The moment we walk into the suite, Tommy descends on us…

““The moment we walk into the suite, Tommy descends on us. “The Queen’s on the line. On Skype, Your Grace.” Anxiety rings in his voice like the ping of a tapped crystal glass. “She’s been waiting. She does’na like to be kept waiting.” I nod briskly. “Have David bring me a scotch.” “Oh, me too!” Henry pipes up. “He’ll have coffee,” I tell Tommy. And I think Henry sticks his tongue out at me behind my back. I head into the library and he follows, seeming marginally closer to sober—at least he’s walking straight and unassisted now. I sit behind the desk and open the laptop. On the screen, my grandmother looks back at me, wearing a pale pink robe, hair in rollers and a hairnet, gray eyes piercing, her expression as friendly as the grim reaper’s. This should be fun. “Nicholas.” She greets me without emotion. “Grandmother,” I return, just as flat. “Granny!” Henry calls, like a child, coming around the desk into view. Then he proceeds to hug the computer and kiss the screen. “Mwah! Mwah!” “Henry, oh, Hen—” My grandmother swats the air with her hands, like he’s actually there kissing her. And I do my damnedest not to laugh at them. “Mwah!” “Henry! Remember yourself! My gracious!” “Mmmmmwah!” He perches, grinning like a fool, on the arm of my chair, forcing me to shift over. “I’m sorry, Grandmother—it’s just so good to see you””

— Emma Chase