3. Phil
Phil
“T his is a crime against nature, Phil.” Peaches lounged on my bed, his sunflower-yellow hair spilling across the rough sheets.
I liked being in Peaches’s room better than mine.
My friend was a well-employed garden pixie and could afford silk sheets.
And the sheets weren’t the only difference.
Peaches’s room was decked out in bright colors, plants, paintings, and furniture.
I could barely afford rent on my room, and even that was sketchy now that Mr. Moony had put me on notice.
“I don’t think it’s that bad,” I defended the rough jeans Peaches held in his hands.
“They’re far more practical than my other clothes.
” Those other clothes were flowing cotton pants and loose-fitted shirts.
Given my size, I couldn’t shop where typical pixies did and had to have my clothes specially made.
Given my poor finances, I didn’t have many options, and the fabric choice had to be cheap.
Still, Peaches wasn’t wrong. The jeans were harsh and felt rough and wrong against my skin.
Peaches huffed before he tossed the nearly black pants off to the side. Sitting up, he dangled his petite feet over the edge of my bed. Peaches’s thick, sunny hair contrasted his frown. His wings furiously beat when he saw the scissors in my hand.
“You cannot cut your hair off.” Peaches crossed his arms, lifted his chin, and pouted. “I draw the line at that, Phil. I won’t let you do it. Mr. Moony has no right to—”
“It’s his business, his rules, Peaches. He has every right.”
Peaches puffed out his cheeks before letting the air loose in a huff. “I don’t care. It’s cruel; that’s what it is. Why can’t you just braid it or something?” Peaches faintly smiled. “You’d look so handsome with your hair braided, and it would be out of the way.”
I turned back to the cracked mirror I’d been staring into since I came home last night with my proverbial tail tucked between my legs.
I hadn’t gotten a second of sleep last night.
I kept going over it again and again in my mind.
I didn’t want to do this either, but what choice did I have?
No one would hire me as a home-and-hearth pixie.
I’d tried to get other jobs, but no one wanted me for those either.
They said I’d garner too much attention—attention they didn’t want.
I wasn’t what others pictured when they thought of pixies.
I didn’t fit. Mr. Moony was the only one who considered my size and physique useful.
And that, it seemed, was the only qualifier I had as a bouncer.
Running my fingers through my hair, I watched the different shades of pink filter through. My hair was the most pixie-ish thing about me. Peaches was right. Cutting it did seem like a crime against nature—my nature.
I raised the scissors. I’d done that at least a dozen times since the sun rose. I’d lowered them just as many, unable to make the first cut.
“Phil.” Peaches’s voice was soft against my ear.
He’d risen from the bed, and his smaller form hovered just over my shoulder.
Golden pixie dust heavily coated the air, disappearing into the ether before it could touch the ground.
“Please, there has to be another way. This . . . this isn’t right.
Not for you. Cutting your hair will gut you. ”
I didn’t have the heart to disagree.
“I know, but what choice do I have? I need to work. I’m behind on rent as it is. Mr. Buttons and Posey have been generous, but how long can that last? I can’t stay here for free.”
“You can stay in my room. We’ll be roommates and—”
“And give up bonding with the orchard you’ve become so fond of?” I turned from the mirror to give Peaches my full attention. With him hovering, I didn’t have to gaze down to look into his sunburst eyes. When Peaches tried to lower his head, I placed a finger under his chin and raised it.
“Don’t act like that, Peaches.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re embarrassed or apologetic about finding a more permanent home, about bonding with a piece of land and the trees growing on it.
You and I know how special that is, and I’m happy for you.
It’s as it should be.” I wasn’t lying even a little bit.
“You should be excited, celebrating, and giddy with anticipation. I don’t want your worry about me interfering with this joyous time. ”
“Oh, Phil.” Peaches gave me a watery smile, and his eyes glistened with tears. “I just want the same for you. You deserve so much more. Size shouldn’t matter. You’re a pixie at heart, and you’d be a wonderful caregiver. You deserve a home too.”
