“It’s beautiful,” Clyde said.
“I had a feeling you would like it,” the Princess said.
Clyde did like it, but she had built it up as so much more.
“As you can see, the plush pink carpet is exquisite, and they canopied my bed in diamonds, with the softest silk mattress resting below, waiting for my royal body to descend upon it. Oh, and those two thrones by the window have magical powers, but only if I’m joined by my Prince upon them.”
Clyde didn’t see any of that. He saw brown vinyl flooring, a basic kid’s bed almost just like his, and two stools with no backs by the window, but he never said so. That was the cool thing about the Princess—her view of the world was almost always more beautiful than what he saw.
The door opened, and Princess’ mom came in carrying two slices of chocolate cake with pink icing. She looked a little like her daughter, but not really. Clyde wondered if the Princess would look like that when she grew up—old and neat and stuff.
“Clyde, bow to the Queen,” Princess said urgently.
Clyde looked up at the mother and got the feeling he didn’t have to, but whatever was going on, she was in Princess’ world as well.
Clyde bowed to the Queen.
“You may rise, young knight,” she said.
“Mom,” Princess cut in quickly. “He’s not a knight or a prince. He’s just my Clyde.”
“Can’t Clyde be a knight or a prince too?”
“No, they’re two different things. There are knights and princes, and then there are Clydes. And he is a Clyde.” The Princess looked a little irritated but still in good spirits.
“Would you like me to fix your hair up real pretty for the cake and celebration?”
“Mom, a princess’ hair is always perfect. It doesn’t have to be combed.”
“Okay, we won’t worry about it today, as long as your friend thinks it’s okay.”
“Yes, ma’am. The Princess always looks perfect to me,” Clyde said without hesitation. And he meant it, although part of him wondered what she would look like with combed hair, and if he would even like that at all. He sort of thought that Princess wouldn’t be Princess if she looked like everyone else.
The Princess smiled.
“This friend’s a keeper. Are you sure he’s not a knight or a prince?” the mom said, smiling.
“Mom!”
“Never mind. Forget I said anything. It’s cake time!”
The cake ceremony was brief but nice, and the Princess was now officially eight years old, just like Clyde. Her mom then told her she had a present downstairs on the kitchen table, and Princess squealed with excitement and rushed toward the door.
“Come on, Clyde!”
Clyde was all set to follow when the mother stepped in front of him.
“Thank you for coming to Princess’ birthday party. It’s difficult for her to make friends, and you seem like a good and patient one.” She looked like she wanted to add something else but then just thanked him again.
“Okay?” Clyde said awkwardly. This was the longest any kid’s parent had ever talked to him, and he wasn’t sure if she liked him or if he was in trouble.
“I’m sorry, I almost forgot you were just a kid. Run along, and you two play.”
“Okay,” Clyde said, and ran out of there. He would later wonder if she thanked all of Princess’ friends like that, because no other parent—including his own—ever did.