When people spoke about Jupiter’s seven breathtakingly beautiful daughters, Daphne always wondered if she was part in that equation, or if her inclusion was for convenience and tact only. In private, did they refer to them as the “six breathtakingly beautiful daughters, plus the one with the funny hair”? Plus the one who tripped over her own feet, was gawking and skinny with none of the curves her sisters possessed, despite being twelve already? The one who ripped her hems and stained her clothes and didn’t notice until someone was laughing at her? The one with the crooked eye tooth, the bad vision, the one who accidentally chewed with her mouth open and would blurt out stupid things without thinking, hurting feelings and making her look a fool?
The one that didn’t measure up?
Maybe in a different family her many faults wouldn’t be so glaring. None of her sisters went through an awkward stage; they seemed to be born with the sparkle of stars. Astraea, the oldest and the closest to their mother, was the most like her: strong, formidable, warm, and lovely. Aja’s beauty was so overwhelming that grown men would stutter in her presence. Atia was smart as a whip and sharp as a tack, a master debater who breezed through schoolwork like it was a game. Atalanta was as strong and graceful as a gazelle, athletic like their father, and could outrun most boys. Aurelia was the charmer, full of humor and wit and always laughing, surrounded by her many friends; Anastasia was their ballerina who could also sing like a bird. They turned heads when they passed; Daphne was lucky to get a first look, never mind a second.
She didn’t even have an “A” name, which hurt the most.
From birth she had been labeled the outsider, the oddball, either her parents knew that she would never fit, and had not wasted a matching name on her, or she had fulfilled that prophecy on her own. She wasn’t even the youngest; Aurelia was ten and Anastasia, seven, so it’s wasn’t like they ran out of options before reaching her.
It hurt her so much to know that she wasn’t included, and had never been.
She mentioned it to Cherie sometimes, her friend being the only daughter bookended by boys, but Cherie would shrug and pull her blonde curls up in a ponytail and tell her that she was just being stupid. She couldn’t know what it was like; she had no sisters to measure herself against, and she was a bit of a tomboy anyway, preferring to run around with her brothers and father instead of sneaking into her mother’s closet to try on her clothes, a secret activity Daphne had been doing for years, telling only Cherie and Ophelia about it.
They never looked right on her anyway.
Only once had she joined in with her sisters as they all dressed for a formal event on the New Lunar Year’s Eve holiday, her older sisters applying makeup and swapping jewelry and dressing the younger ones. Atalanta was pulling up Aurelia’s hair into a twist when Aja mentioned that they should really do something with Daphne’s hair, a mousy brown mop that never curled in glossy ringlets like her sisters’, but crinkled into frizzy waves that Daphne would often pull back into braids to tame. Atia had laughed and said what could they do? It wouldn’t curl right, it wouldn’t lay flat; their best bet was to just braid it like usual because it’s not like anyone would notice, right?
Daphne burst into tears. Atalanta balled her fist and smacked Atia in the arm, hard, and told Atia she was a stupid cow and Aurelia was a little snot for thinking it was funny, and Daphne had fled to her own room, slamming the door and throwing herself face down on her bed to try and cry away the core of hurt burning in the center of her chest.
Her mother had come to her later, right when everyone was about to leave. Daphne blubbered hysterically that she wasn’t going, she hated everyone, especially Atia, and one day she was going to run away and they’d all miss her then. Her mother held her and stroked her hair, letting Daphne’s tears soak into her emerald chiffon silk gown, and told her she loved her and that she understood what she was going through. Daphne burst out that she didn’t understand, she was beautiful and special and everyone loved her just like they loved her sisters.
“I’m not like you all!” Daphne sobbed. “I’m ugly. I’m always going to be ugly.”
Her mother responded by holding her tighter. When she spoke, her voice was tight with tears. “How can you say that? That is not true. It breaks my heart to hear you say that.”
“It is true, Mom,” she cried. “It is true.”
