Chapter 30 Relationships are a Disaster, Do Not Recommend #2
Bolstering myself with a mega-fast pep talk, I finally allow myself to look at my ex-boyfriend.
A few strands of hair have gone rogue from his hair pomade.
He has a paper cut on his lip, but otherwise, Hanry has escaped without impressive or dreamy battle scars.
His gaze touches mine for a moment, fleetingly—just long enough for me to read regret.
Digging into a front pocket of his tunic, Hanry reveals a folded-up parchment. He places it between us.
“I was never going to marry May,” he says. “See? I had my wedding vows. They weren’t lost.”
“How was that going to keep you from getting married?” I ask.
“I planned to seek an annulment. You see, my legal name isn’t Hanry. It’s Henry. A wedding for May and ‘Hanry’ would have been invalid from the start.”
Despite myself, I laugh, dropping my fork loudly on his china plate. “I always thought Hanry was a weird name.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Okay, fine. I didn’t.” My assault on the potatoes complete, I attack a slab of meat. Hopefully it’s venison and not some other forbidden delicacy, like pixie. Mandy would’ve warned me if I were eating one of her people; I’m sure of it. “So, why the name change?”
“My birth parents named me Henry. When they adopted me, Mom and Dad kept mispronouncing my name as ‘Hanry.’ Well, mostly Mom.”
Hmm. This fits: Mab definitely struggled to remember my name. And here I thought it was personal. “Why didn’t you correct her?”
“Didn’t seem worth it.” Hanry—or Henry, I guess?—colors slightly. “Anyway. Bulan found me today, and we devised this plan.”
“I would’ve appreciated some warning,” I tell him after another bite.
“I know. Bulan only slipped me the toothbrush right before the ceremony. He explained that May doesn’t actually want to marry a human man.
She thinks she does, because she’s convinced we’re stronger and more macho than we are.
That’s why Bulan and I figured if we proved we weren’t as masculine as she imagined, we’d both finally be off the hook. ”
Well played, Hanry… sort of. He still hasn’t learned to tell his mom no. His lack of courage is a problem, and it’s a problem I don’t think I can fix.
“May actually seems like a catch,” I say, getting up. “I’m kind of disappointed for you.”
“Sabby, I’m sorry.”
I suck in my lips so I don’t say something stupid.
“Sabby, I’m so sorry,” he repeats, standing. Reminding me how tall he is, how safe I thought I was with him.
“I need someone who can protect me,” I say. “Someone who can stand up against chaos. Or at least their own parents. You came up with all these schemes, but at the end of the day, you still couldn’t tell your mother the truth.”
“I get it,” says Hanry.
“Do you? Because when you were standing up on that platform in your wedding tunic, it felt like you didn’t care about me.
Like you didn’t care I was being humiliated by your own parents, that I was the butt of a thousand jokes.
How could I believe you’d ever try to make our relationship work in the future?
That you wouldn’t give up the first time it became inconvenient? ”
Hanry sighs heavily and sits back down with the same air of defeat.
“I do care about you, Sabby, and I’m sorry for… making your life worse. And not being honest with you. I know I need to do better. I don’t know how, but I need to figure it out.”
“Strong agree. Grow some balls.”
“I don’t want to lose you. Again.”
I point Hanry’s oily fork at him. “You realize that on some level, you weren’t totally on the up and up with either me or May, right? That’s shitty. How could I ever trust you?”
Grimacing, Hanry says, “I don’t know.”
He keeps saying that.
“Well maybe you need a second Rumspringa. An Eat Pray Love journey.”
“Maybe.” Hanry’s gaze moves from me to the party, his expression caught between pleased and sad. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you? The wedding planning thing.”
“More than serious,” I reply. “I’m ditching my job in New York for it.”
He smiles. “Good.”
It is. I survey the State Room, trying to see everything like Hanry does: the room, filled with members of the Community in their wild and fascinating glory.
Fairies, mostly, plus a few familiar faces from Halloween.
Mandy dances with Rochester. Robert the Sasquatch waves his arms beside them.
Crows peck at the wedding cake. A manticore relieves itself on a flower arrangement, and…
there’s May, calling me over to the dance floor.
Beside her stands King Tits and a smooth-skinned fay.
I know I would’ve noticed this fairy if I’d seen him earlier—he puts Rochester to shame when it comes to hollow cheekbones and sulky sexiness.
Like Hanry, he’s looking around, but instead of being sad, he’s torn between wistful and angry.
Making eye contact with me, his scowl deepens.
“That’s Seb,” says Hanry unnecessarily. I already recognized him from the photo in Hanry’s room. He has the same hooded eyes and scowl. Also, he’s Tits’s spitting image, minus the antlers and chaotic affability.
“So that’s why your dad left this morning. To pick him up,” I realize.
Hanry nods unhappily. “He was in the human world. When Mom and Dad adopted me, they swapped us out. I got to grow up as royalty. He had to live with my parents. Except for yearly check-in visits.”
“When you found out he was doing fine?”
“No. His home life was shit,” says Hanry bluntly. He goes on: “Anyway, Mom first told me about this wedding the day right before we broke up.”
“The trip you took before Sidney’s wedding,” I say.
“Yeah. After you left, there was nothing stopping me from coming home and giving Seb a break.”
My sympathy slams to a halt.
“Okay, fine. I had a role in this too. But that doesn’t absolve you of being weak. You still could’ve told your mom that no one was going to marry anyone.”
Besides, I wonder why he’s so sure Seb would’ve been forced to wed May. Seb has TikTok-ready dolphin skin. He’s shiny-pale and smooth-chinned. All evidence indicates May would sooner marry a gorilla.
Out loud, I say, “I wonder if Seb’s a good dancer.” Exactly as expected, Hanry glowers. I grin up at him, ready to enjoy his jealous display. But my heart, calloused and angry thing that it is, softens a bit.
“I’m just kidding.” Mostly. “See you later, Princeling. Good luck finding yourself.”
“I’ll find you when I’m done,” Hanry says. “I mean it, Sabby. I know it’s unfair to ask you to wait for me—”
“Correct.”
“—but if you do, I’ll make it worth your while.”
That’s a tall order. I rest a hand on the table and turn fully toward Hanry.
And although I try to find an insult to throw at him—an extra-cutting one, to match the pain I’m still reeling from—instead, my heartbeat skips.
I can’t help it. I’m reminded of how Hanry smells, like pine or cedar or some other indefinable spicy, nature-inspired wholesomeness.
How I find his strength reassuring. His kindness and decency and desire to help others is flat-out impressive—all the more so when I compare it to his royal fairy upbringing.
I’ve longed for weeks to share in his cozy, comfortable world.
And now, all our make-out sessions, all the times we lay in each other’s arms on his sofa rush back to the front of my mind.
We never promised anything to each other. This would be the first time.
More than anything, I want Hanry to be ready to make good on what he’s offering—not later, but today. If only his inner strength matched his outer strength. If only he had the spine to support the weight of his noble heart.
I wish I could hold that against him. I want to stay angry. But… I can’t. I’ve needed help figuring myself out too. It took extreme measures for me to realize what I wanted. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I gave Hanry a chance. After he takes some time to grow. See what happens down the road.
Eyes fastened on his, I take Hanry’s goblet and throw back fairy wine.
“If you find any other fairy princesses to marry, tell them I’ve got dibs. You hear?”
Hanry laughs. The taste of lilac and nettles lingering hot on my tongue, I drop the goblet, curtsy, and leave him for his party.
No—for mine.