That was just one of the reasons Peaches was my best friend. Growing up, other pixies were the cruelest. Their vitriolic words cut deep and left heavy scars on my heart. I was wary when it came to my species. Peaches and Posey weren’t like that, and I felt fortunate I’d found them.
Careful of Peaches’s wings, I hugged him tight. Peaches’s small arms couldn’t encircle me the same way I did him. I longed to be held by stronger arms, but that was a dream for someone who could afford their rent.
Finally, I released my friend and turned back to the mirror with new determination.
I could do this. I kept that mantra up. It was only hair.
Eventually, it would grow back. Logically, I knew that, but logic didn’t have anything to do with the tears pushing against my eyes.
The scissors felt heavy when I lifted them again.
I’d just raised the edges to the first lock of hair when there was a soft knock at my door.
As usual, Posey didn’t wait for me to invite her in.
The door opened, obeying her silent intention.
She flew into the room, a haze of purple dust flowing in her wake.
Posey’s eyes grew wide when she saw me standing there, scissors poised to cut my hair.
“Oh! Oh, my. No, no, no.” She fluttered about as her fingers wrapped around my wrist and pulled the scissors away from my hair. With delicate force, she pried the steel from my fingers and set them on the bed.
“Posey,” I started to argue, but she placed a finger over my lips, silencing me.
“There’s a gentleman in Mr. Buttons’s office, and he has a job offer.” Posey fluttered back, grinning madly at me.
Peaches joined her, excitement ringing through his words. “What kind of job offer?”
Posey’s gaze swept past my friend to me. “One that’s perfect for a home-and-hearth pixie.”
I stood there stunned and afraid to get my hopes up.
* * *
M y fingers twisted together while my wings beat furiously at my back. I didn’t fly as high as Posey. My feet barely hovered off the floor. I could go higher, but it was nice to look my fellow pixie in the eyes and not have to stare down at her.
Questions flew through my brain, bashing into walls and scattering here and there.
It was pointless to get my hopes up. Yet my heart beat wildly.
Posey’s excitement was contagious. She gripped my wrist in her smaller hand and tugged me along.
I was bigger and stronger and could have fought it but didn’t.
Posey moved so fast, she didn’t give me time to formulate a complete thought, let alone paste enough words together to make a sensible sentence. We’d flown down the steps within seconds and were almost to Mr. Buttons’s door.
I dropped to the ground, feet firmly planted on the slatted floorboards.
Posey nearly lost her grip on my wrist and gave an oof when she was pulled to a stop.
With the door closed, I couldn’t hear the voices on the other side.
There was a good chance the guy had left.
It had happened before. Mr. Buttons would tell them about me, and they’d go before I had a chance to meet them, for them to see with their own eyes.
“Phil?” Posey released my wrist and flew closer. She hovered at eye level. “What’s wrong? Why did you stop? This might be—”
I stepped back and stared at Mr. Buttons’s door as if sharks swam behind it. Swallowing hard, I looked down at the heavy boots on my feet and realized I hadn’t taken the time to change. A strangled noise slithered up my throat.
“Phil. What—”
“I’m still in my bar clothes.” I looked up at Posey with pleading eyes.
“I . . .” I stared longingly at the flowing fabric encasing Posey’s lithe form.
“I need to go back up and change.” I started to turn.
My clothing fabric might be cheap and old, but they were the clothes I was comfortable in.
They weren’t restrictive. They were what I’d grown up wearing.
I wanted my feet bare. I wanted the softness of the fabric against my skin. I wanted to feel like the pixie I was.
“Silly Phil.” Posey reached for my wrist again and tugged.
“Trust me, you’re fine. This customer won’t mind at all.
” Posey gave me another winning smile, and I gave in.
It wasn’t like it would matter in the end.
I’d come dressed as a typical pixie for all my other interviews and it had never made a bit of difference.
Clothes didn’t make the pixie.
Posey gave her typical brief knock before the door flew open. Inhaling deeply, I followed, afraid to hope for much and unable to do anything less.