Chapter 15 Werewolves and Grannies and Gnomes! Oh, My. #3
“They always kept me inside. They were chronically online, get-groceries-ordered-to-the-door people. We never went anywhere, never did anything. Even when we were together, we weren’t.
I’d tell them things, and it would go in one ear and out the other.
I mean it. One time I broke this finger.
They told me to google how to reset it instead of taking me to a doctor.
You can see how well that ended up.” Hanry lifts his left hand, revealing his subtly crooked index finger.
For all the times it’s touched me this past week, I never noticed.
“They didn’t seem to even know what I looked like. I’m serious.”
“Damn,” I say uncleverly.
“My adopted parents—I like to think of them as my real parents. My real family. We actually mean something to each other, you know?”
I nod, understanding. I definitely do know what it’s like to have a parent who isn’t present. That’s one thing about Grandma I liked: when she spent time with me, I could tell, in that moment, that I was the center of her zany, black-hole-riddled universe.
Hanry continues, “They already had a son my age named Seb. We’re not close.
That’s probably my fault. I think he felt like I was replacing him, and I get that.
I was trying so hard to be good enough for my family, I was always trying to match up.
It’s stupid, because we’re such different people.
I wish I could go back and undo it. Or at least apologize, but at this point it feels like too much.
So, I don’t feel like a decent person, but I’m trying to be one. ”
I can’t help the tightness in my throat.
Shit. I figured Hanry had baggage, like anyone, but I hadn’t realized life dealt him such a difficult hand, or that he blamed himself for it.
The sense of understanding I had earlier remains—only now I’m feeling a twinge of gratitude to Mom, who at least never compared me to other children.
Who was willing to keep a distance from Grandma when she heard what happened to me on Halloween night.
Even now, she makes the effort to call every once in a while, even if she’s drinking tequila more often than not.
I can’t imagine how Hanry must have felt, being forfeited by his parents.
Complete abandonment. I want to ask, but more than that, I want him to feel okay.
If it were me being vulnerable, I know what I’d want him to do: ignore it.
Or make a joke. So in the end, I smile awkwardly at Hanry and say, “If you ever get a lethal injury in my presence, I promise to call an ambulance. And do all the googling for you.”
“Thanks.”
With that settled between us, I tap the iPad screen and reopen the list of gnomic tomfoolery. “Aha! This, here. Found the ‘gnome detail’ option.”
“Yeah, that’s the one,” says Hanry. He sounds relieved to be back on safer footing.
“Good. I’m going to type in the description, ‘stay vigilant for potential schemes of sabotage, then report back to me.’ ”
“Smart,” Hanry says. “Don’t forget to add ‘violent retribution, optional.’ ”
Hanry’s gaze drops down on me. I was right: he looks like he’s more comfortable again. Maybe sharing his secrets with me has made him feel lighter too. His blue eyes are shining with mischief, and in spite of his technological incompetence, I could kiss him. Maybe do more than that.
“I shouldn’t be surprised you have a devious side,” I say. “I did catch you sneaking into that graveyard, after all.”
“My motives were pure,” Hanry argues. “I was creating art, sustainably.”
“Art isn’t pure. Have you seen the Venus de Milo?”
“Have you seen yourself in the mirror?”
“Oh, flirty again. I like it.”
The rep doesn’t, based on her annoyed huff. Who cares what she thinks? I’m in a better mood now that I have a working plan to hire nefarious beings of nonviolence. We can sabotage the saboteur, fight the paranormal with the paranormal. I like the justice of it.
“Why do gnomes take jobs like this?” I ask, returning the iPad to Buzz-Cut Lady.
“Because,” she answers, “gnomes are little assholes.”
Harry nods in hearty agreement. “It’s due to fracking, probably. Some members of the Community lost their homes to the fossil fuel industry. The gnomes, the fay—”
“That’s right! Fay live underground.” I read that in one of Mom’s favorite books.
I think it was called The Court of Sexy Times.
I blush, remembering one particularly spicy scene and trying not to look at Hanry’s arms. Confusingly, the sexiest thing about him might not be his biceps, but the way he understands my sense of humor.
I never thought that was a priority before.
Well, I guess he’s raised the height of my romantic bar.
I can’t believe he lets me rib him as much as he does.
And I don’t mind the way he counters back, not in the least. “So, Hanry, do fairies hang out in caves, like bats? Are they secret vampires?”
“The fay don’t suck blood, and they don’t have wings,” he ticks off. “They don’t live underground anymore either. Sometimes near cave entrances, but not always.”
I think back to Rochester. He was definitely wingless, unless you counted his eyelashes.
“How do you differentiate them from humans?” I ask. “Secret little claw feet? Telltale moles?”
Struggling to keep a straight face, Hanry answers, “Personality defects.”
“You mean like—”
The rep clears her throat.
“Can you please complete your payment? My book is becoming impatient.” She’s not joking. Her copy of A Complete History of Chocolate Making has started growling at a low level. Maybe it’s not a book but a chocolate-themed, historical cat. “And sign here?”
When she taps the number on the screen, my eyebrows shoot up my forehead. They nearly crawl into my hair before I chide them back.
Hanry whistles. “Whoa, that’s expensive.”
I shush him. “It’s fine.”
Hanry isn’t wrong; these gnomes cost a lot of dough. I’d be worried if I didn’t know for a fact enough money’s coming in with Sidney’s wedding to cover my half of the rent in that Midtown East apartment, the Home Depot’s gnomic army, and Mandy’s undefined wages.
Buzz-Cut Lady offers me a receipt, seemingly materialized from the air. I take it, prepared to ball the paper up and toss it over my shoulder, when I’m stopped: on the back of the receipt are coupons for Home Depot’s various business partners. And one of them has a name I could never, ever miss:
DA SEVEN TIDES SCUBA SHOP.