Old Flames and New Fortunes, page 12
“The rest of what?”
“I can tell you want to say something else. Other words are hiding in there for me.”
His smile is a flare of genuine wonder, pleased that I pegged him so accurately, but then he softens. “That something else is . . . the way you . . .”
I wait for him to finish, but he changes the subject instead. Traces one of my flower tattoos, half of its buds closed, just beginning to bloom. He swallows. “What kind of flower is this?”
“Lily of the valley.”
He thinks. Return to happiness. Alex’s thumb brushes the pink outline of another flower that grows on my arm, one of its petals in an everlasting process of falling away. “And this one?”
“Carnation.”
His mouth pulls, flattening.
“Would you like a flora fortune, Alex?”
“Huh?” He’s still puzzling over the pink carnation, which symbolizes a mother’s love. He’s probably thinking about my relationship with my mother, whom I’ve never been close with. Wondering if that’s changed. (It hasn’t.)
“You’re awfully curious.”
“I like to know things.” He returns to his crown, which is coming together clumsily, half the quantity of flora I’d typically use taking up twice the space. Painfully visible gaps of wire. “I like the tattoos, too.”
Our heads are bent close together as I loop ribbons along his effort. “The fern is a reminder that I can always start over. That I can let go of a life that isn’t working and begin anew.”
His attention is so keen, it’s a brand. “Is that what you did?”
I nod.
A pregnant pause follows.
“Is that what we did?”
He absorbs my surprise, which appears to satisfy him in some strange way. I hate that I keep telling him things without meaning to. He’s good at reading between the lines. I have no clue what Alex is playing at—outwardly, it might look like he’s interested in me, but this could be explained by his deep-seated need to solve for X. He likes riddles, puzzles. He likes to be proven right. Whatever it is that he’s searching for right now, it’s because he’s got a question in his mind, a strong guess as to what the answer might be, and is working to confirm his accuracy.
Thankfully, I’m spared when Luna appears. She does her best to not make it apparent she’s been eavesdropping, but I know better. She keeps trying to catch my eye, her expression significant. I ignore it. “Morning, Luna.”
“Morning.” She nods coolly at Alex, not quite rude, but certainly not rolling out a red carpet. “Hello.”
His reply is warm. “Hello, Luna.”
“Where’s Trevor? Out getting breakfast for you again?”
Before I can say “Hm?” her eyes flash. “He spoils you rotten. So doting.”
Alex slowly pushes his crown aside, then crosses his arms over his chest. Tips his chin down, trying not to smile.
“He’s sleeping in,” I tell Luna robustly. “But I think he has a date planned for later. Knowing him, it’ll be somewhere special.”
“The corner table at Mozzi’s,” Alex adds. He gestures his arm in a wide arc, admiring an invisible corner table. “You’ll gaze into each other’s eyes over the shaker of chili flakes, elbows sticky. Share a breadstick like the spaghetti from Lady and the Tramp.”
“A picnic in a meadow,” I retort lightly. “He’ll have a rose between his teeth, and I’ll wear nothing but a dreamy smile.”
“Naked in a meadow. Just you, Trevor, and a thousand brown recluse spiders.”
I stick out my tongue. He narrows his eyes, but there isn’t any heat in it. I don’t know how we got to a place where we can tease each other in good fun like this so quickly.
It’s alarming.
“Trevor give you that necklace?” Luna interjects, motioning at my throat. “Looks new.”
My necklace is at least four years old. Luna bought it for me herself. Just look at this meddler, Miss I’m Not Getting Involved.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” I preen.
“He knows your taste.”
“Oh, yes. He’s unparalleled.”
Alex stands to his feet. “Thanks for letting me crash at your place,” he tells me, then runs a finger across the rim of a pot of black dahlias. Considers it for a moment before pushing it an inch in my direction. “See you tonight.”
Luna eagle-eyes his trip from the Garden through the shop, front bell chiming as he leaves. Then she pops her hands on her hips. “You’re welcome.”
