I sat on the floor in my pajamas, leaning against the couch, armed with a large box of chocolates and one of my favorite books: "Chocolat". I popped a truffle into my mouth, and the mirror looked at me, squinting through one eye.
"All right, what happened?" he sighed.
"Like you need to know," I said, my voice muffled as I stuffed a coconut chocolate between my teeth. "This is really good…"
"Why don't I need to know?"
I swallowed and glared at him. "Don't tell me you weren't spying on us. I've come to expect it, I'd be very disappointed in you if you didn't."
"Okay, okay," the mirror admitted, shaking its mask in protest. "I know what happened. But I wanted to know if you wanted to talk about it."
"Not really." Cherry cordial, I spit it out in a napkin.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
There was a pause. "Just go ahead and do it. I promise I won't bug you."
"All right, all right." I took a deep breath, closing the lid tightly on the chocolate box and placing my book on the floor. "Mirror, mirror on the wall, show me Snow White."
The mask faded away into a swirling white mist, and I could hear a faint wind as though it were coming from surround sound speakers. The mist began to disappear, and I was watching a tired looking young woman, bent over a sink scrubbing dishes with an old dishrag. Behind her, a thick layer of pipe smoke lingered near the ceiling. Despite her obvious fatigue, she was smiling happily and somewhat stupidly, and I hated to admit she was indeed very pretty. Her black, black hair was pulled back in a low knot at her neck, her cheeks were rosy and her eyes a pale blue. I despised her immediately, especially the way I could hear her humming happily, the air around her almost screaming, "I live to serve and be an airhead!"
"Okay, mirror. Thank you." The scene disappeared but the mask didn't come back into view. The mirror knew me too well for my only having lived there for a week. I sighed and the next words I said were almost a mumble, "Mirror, mirror on the wall, show me Prinze Andrew Charming."
The mist swirled for a bit longer, having a hypnotizing effect, almost dizzying. Finally, when I could hardly take it anymore, the shroud cleared and I saw the handsome face of my landlord, downcast. He looked tired and a bit angry; I feared that he was still angry with me, which was probable. The view zoomed out and I saw that he was lying on a couch, a nice couch, in a large room that most likely wasn't in a trailer. I hadn't even thought that he might have lived outside of the park, which was really most likely, in a larger house. He didn't seem to be doing anything except staring at the ceiling, and I watched for about ten minutes, stared at his staring, his eyelids drooping, as his face became demure and features relaxed, drifting off to sleep.
I waved a dismissive hand. "Okay, mirror, thank you." The scene faded away, almost too soon, as I watched Andrew's sleeping face with longing. It was replaced with the sad looking theater mask, looking at me with pity.
"Anything more I can do for you, Gwen?"
"No," I said, opening the chocolate box again and popping another truffle in my mouth. The mask sighed and disappeared.
I remembered how concerned I had been about thinking what books I had packed in the box, and what Andrew had thought when he'd seen them. My worries were far past that right now, but I set the box in my lap and started rifling through it, emptying it onto the dark carpet.
First were a few of my favorite novels, where Chocolat had been located, along with my childhood favorite Ella Enchanted, and Kleopatra. I set those aside, not particularly concerned about them. Next was my layer of Harry Potter books, I set those aside for close inspection, especially since there was a piece of paper sticking out of one of them that I didn't remember inserting. Underneath was my secret passion: trashy romance novels, which seemed undisturbed. I mostly enjoyed rolling my eyes at the cliché situations and phrases, but there was also that stupid longing for my life to be perfect.
Of course, I don't want heaving bosoms and guys prettier than me in real life. That would be slightly disturbing. But it now seemed that Andrew was out of my reach. I wondered if there were any romance novels involving nuns…
I set the romance novels to one side and picked up the fifth Harry Potter book, ruffling the edges as the piece of paper fell out onto my lap. I picked it up with a shaking hand and gazed at it wide-eyed.
The handwriting was not my own chicken-scratch, it was a loopy, even, honest scrawl that stretched the length of the margins and continued down the page. I read, my mouth gaping open.
Gwen, it read. I'm sorry to look through your box, but when I shook it and it sounded like books, I couldn't help myself in learning more about you. Again, I am deeply sorry, I probably look a little creepy to you right now, but I just wanted to see what went inside my new friend's head. I beg your pardon.
And by the way, I happen to enjoy Harry Potter, also. We should get together over coffee sometime and discuss it.
Yours truly,
Andrew
"Damn it!" I wailed, throwing the books back into the box desperately. The mask suddenly appeared with a dazed expression on its face. "Why did I say anything? Why?"
