisible figure, so I added, “He’s not. Hamlet, you know I love my brother. Please don’t do that.”
Hamlet leaned over to kiss me, but I pushed him away. He grabbed my wrists and kissed me anyway. “Jerk,” I grumbled.
“Are you two dating again?” asked Gertrude from across the table, her voice dripping with disapproval.
Hamlet and I looked at each other. We had been together all summer, and it seemed odd that she hadn’t noticed. She had been so distracted during the past few months, and I fleetingly wondered again if it had something to do with Claudius.
“Are we?” I asked, somewhat amused.
“Are we?” he answered back.
“For now,” I answered, looking at Hamlet rather than Gertrude.
“What kind of nonsense is that?” bellowed the king, which made everyone except Claudius roar with laughter.
“It means, sir, that your son likes to be unencumbered when he is at school,” I answered when we had all quieted down.
“To being unencumbered,” Horatio toasted, and I threw my napkin at him.
Horatio and I would play our part in the light repartee, but both of us knew how many hours he had spent comforting me after the tabloid exposé