“For what?” I’m still staring at the black dahlias, which symbolize dishonesty. It was too marked an action to be coincidental. The man is toying with me.
“For reminding you of what you’re supposed to be doing.”
I pick up Alex’s clumsy crown, settling it over my head. Even though his hands didn’t infuse it with magic, a fuzzy vision appears in my mind, wiping out Luna, the shop. In someone else’s body, I see myself, and I’m wearing white orchids in my hair and smiling up. It feels like five-petaled blossoms of vervain, a forest of them, blooming simultaneously. Like the purest adoration. The vision fades away, but the adoration lingers, and now it is my heartbeat that thumps wildly.
What is it, exactly, that I’m supposed to be doing? I can’t seem to remember anymore—with these flowers on my head, all I can think about is Alex’s dimple, his thumb caressing the petals of my tattoos, his gentle strokes through Suki’s fuzzy feathers. His wavering line left unfinished: “The way you . . .”
It’ll come to me, I’m sure. What I’m supposed to be doing.
Chapter Fifteen
RUE:
Do not annoy me with your unwelcome attentions.
A few hours later, Trevor, Luna, and I are huddled in the entryway of Half Moon Mill, watching Kristin and Mr. Yoon from across the room. It’s raining again, so the happy couple is entertaining themselves with Parcheesi. My stomach clenches.
“I hate being rude. How can we interrupt them?”
“What choice do we have?” Trevor murmurs. “They’re leaving for Paris on Monday for their honeymoon. It’s now or never.”
Luna clutches the business plan tightly. “Why couldn’t we have just won the lottery? This is mortifying.”
Alex passes by. Halts abruptly, then turns.
“Look who it is.” His slow, satisfied grin freezes when his eyes fall on Trevor. “Oh. You.”
“Yes, the son of the groom. Shocking of me to be here.”
“And me, colleague of the son of the groom.” Luna gives Alex a pointedly insincere smile, teeth bared.
His eyes flick to her, then back to Trevor. “Hello again, Luna.”
She makes an I am not impressed tsk. We all wait for Alex to go away, but he hangs tight, close enough to hear what we’re talking about. We decide to pretend he isn’t there.
“Beltane’s the ideal time for business ventures,” I remind my colleagues. I am All Business in my peach dress with ruffled sleeves and large pearl buttons. I reach up to adjust my hat, before remembering I’m not wearing one. I’m still wearing the flower crown Alex made.
“Right.” Trevor draws a bracing breath. The three of us link arms. “Let’s do this.”
Alex tails us over to Mr. Yoon. Trevor clears his throat twice before his father says, without looking up, “Would you like a drink of water?”
“I was—we were—we’re hoping to talk to you about a business proposal,” Trevor forces out.
Mr. Yoon is instantly guarded. “A business proposal.”
“Sir, if we could just have a few minutes of your time.” Luna slides a copy of the proposal in front of him. Kristin moves the Parcheesi board aside, her gaze conveying polite interest.
Mr. Yoon heaves a sigh, then begins to read. Flicks to the next page.
“You see, we purchased property—” I begin, but he holds up one finger. Continues to read.
“I seem to recall giving you a significant sum of money, Trevor,” Daniel says. “Surely you can use some of that?”
Trevor shrinks.
“Ah, yes, that would be impossible, because you’ve already spent it all. Stitch and Turn Shoe Emporium. Ken’s Barbecue.” He ticks them off on his fingers. “Mighty Fitness. Two of them figuratively burned to the ground, one of them literally. You purchase properties without thinking, and that is why you find yourself in these unpleasant situations. If you had actually gone to business school—”
“I told you, I’m sorry. Everybody makes mistakes! Remember that golf course you opened?”
“The golf course situation was different. Nobody could have anticipated that many gophers. Anyway, your financial history is not my only hesitation here. Moonville’s famous love magic,” he recites, four pages later. “Pardon me if I don’t quite believe in that.”
“Sir?” I prompt nervously.
“It’s cute,” Mr. Yoon concedes. “I understand why local businesses keep that story alive; there’s money in it. But there is no such thing as a one true love.”