"Because…" the mirror began to babble. "You are a concerned girl with an extreme interest in a young man who is practically engaged to…"
"Shut up," I muttered with a sniff.
"You asked."
"No, I didn't."
The mirror muttered something that sounded like "women" and disappeared yet again. I slammed the note back on the ground, got to my feet, and carried the chocolates and the box of books to my room. I almost threw the note away, but decided to bring it to bed with me. I fell asleep reading it and rereading it, crumpled weakly in my desperate hand.
The next morning I took another walk around the neighborhood, hoping that the air would soothe away the red rings around my eyes and cool the tiny bruises on my hands where I had clutched the note through the night. I had screwed everything up. I mean, what normal person blames their relationship problems on roads. Yeah, I rolled my eyes. It was all the roads' fault.
"Madam!" I heard someone yell behind me, the voice familiar. The guy in the green tights, clutching his liquor bottle, came running at me, a salmon pink paper waving about in his hand. "Madam!" He exclaimed again as he approached me, smiling widely.
"Hello…er…Robin Hood, was it?"
He bowed deeply. "Yes, Madam. And may I request to hear upon the beauty of your name?" He was still bowing, his face parallel to the ground. I could see the red rushing into his face.
"It's…Gwen," I said, blushing as he took my hand and started laying kisses on the back. "Gwen Kink."
He released my hand and stood to face me, shoving the salmon pink paper toward me. "Beautiful name, indeed. I have a favor to ask of you, fair madam."
I took the paper and glanced across it, the large block letters spelling out "BBQ" immediately catching my eye.
"Uh huh," I grunted, still skimming the paper.
He bowed again. "I much request your presence as my fair maiden at this spectacular feast. It is, as the women say, the social event of the season for the trailer park, and I would be much honoured if you humbled yourself so much as to accompany me."
I glanced at him in confused awe, my eyebrow lifted. "You want me to be your date?"
He stood up straight again, breathing a little rapidly. "In so many words, yes."
"I'll have to think about it," I answered immediately.
He bowed yet again. I felt like kicking him. "I pray you do consider this bold request. Have a good day, fair lady."
And again, he pranced off happily, looking like a green-tights-wearing deer.
Weird people live here.
I took the paper back to the trailer, gazing at it thoughtfully as I collapsed onto my bed, grazing Andrew's note with my fingertips. Social event of the season? It seemed like some sort of lower-class ball. And if that were the case, I would definitely need to have the date. The hopeful me pushed the handsome image of Andrew into my mind, but I banished it with a frown and a dismissive wave of my hand. No need for wishful thinking.
Unless I met some other extremely handsome, single, smart, funny man in this place, I was pretty much stuck with going with Robin Hood to the barbeque. Repunzel's husband was handsome, but it seemed like he didn't need a home-wrecker to disturb his family at the moment. Peter Piper was a hermit, and I was pretty sure that Jack was now serving time for using illegal fertilizers to make his beanstalk grow too tall for county regulations. I sighed hopelessly, resigning to the fact that I'd have to go to the ball...uh…barbeque with a tights-wearing man that was a bit too old for me.
Just then the doorbell rang.
I ran to it quicker than I'd probably ran my entire life. It couldn't be him…could it? No, couldn't be.
It was!
"Hi," Andrew said, slightly sheepishly. He was leaning against the doorframe, like he didn't have a care in the world. As Sex, Lies, and Leprechauns would explain it: "the sexy pose". My hand, which remained on the doorknob, was starting to sweat.
"Hey," I said, somewhat calmly. Yes, I was super, super, trés cool.
"Could…um…I come in?"
I stepped back, allowing him his much-deserved entrance. Even though he was mad at me and had rifled through my books, and in turn I slightly mad at him, he was still a god. Hey, it was all in the sake of friendship…
"Did you get my note?" he asked me as I shut the door and pointed him toward the couch. He flopped down on it - gracefully, of course, as all gods do. His chestnut hair was combed back in that "I don't give a care" look, and his hands were stuffed stubbornly in his jeans. His hazel eyes followed me as I sat down beside him…well, sort of beside him. I was pressed against the opposite arm of the couch as much as possible. If I had gone any further, I would either be sitting on the arm or, knowing my balance, falling off.
"Yeah…I did," I answered, somewhat hesitantly. There was an awkward moment of silence.
"Gwen, I'm sorry for getting all angry last night," he said suddenly, turning toward me. I looked at him absently, somewhat surprised. I thought I was the one to apologize.
"Well, I'm sorry for bringing her up," I replied apologetically. "It's obviously an uncomfortable subject for you."
