Chapter 9 #2
He and Sheila discussed the merits of growing cannellini versus navy beans until I said: “And how was your day, Pandora? Well, I’m glad someone cares enough to ask.
My day was a complete triumph! I meditated under an apple tree while surrounded by crystals, like a spiritually evolved Isaac Newton.
I freed my mind and embraced the beauty, the gift even, of the natural world. ”
“Which apple tree?” Dad asked.
“That’s not really the point, Dad. The one by itself on the hill.”
Dad made a face. “That tree’s an asshole.”
“What?” I said.
“Stubborn old shit,” he grumbled.
“Maybe you should ask Hattie to talk to it,” Mom told him, digging into her bowl of frozen peas with a teaspoon.
“That plant she carries around has weird energy. Like it wants to be an invasive species but lives in that tiny pot,” Dad said.
“Little plant syndrome,” I said.
“So, what’s your next step?” Mom asked me.
“Finding parents who want to celebrate my love of nature.”
“I meant about getting your gift.”
“I know what you meant!” I violently forked a tomato. “I don’t need a gift.”
“Then why are you so determined not to get one?” she asked.
“That doesn’t make any sense, even for you,” I said. “I don’t need a gift. I don’t want a gift. I just want to be left alone about all this gift bullshit, and not to hear another word about it this entire summer!”
They fell silent. Finally. Good. I ate my toast and found myself thinking about Leo. At least he’d only been teasing about my gift. Had he really changed? Could I trust that he no longer dismissed any woman without magic? Probably not. Though, he had apologized, and claimed he learned his lesson.
As the silence extended, my parents exchanged pointed looks. Then my mother cleared her throat. She tapped her spoon against her bowl. My father touched her arm. She tsked softly and—
“What?” I demanded.
“Nothing,” my mother said.
“Good.”
“I was just remembering how I found my gift during a hurricane.”
I didn’t scream, because I am an adult. I just said, “Oh, good. Now you’re hoping for a natural disaster?”
“Speaking of wind!” Dad cut in, before Mom and I started arguing. “Didn’t you say you wanted to sail around the island?”
“Yeah?” I said, eyeing him suspiciously.
“You should take one of Leonard’s boats out early tomorrow morning.”
I dropped my fork on my plate. “You’re so transparent. You think that’ll help, don’t you?”
“I just thought you’d have a good time!”
“Is everyone on this dumb island going to spend the entire summer trying to get me a gift?”
My mother sighed. “Of course not, Pandora. Only the people who love you.”
“Fine. How about this? I’ll do the boat-and-wind thing tomorrow morning, and you two stop fixating on my gift for the rest of the summer?”
“We can still fixate a little, right?” my mother asked.
“No! I’m serious. Don’t ruin my last magical summer. Please.”
They looked at each other, then nodded reluctantly.
“Sheila,” I called. “Please take note that both of them have nodded which I consider a binding contract. You’re my witness.”
“Got it, babes,” she called from the counter. “I’m on your side.”
“Thank the Dames somebody is,” I said.
Mom started to respond, then wrinkled her nose. “Sheila, what is that smell?”
I sniffed and noticed a faint, pungent odor—like sweaty socks simmering in hot vinegar.
“I’m making stinky tofu for Pandora,” Sheila said. “My dad got his gift after eating it.”
Diary, I screamed.
Early the next morning, determined to get my parents off my back—at least a little—I headed for the Carters’ boathouse.
At six o’clock, a chilly breeze blew along the path and ruffled the blueberry bushes.
I hugged my thermos to my chest, trying to feel the warmth of fresh coffee.
My eyes still felt sticky with sleep, but at least the day was already bright and sunny.
I glanced toward the Carters’ house, hoping I wouldn’t run into Leo.
Although maybe that was just my knee-jerk habit of avoiding him.
Maybe I sort of wanted to run into him? He said he’d changed, after all, and that he wanted to be friends again.
I liked friends. More friends would make my final magical summer that much better.
Also, if Leo wanted to be friends, I should include him in the first Magical Moment, right?
Right. On the other hand, Diary, when I become normal, our history together as faerie-kin will be erased.
I won’t even remember why we broke up. I’ll probably just think that he said something mean that I couldn’t quite remember.
I scowled at the thought. I didn’t like the idea that I’d forget why I’d been angry with him.
Why did that freak me out so much? Just because I liked holding a grudge?
I didn’t think so. I mean, of course I regretted that I was going to lose my memories of magic, but I was resigned to it.
I was braced for a hollow throb of loss, a pang of unformed nostalgia.
But this didn’t feel like gentle melancholy.
This felt sharp and painful, which was stupid.
There was more to my faerie-kin life than Leo.
Why did the idea of losing my unhappy memories of him bother me so much?
I paused outside the boathouse and stood on the dock staring blankly at the view, waiting for the water to calm me.
I miss the ocean when I’m not here. Boston is on the coast, but it’s different being surrounded on all sides by the waves, like being cupped in Poseidon’s hand.
When you are raised on an island, you grow to expect a coast a few miles in every direction.
After a moment, I toasted the water with my thermos, then unscrewed the cap and took a sip of coffee.
The wind blew my hair around, and I felt an upswell of happiness.
The island was magic. It was all around me.
I knew in my heart that even after I lost my faerie-kin memories, the island would always be home and that was all the magic I needed.
“Morning,” Leo said, strolling toward me from his house.
I almost spat out my coffee. “What are you doing here?”
“I saw a stranger creeping around the boathouse.”
“I wasn’t creeping.”
“You were talking to the ocean,” he said. “Still trying for whale song?”
I showed him my middle finger. “Ooom this.”
He laughed. “Taking one of the boats out?”
“Mm. I really want to sail, but it’s been years.”
He wiggled his fingers at my thermos. “Then let’s sail.”
“Yeah?” I handed him the thermos. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”
He took a slug of coffee. “Than sail away with you?”
I didn’t know how to answer that, so I pushed into the boathouse.
Leo followed. “Why so early?”
“For the wind,” I explained.
“What does the wind want from you?”
“Nothing! My mother got her gift during a hurricane and she, like everyone else on this faerie-fucked island, is pressuring me. So we made a deal that if I give my gift one last shot this morning, she’ll leave me alone for the rest of the summer.”
“And you believe her?” he asked.
“Of course not. But at least I’ll win the arguments.”
Leo took another swig of coffee and handed me back my thermos. “Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“If you say you don’t want a gift, you don’t want a gift.”
I gestured in emphatic agreement. “That’s the thing. Nobody believes me. Do you know how maddening that is? The people I’m closest to, every one of them thinks I need a gift to be happy. I just don’t. Shut up. I don’t.”
“I didn’t even—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” I said, and headed into the boathouse and pulled the oars off the wall.
Leo hooked them into the sailboat, a lapstrake boat with a sail and oar-locks. “We’re hoping for a hurricane, so you can win an argument?”
“Or a tornado, whatever floats your boat.” I sent him a warning look as I grabbed a lifejacket. “Just keep your ideas about gifts to yourself.”