Luna pales. “I disagree.”
I bump the toe of her shoe with mine.
Mr. Yoon stacks his hands on the paper, creasing the page. It took us weeks to fine-tune this, and our dream is currently sopping up water pooling around the base of his drink, a grayish ring right over The Magick Happens is a favorite stop with tourists hoping for . . . “Do you see this woman?” He reaches for Kristin’s hand. She lays her palm up for him. “She lost her husband many years ago. She loved him. I lost my wife, too, and I loved her. But Kristin and I love each other also. There is no such thing as a one true love, because one can have many loves.”
I lower my head. “You’re absolutely right. I think what we mean to say, is that Moonville has a special way of revealing the person you’re meant to be with here in this moment, in your present stage of life.”
“Exactly,” Trevor inserts smoothly. “It’s a whole thing. And the candles and flowers do that, too. They create a road of clarity, which leads you to the person you’re meant to be with.” He is speaking verbatim from the proposal.
“Is that what you two are to each other?” Mr. Yoon inquires seriously, his black eyes switching back and forth between Trevor and me. “You are meant to be?”
I can’t help glancing at Kristin. It’s a mistake.
It’s that damned windbreaker tripping my nostalgia land mines: This is the woman who paid for my homecoming dress junior year, who helped me apply for scholarships, who baked a three-tier birthday cake when I turned eighteen, who gave me a ride to the doctor when I missed three days of school with a fever that peaked at a hundred and four. Afterward, she took me to her house instead of mine, tucked me into her queen bed with the soft white comforter, and lay beside me while we watched TV Land. Maybe it’s wrong to say, but I loved her more than my own mother. I cannot lie to her face.
I look down at my shoes, reflecting sunlight peeking through the forest beyond the windows, allowing Trevor to answer. “Yes.”
What other choice does he have, but to say that? We sell romance. It stands to reason that Luna and I both ought to have been happily paired off with our meant-to-be’s long ago. And perhaps Luna would be, if Grandma had never uttered a word about silver luna moths, which she’s been holding out for. As for myself, I just haven’t met anyone who wanted to hold on to me, or who I wanted to hold on to. Zelda at least has the comfort of not believing in soulmates. She doesn’t believe in prophecies, either. Or magic.
Mr. Yoon stares into my eyes. Kristin’s gaze is fixed on a spot right behind me. “I’ll think on it,” he says crisply.
He stands up, grimacing. Grabs a newspaper. “Excuse me.” He nods at us as he leaves, left leg limping. The packet we gave him is left on the table.
Luna, Trevor, and I exchange worried frowns. We’re all trying to hog the blame for this—Trevor’s the one who cut the check and waived the inspection; I’m the one who suggested we buy the lot because I needed room; and Luna is usually the voice of reason who talks us out of risky ideas, but she encouraged us to go for it because she feels guilty that her candles take up most of the store.
I’m the first to break the silence. “That didn’t go so great.” It’s probably time to face the music: We are not going to be able to fix the sewer line and asphalt in time to put up the night market, and if we want to be able to pay ourselves, we might have to resell the lot, probably at a loss. Which means no expansion, and I’ll need to cull my plants to make the magical climate bearable again.
“He didn’t say no, though.” Trevor begins to loosen up. “That’s a good sign, trust me. We’ve got a shot.”
Alex leans in, lips close to my ear. “Meant to be? And you don’t know his middle name?”
“Mind your business,” I hiss.
“I think I see your angle here.” His eyes dance. “I underestimated you.”
I glare. He breezes a short distance away, whistling.
“Your business plan looks very nice,” Kristin tells us diplomatically, sparing an extra twinkly smile for Trevor. “You did a good job!”
I think I speak for Trevor and Luna when I say that this compliment makes us feel about six years old.
“Thank you, Kristin. Excuse me.” Luna pulls out her phone, checking the barrage of missed messages from Zelda. Zel keeps complaining that she’s out of the loop. Secretly, Luna and I are hoping she’ll grow so exasperated with her out-of-the-loop-ness that she’ll decide to remedy it by visiting. She rarely ever comes to Moonville—the last time she was in Ohio was for Grandma’s Celebration of Life.