In the end, she did end up going, mostly because she had promised Ophelia and Cherie that she would, and it beat staying home with only her guinea pig, Snowball, for company on the biggest holiday of the year. Astraea had popped in her room and pulled Daphne’s hair into a chignon, and let her borrow her pink pearl earrings, and put some silver glitter eyeliner on her, even though it would barely be seen behind her glasses. “You look so pretty,” she said, even though Daphne knew she was patronizing her. Astraea had a tendency to do that, even when she didn’t mean to.
That night Ophelia noticed her eyeliner and got visibly jealous, which helped a little, and Cherie snuck a glass of champagne and pretended to be drunk, but overdid it a little and was caught by her father and probably would be grounded until the next year. Her mother had a strained happy face for most of the night, but Daphne noticed several times that she would pop into empty rooms with her Aunts, and shut the door tightly behind her and not emerge for a long while.
Back home, she pulled her hair out of the tight chignon and scrubbed the makeup off of her face, snuck down the dark hallways to her parents’ wing in her nightgown, and stuck her face against the keyhole. In her parents’ room, her mother cried on her father’s shoulder, her dress in a green puddle on the ground.
“She’s so sad,” her mother sobbed. “I don’t know what I can say to her to help her see how wrong she is about herself. I don’t know how I can help her. She doesn’t listen to me, and I’m so worried about her.”
Her father had stroked her back and said nothing.
Daphne heard enough. She had snuck back to her room and climbed into bed without turning on the light. She couldn’t believe that her mother was so broken up over her. She didn’t like seeing her mother sad like that, especially since she had lost her own parents when she was only a little older than Daphne was now. She looked up at the moon through her skylight, and promised never to bring it up again to her mother, so she would never see her break and cry like she had that night.
She could live with the pain; she was good at that.
Dinnertime was always an event at their house, her mother being a savant in the kitchen, and several of her sisters could boast the same. Their dining table was huge, big enough to fit all nine of them, plus one empty seat that was usually filled by one of their cousins or friends. Tonight it sat empty, right in the center, next to Daphne. Anastasia sat on her other side, asking if they were having crème brulee for dessert because Mom had promised and Dad had said last time that she could do the blowtorch part if she was careful. Her mother said no, maybe on her birthday. Anastasia whined that her birthday wasn’t for a while.
Daphne didn’t see the big deal, at least Anastasia had a birthday that wasn’t within two days of her sister’s, like Daphne’s was. It didn’t seem fair that she always had to share her birthday with Aja, who was angrier about it since she was older, and had the birthday first and Daphne had been the one to steal it. Their mother replied that she didn’t pick the days that she went into labor.
They all had a job afterwards. The ones who didn’t cook cleared the table and loaded the enormous dishwasher. Daphne always thought it was strange; they were royalty, her parents, leaders of the new world, and they didn’t have any servants like they did in the old books and movies. Just a few people that would straighten the house and stock the pantry while her parents worked. It was up to each of the girls to do their own laundry and keep their rooms clean. Daphne had the added responsibility of taking care of Snowball, since she was the only one with a pet, and the horses didn’t count. That gave her an idea.
Her father was stacking plates next to her, his sleeves rolled up. “Dad?” she asked tentatively.
“Yes?”
She took a breath. “Can we go and ride Samson when we’re done? Just for a little while, please?”
He smiled. “Sure. There’s still a lot of daylight left.”
“Can I come too, Dad?” Aurelia was suddenly at Daphne’s elbow, and Daphne had to resist the urge to pop her sister in the nose with the plate she was holding.
Her father exchanged a quick glance with her mother over their head.
“Actually, this trip is just for Daphne and me. OK, Aurelia? I promise I’ll take you tomorrow.”
Aurelia pouted briefly, but backed off. Daphne had the feeling that she just wanted to go to tag along, since Aurelia didn’t really like horses all that much. She thought they smelled. Little prig.
