Overall, the weekend with the clan went well—after the duel and the affair of the tiara, that is. Even better, Doug had left soon after the council meeting, so I didn’t run into him again after our awkward breakup.
Now if only I could hire a cat burglar to get my tiara back from him. But as I was eternally broke, it looked like I was going to have to rely on William.
***
Several days later, I was awakened early—after having gone to bed too late—when my phone rang. Blinking in the darkness, I fumbled around my nightstand when I caught a glimpse of the clock: five a.m. This had better be an international call or I’d be pissed.
Glancing at the caller ID, I confirmed that the call was indeed coming from Bosnia. What was Maja thinking? She knew damn well the time difference between LA and Sarajevo. I cleared my throat but still croaked into the phone. “Hello?”
“Janja.” The familiar voice in my ear called me by my childhood name, as only members of my immediate family or friends from my younger years ever did.
My head fell back against the pillow. “Maja. You know what time it is here, right?”
She answered me in Bosnian, our first language, and we carried on like that—as we always did—with her speaking in one language and me answering her in the other. The two of us were fluent in both, but this strange practice reflected our adopted nationalities. We may have both been born in Yugoslavia and we both came to the US as young girls, but now she was Bosnian and I was American.
“I’m sorry about the time, but I wanted to call before Mama gets home from work.”
I frowned. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything’s great. In fact, it’s amazing. Sanjin and I are getting married!”
I sat up, unable to suppress the sleepy smile curving my lips. “I’m so happy.”
“It’s all thanks to you. I don’t know what I would have done without the money you sent. His family has finally agreed to let us marry.”
Sanjin’s family was ridiculously old-fashioned, insisting on the bride’s family footing the bill for the wedding. Even in the old country, that was straight out of the nineteenth century. But as usual, I bit my tongue about that. No need to upset my sister from thousands of miles away.
“Oh Maja, that’s wonderful. Čestitke,” I said, conceding to congratulate her in our mother tongue.
“We’re getting married in June, here in the city, but then we’ll honeymoon on the coast. You remember that old town in Croatia where Mama’s family is from?”
“No…I’m sorry. I don’t remember. I was only five.”
“I’m sorry, I forgot you don’t remember as much as I do.”
Maja, five years older than me, had much more substantial memories of our childhood there. And since she’d returned nine years ago, her knowledge of the country was immediate, whereas mine was full of faded memories from early childhood and occasional summer trips back to see Mama and the rest of the relatives.
“You can come, right?” she asked and my gut tightened.
I mentally ran through the possibilities and what it would involve to raise the money to purchase a plane ticket. I’d already sent the last of my designated-for-tuition money, sold the car and hocked the tiara. What else could I spare?
My mind scrambled for something to say that wasn’t either a lie, an excuse or a promise I knew I couldn’t keep. “Um. I’ll try. It’s…I’ve got a lot going on here. And the job. I’ll try to see if I can get away.”
A June wedding. Right in the middle of high Renaissance Faire season. The Faire traveled all over the western United States throughout the year, beginning and ending its cycle in Southern California for two months in May and June.
My plan was to join up for the next year, travel and see new places while making a tidy sum from reading Tarot cards for Faire goers. It was all part of the plan to replenish my savings and eventually finish college—if that’s where the wind took me.
The only way I could afford a plane ticket to Bosnia was if I stopped paying my rent, and that would be screwing over my roomie, Alex. On top of everything, I owed her money, too.
Maja was like a schoolgirl as she regaled me with her wedding plans, going on about the cake, the flowers, the gowns and how her dream was to have me as her maid of honor. I listened, nodding and asking questions where appropriate.
My body really wanted to go back to sleep, but my mind was racing. What the hell could I do? My family had no idea that I’d spent the last few years slowly impoverishing myself in order to send them money. Mama worked at an insurance agency as a secretary and Maja was a nurse, but their income just covered their basic needs. The money I sent helped them with extras—emergency repairs, birthdays, holidays…and now, a wedding.
I’d managed, for the most part, to keep my head above water. Until this wedding. Months ago, Maja had tearfully told me that she and Sanjin were probably never going to be able to get married because they couldn’t get the money together to pay for the wedding. I’d done everything I could to help, even giving up the tiara—temporarily.
“Janjica?” she said, and for a moment I was assailed by memories of hugs from Papa, of biting into Christmas cake and finding a silver coin, of sitting for long hours in church on Sundays when I wanted to run outside and play. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but…can you bring Baba’s tiara with you? I’ve dreamt of wearing it with my veil for my wedding day. My ‘something old,’ you know.”
Guilt almost squeezed the breath right out of me and tears immediately stung the backs of my eyes. That day I’d taken the tiara in to have its value assessed, little pieces of my heart had died with each beat. The jewelry broker had dispassionately inspected every antique crystal, every tiny amber bead, even the quality of the gold while I’d burned with shame. Kci, you must be brave…
Right now, I wanted to curl into a ball and die.
“Janja? You still there?”
I cleared my throat a few times before speaking. “Yeah…yeah. I am. Definitely. Of course I’ll bring her tiara. You must have it.”
“Just to wear on that day. Papa gave it to you. And I know it’s one of the few memories you have of him.” Maja paused for a moment, and while I attempted to collect myself, she must have misunderstood my hesitation. “I’d never want to keep it. I just want to wear it. To have Baba’s and Papa’s blessings on our wedding.”