Zelda is like a water sprite: elusive, mercurial, and deeply private; most comfortable in solitary darkness but easily lured by something sparkly. We do this dance where Zelda invites us to wherever she’s living, and Luna and I invite her to Moonville instead, and we end up putting off vacation for another year.
Alex drops several boxes onto a table, which I recognize straightaway as my favorite board games.
Wait a minute.
Those are my games! The Monopoly lid is taped together, and I’d recognize that Hungry Hungry Hippos anywhere. It’s covered in a child’s marker scribble.
“Hey!” I shout. “You took those from my house!”
Alex doesn’t acknowledge me. “Memory Mayhem?” he suggests to his and Trevor’s relatives, holding a red box aloft. Then he lifts another box, balancing them like the scales of justice. “Fact Carnivore?”
“Fuck you,” three different people reply.
“There’s no guarantee I’ll win.” He can’t keep a straight face as he says this. “Fine, you bunch of babies. Here’s one I don’t have an advantage in: The Newlywed Game.”
I squint. “I don’t have that game.”
The expression he turns on me is unreasonably snobbish. “I printed it off. Downloadable questions.”
I’m immediately suspicious. Alex never brings a game to the table unless he believes he’ll win and is a sore loser on the rare occasion that he fails. Such a sore loser, in fact, that he’ll nurse a grudge forever.
“Not all of us are newlyweds,” Allison deadpans. “Or dating anyone.”
“I think these questions can apply to all relationships,” Alex says. “Pair up with whoever you feel you’re closest to.”
“Bet you’ve already memorized the questions,” I tell him. “Not fair.”
“I’m not playing. I’m hosting.” He takes an unnecessarily out-of-the-way route to a particular table, just so he can skirt by me and whisper in my ear. “Thought I’d give others a chance to show what they know.”
“Whoever we’re closest to,” Kristin repeats. Points at herself, then at her husband-to-be, who’s standing along a wall and hiding behind his newspaper. “Okay, so Allison and Teyonna. Me and Daniel. Trevor and Romina. Or maybe Romina and Luna?”
My sister is talking on her phone, too far away to hear us.
I clutch my purse. “Afraid I can’t join you. I should go back to work.”
“Sit,” Alex replies cheerfully, prodding me into a chair. He pushes it in, looping my purse handle around the back.
“I don’t have the time.” I shoot Trevor frantic glances that he is totally oblivious to, clicking and unclicking the pen Alex passed him.
“Trevor, don’t you think you and Romina deserve a break from working?” Alex says to him.
“What? Yeah.” Trevor laughs at my alarm. “We work too much. Got to get that R & R, baby.” He taps my nose.
Alex drops a card in front of me, littered with questions and spaces left blank for filling in answers. Winks. Winks! “Have fun.”
Chapter Sixteen
ELDER:
My efforts will remain unremitting.
That asshole.
“Phones here.” Alex thumps the center of the table. “I don’t trust any of you not to cheat. Then I want Daniel, Allison, and Trevor to head onto the patio to work on yours, where I can monitor you.”
“Bossypants,” I mutter, refusing to surrender my phone. Alex has never wormed his way into a debate club or Model UN he didn’t eventually seize captainship of, so he’s in his natural habitat here.
“Stop thinking about my pants and do your homework.” He confiscates Trevor’s phone, which renders mine useless, now that we can’t compare notes.
ROUND 1
How many kids do you want?
Do you have allergies?
When’s your birthday?
What did you wear on your first date with your significant other?
I would like to have at least three kids, but Trevor’s not going to know that. He’s going to make a dumb, overplayed joke about me having twenty cats someday instead. Twenty cats, I write with a sigh.
And Trevor better know the answer to the allergy question. He brought in curry to share with Luna, Morgan, and me, but neglected to mention it contained mushrooms. He then watched hives break out all over my face.