Even though she was too old for it, she reached up and took her father’s hand as they walked to the stables. Her father told her stories about before the big sleep, before she was born, when the Earth had four times as many people and the air wasn’t as clean as it was now. She couldn’t imagine some of the things he was describing. Brown and black smoke that made it hard to breath in certain places? Little bugs that bit you and made you itch? The sun beating down so long and hard that it would burn your skin? It sounded like a terrible place to live.
Samson broke away and trotted to the fence when he saw them approach, his ears standing up and shaking his head. Her father saddled him while Daphne fed him some apples with brownish spots that she had picked when they passed through the orchards.
They didn’t talk for a while as they rode Samson together through the paths of the fields and woods, Daphne leaning back against her father’s chest. Samson was a giant horse, and gentle, not even flinching when she accidentally kicked him in the flank while mounting. They passed several estates where her Aunts and Uncles lived, the Crystal palace where the King and Queen and Princess lived always in view in the distance. Daphne always got a thrill about approaching the palace, and having the guards recognize her and salute as she passed. Although, most of the time she was with her sisters, and she did notice that most of the smiles weren’t intended for her.
As they passed through the woods and approached the Venusian estate, they saw four boys and Cherie tossing a football around with their father in the polished lawn. Cherie was right in the thick of things, chasing her older brother down and tagging him by grabbing his belt loop and pulling him to the ground. As she watched, Cherie’s father pulled her off the ground and swept her up over his shoulder, which was pretty high up, since Cherie’s father was taller that Daphne’s, and Daphne’s dad was over six feet. She watched her friend shriek with glee as her father dangled her upside down, her curly blond ponytail whipping around like a lasso. One of the younger boys ran up and pulled out the elastic keeping her hair in place, and her hair puffed out in a blonde explosion.
Daphne’s father called to the other man, who raised his free hand in a greeting. “Hey, Uncle Neph!” Marcus, the young one who pulled out Cherie’s hair, was yelling and waving.
“Hi Daphne!” Cherie shouted, still upside down.
She waved to her friend, although she was pretty sure Cherie couldn’t see her, and rode again in silence with her father.
They reached the river just at sunset, the waterfall a few miles down a dull roar in the background of birds chirping their evening songs. Her father climbed down from Samson’s back and led the horse to the edge of the water, where the animal dipped his head and started slurping noisily. Daphne squirmed out of the saddle, wondering where to start, and then realizing that since there was no good way to broach the subject, the most direct way was probably the best.
“Dad?”
“Yeah, Daph?”
“Why don’t I have an A name too?” She didn’t mean it to sound so whiny, but she couldn’t help the way her voice trembled when she asked.
He was quiet for a few moments. “It’s very important to you, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Why didn’t I get to be an ‘A’, too?”
He looked at her; his brown eyes perfect mirrors of her own. Now that she thought of it, only she and Astraea had eyes like their father, deep set and brown like Samson’s hide. The rest of the girls had muddles of hazels and greens. Her father reached down and took her hand. “It was my choice. I named you.”
Daphne blinked. She didn’t know that it was her father that had picked her name out for her. Her mother had told them that he left that kind of thing to her. “You did?”
“Yeah,” he said. He laughed a little before continuing. “Your mother wasn’t kidding when she said she doesn’t pick what day she goes into labor. It was in the middle of the night, and it was snowing. We were scared because you were early, and your Aunt Ami had to suspend the snowstorm for awhile so we could get out of the house, and when we arrived at the palace infirmary, she had a nosebleed from trying to control so much of the element without preparing. We didn’t think it was a good sign.
Anyway, after you were born, you were so tiny that I could practically hold you in my hand.” Daphne looked down at her father’s hands, stretched out his fingers, long like Anastasia’s, and large, but not designed to fit a newborn. He continued. “When you cried you sounded like a little kitten, and you were too small to feed properly, so Ami had to put a feeding tube down your nose, and it hurt you a lot. Your Mom and I were so scared, we turned the lights down and turned off the blinds and held you while we watched the snow fall. Mom was exhausted, she was dozing, and I was holding you in the dark in front of the window, showing you the snow, because if you didn’t pull through, I wanted you to see something on the outside.” He rubbed her hands. Daphne was silent, barely breathing as she listened.