He sighed heavily. "Stupid fairies…"
"Yeah…" I felt suddenly guilty for owning one of their wands, but decided against mentioning it. "Do you forgive me?"
He gave a short, bitter laugh. "There was nothing to forgive." He stuck his hand out, and I shook it. "Friends again?"
I smiled in relief. I was pleased to even hear that he considered me a friend. "Of course."
He released my hand and I fought the urge to take it back, entwining the fingers in mine. Instead, he stood up and dusted off his jeans as though he had been sitting on a dirty floor.
"Hey, my couch is cle-" He laughed and offered me his hand to help me to my feet. I silently obliged and we stared at each other for a bit, searching for what to say next.
"So," he said with a secretive smile, eyebrows slightly lowered. "Are you up for Harry Potter over coffee yet?"
I sipped on my hot chocolate thoughtfully as Andrew gazed at me over his black coffee. "So you don't like coffee. How odd."
I shrugged, setting the cup down on the table. "I never developed a taste for it. I adore chocolate."
He nodded, and gave a steady grin. "I've been dying to ask, what kind of a name is Kink anyway?"
I glared at him half-heartedly, and his smile widened. "Honest question," he said defensively.
"I should ask my parents about that," I replied with another sip. "I always threatened to change it when I became eighteen. But then I became too lazy to follow through with it." I said with a smirk. "I'm now determined to marry Neville Longbottom anyway, he has a much better last name."
Andrew laughed. "Oh, much better."
"And what kind of a name is Charming?" I exclaimed, leaning back in my booth seat as a headless man with a pumpkin under his arm shuffled past, sipping a latté. How, I don't know. He just...did.
"Family name," he answered, leaning back in his own seat, eyes sparkling. "Though I can't say it fits me. I think the name "Prinze" was some sort of a cruel joke. That's why I go by Andrew."
I nodded in understanding. "Smart move."
"Yup." We sipped at our drinks in silence for a moment, listening to the odd sounds of the Fairy Quarter Café: the bleating of sheep, the frantic snorts of pigs of various sizes, the flapping of wings, the random evil cackles and the numerous "Hey, stop that"s.
"Gwen," Andrew said shortly, a hint of finality in his voice. "Do you like me?"
I goggled at him, trying to keep my mouth closed. He was a man…how on earth was he that perceptive? I tried to cover my tracks. "You mean as a friend? Of course, I mean, you did take me out to coffee to discuss Harry Potter and the secretive origin of my last name."
"No, I don't mean as a friend." His demeanor was serious, and my smile quickly disappeared. I set my hot chocolate down on the table, frightened that I might spill it on myself. "I mean, do you like me romantically?"
"Urm…no, not like that," I lied, trying to keep the blood from rushing to my face. "You're a friend."
He sighed and nodded, leaning back into the booth. He seemed flushed. "Okay." What, had I hurt his ego? So far, it had failed to show.
To my shock, he downed the rest of his coffee in one gulp, a wince of displeasure evident on his face. "All right, ready to go?"
Great, he was mad at me again. He was a bit moody for a grown man.
I left my hot chocolate, unfinished, on the table and followed him out to the car. He opened the door for me and scurried over to his side, not waiting for me to get in.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you…" I started to say.
"No, no, I'm just egotistical," he said, gripping the steering wheel rather harshly. So that was it. That jerk, he had gotten me up thinking he liked me, when I was just another of his easy conquests...until I lied. "You just bruised me a bit, that's all." His voice sounded a bit bitter. "I'll heal in no time."
Why couldn't I tell him the truth? Was he lying? Did he actually like me? I didn't want to risk it enough to find out. I was too much of a chicken…I was always a chicken. In high school I had kept myself from telling any of the guys I liked how I felt about them, only to find out that they had returned my feelings when they were dating other girls.
"We're still friends," he babbled, seeming like more of an assurance to himself.
"Of course," I answered. The silence told me he hadn't been looking for my answer.
I had screwed up again, but something inside me prevented me from telling him the truth. What if this was some sort of show? There was always this possibility. Always. I had no courage. I was a jellyfish.
"I am a jellyfish," I said aloud, not noticing I had until Andrew said something.
"You're a what?"
"Never mind," I answered quickly. He shrugged and we went back to the awkward silence, only broken when he said goodbye to me as he dropped me back at my trailer.
So, the night had gone perfectly yet again. He was easy to talk to, funny, and, well, charming. But I always seemed to screw it up.
Why couldn't I just tell him I liked him?
"I am a jellyfish," I said sadly, pushing back into my trailer, seeking much needed refuge from my stupidity. I knew, I had always known, that the refuge would never come.
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