I volunteered to bus the tables, since it allows me to keep my body moving while minimizing the possibility for socializing. Not that I find talking to the Mapletown residents a chore under normal circumstances, but my heart is still in a million pieces, and I’m just not in the mood.
That doesn’t seem to stop the eager demon––Fitz, maybe? Or Ferris? Something with an F––from following me around the dance floor like a lost puppy and peppering me with the basic rundown of first date questions. The fact that I’m working doesn’t seem to slow him down. He’s nice, I guess, but that’s all. Everything about him is nice. Nice face. Nice eyes. Nice hands. Nice height. But I feel nothing.
I can’t stop thinking about Winston. My grumpy ghost and his obsession with bookmarks. His intensely green eyes, bizarrely different shades based on his mood. They were dark when I first met him, a deep hunter green. Toward the end of our time together, however, they were more of a rich, sparkly emerald.
Why did he end things between us? It still doesn’t make sense to me. The sharp turn from constantly hovering around me to the chill in his voice when he reduced what we had to afling that could go no further, I can’t figure it out. What the hell happened?
And why the fuck hasn’t he called or texted me to apologize?
Though, he did warn me that he’s an asshole, did he not? I guess I should’ve believed him.
I sigh wistfully, but Fitz/Ferris doesn’t notice. “Are you close with your parents?” he asks.
It’s an innocent question, but I’m in no condition to spew the whole sad story of how my dad left when Mom was pregnant, how I never met him, or how I lost Mom to cancer just a few months ago to him right now, nor am I interested in picking that scab. I’m barely holding it together as it is.
“I’ll be right back. Bathroom break. Maybe I’ll catch you later,” I tell him with a tight smile as I drop my tray on the bar and head to the restroom.
Inside, I find Mayor Crane, her chief of staff, Ezra, and Vyla huddled in the corner and passing around a fat joint. The skunky smell of weed fills the air, and I let my nose carry me closer, silently begging for a contact high to lighten my mood.
“She tasted like an orange creamsicle,” Vyla says with an unhinged giggle. “Are you sure your mom had nothing to do with that?” she asks the mayor. “Are yousuresure?”
“Yes, Vyla, I’m sure,” the mayor replies in a serious tone, but grinning widely. “The flavor spell was for peens only. That’s not something I would’ve forgotten, considering she cast it when I was thirteen.”
My ears perk up. “Flavor spell?”
“Natty!” Vyla shouts, as if just noticing me. “When did you get here?”
Ezra exhales a cloud of smoke from the side of their mouth, looking very much like a pirate. “She’s been here for twenty minutes.”
“More like two,” I clarify.
Ezra looks down at the joint in their hand, eyes wide. “Shit, this is good weed.”
Mayor Crane takes a puff, then coughs several times. Once her airways are clear, she says, “We’re talking about the flavor spell my mom cast when she was mayor. Vyla’s trying to convinceme,” she turns to Vyla, “who was in the room when she recited the spell, what was said, but she’s wrong.”
“Huh. What was the spell for?”
Vyla chuckles. “You don’t know?”
I smirk. “I might,” I say, licking my lips at the memory. “But I want to be sure.”
Vyla starts telling the story, but the mayor interrupts her, insisting she can tell it better. “My mom is and always has been a staunch defender of women’s rights. Huge feminist. She was an activist, bra burner, protest marcher, etc. The lack of equal rights in this country appalled her, so when she was elected mayor, she used what power she had over this tiny scrap of hidden land, and…leveled the playing field, in her own unique way.”
Ezra and Vyla are practically cackling, pride and admiration shining in their eyes.
Mayor Crane looks amused as she shakes her head. “The spell she cast makes every penis within the town borders taste like the favorite ice cream flavor of the person sucking on it.”
My mouth waters as my jaw drops, and I come close to drooling on the bathroom floor. “That’s why!”
Vyla points and laughs at me. “Ahhh, our little Natty has had a taste!” Despite knowing the owner of the penis I’ve tasted, and being high off her ass, she doesn’t mention his name, which I appreciate. “What did it taste like?”
I feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. “Salted caramel.”
“How is your mom these days?” Vyla asks the mayor. “I feel like it’s been ages since she came to visit.”
“That’s because ithasbeen ages,” she replies. “Both of them are in Amsterdam at the moment. They’ve been there for most of the year. Not sure where they’ll head next. Maybe to see Uncle Henrik.”
Did I hear her correctly? “Moms?”