“I was talking to you, telling you that it was very important that you pulled through, to see your sisters and grow up and give me headaches like all of you do, when you opened your eyes and looked at me. And right then, I knew you were going to be different. That you would be special.”
“But Dad, I’m not special. Not like the others.”
His smile was sad as he reached out and rubbed his daughter’s chin. “No, you are. I knew then that you weren’t going to be like your sisters, present and future. I knew that you would be just like me, and that you were going to be my special girl.”
Daphne swallowed a hard lump that had formed in her throat. “I’m not special, I’m just different.”
“Being different is being special, Daph.”
She looked down, tears pricking underneath her eyelids. Her father continued.
“I stood there with you until the sun came up, and talked to you. I told you stories, of before the sleep and what my life was like when I had a different name, and my family when I was growing up and what the world was like.” He chuckled. “I told you about the Canucks winning the Stanley Cup, and what your mother was like and how I met her, and how much I loved her and your sisters. I even told you some jokes, I think. And the entire time, you never went back to sleep. You stayed up with me the whole time and listened to me ramble, and after that night, I couldn’t put you in the same category as everyone else. It just didn’t suit you, you know?
So when your mother woke up, well, first she almost had a heart attack because she woke up to see you and me staring at her without blinking, and I told her about what we did that night and that I had named you. She understood.
You didn’t fall asleep until everyone had seen you. You practically stared your Uncle Jade down, which was actually very cool of you, and your sisters were the most upset that you had a different name. Actually, Atia was very jealous.”
“Atia was jealous?” Daphne really liked hearing that.
“Yes, she was.” He chucked her under the chin again. “So please, don’t feel like we don’t love you as much as your sisters or that you’re not as special. It’s my fault that you have the odd name, so instead of hating yourself, hate me instead.”
Daphne stumbled forward and hugged her father around the waist. “I don’t hate you, Dad. I love you.”
He squeezed her back. “I love you too, Daph. Always.” They stood that way for a little while, until the wind started to blow and they noticed it was very dark out. Daphne’s father helped her back into the saddle, and then sat behind her. The doves started cooing as they headed for home.
“Daph?”
“Yeah, Dad?”
He sighed. “Don’t get down on yourself because you’re not a beauty queen at age twelve. This may come as a shock, but other than the very fortunate, everyone has a heinous ugly period growing up, and it’s usually somewhere between ten and fourteen. I was the shortest kid in my class, had braces and glasses and a terrible haircut, and for a while my eyebrows grew together. I’ll show you the pictures sometime. I was by far the weirdest, nerdiest scrap of humanity in the sixth grade.”
“Dad!” she laughed. Her father was one of the most handsome men she knew. “You were not!”
“No really, I was. It was pretty bad. You should have seen your Uncle Zo, though. Before he hit puberty, man, the boy was fat.”
That night, she let Snowball run around the foot of her bed while she sat against the bed frame with a notebook and pen. She wrote again on the neatly lined paper, smiling as she did so:
Her Royal Highness Daphne Laurel Andromeda Kino Haberman, fifth child and fifth daughter of Guardian Queen Jupiter and Guardian King Nephrite, Royal Princess to the Planet of Jupiter and the American Kingdoms of the Planet Earth.
That was kind of long; good thing she never went by her full title. She gasped when she realized that her intended “A” name was still a part of her full name, buried in with all the formalities and titles, and practiced saying it out loud a few times to Snowball.
“Hi, I’m Andromeda. Andromeda. My name is Andromeda.”
It didn’t fit.
She wrote on the next line, in bold letters decorated with stars:
DAPHNE!!!
That looked a lot better.
