“Good, because I’m going to take care of it.”
She closes her eyes. Time unspools between us, and I think she’s fallen asleep when she asks in a groggy voice, “Do you think I’ll still be able to go to Chapel Hill in the fall?”
I stare at the ceiling, my mind racing with uncertainty. As a poker player, I’m a master at bluffing, but the line I will not cross is intentionally lying to my daughter.
“I’m not sure yet, but I’ll do everything in my power to get you there.”
She snuggles in closer. “Okay.” Her breathing evens out, and she falls asleep in my arms. It’s a long time before my swirling thoughts allow me to do the same.
* * *
“You’ve gotto be kidding me!” Arden can’t stop laughing as she takes in my sparkly pink gown. We’re on our way to Godmother’s tearoom at the center of Dragonfly theme park, and I am rocking a dress doing its best imitation of a frothy pink cupcake with glitter sprinkles.
“It’s the law here,” I whisper. “All pixies and satyrs must be in costume when within the boundaries of the theme park. We’re all considered cast members, and it’s our duty to entertain human customers.”
“You said pixies and satyrs. What about leprechauns like Seven?”
I roll my eyes, bristling at the sound of his name on her lips. “Leprechauns own everything. They’re the bosses, not the cast members. They wear suits.”
“Doesn’t seem fair,” she says, her eyes narrowing. Is it possible her young mind is starting to get it? Humans might have their prejudices, bigotries, and racism, but fairies are just as awful, their stereotypes and discriminations revolving around species rather than race.
“It’s not. Nothing about life here is fair. I left for a reason. You can wear your regular clothes because you’re human.” I crack my neck and flutter my wings. “Me? I’m a cast member. We all are when we’re on Dragonfly grounds.”
“That’s harsh,” she says. I can tell I’ve disappointed her. I’m sure she wants to believe in the fantasy, the veneer. We’re standing in a colorful wonderland. But I’d be a terrible mother if I didn’t tell her the truth.
“That’s Dragonfly. It’s not worse than the human world, but it’s not better either. It’s just different.”Different in a way that isn’t beneficial to pixies.
She nods, then giggles again. “That dress…”
I rub my stomach, not used to the way the waistband cuts into my midsection. I haven’t gained weight, but after sixteen years of not using a corset, the bodice of the fairy gown is uncomfortably restricting. I try to take a deep breath to calm my nerves. “I wonder how long it will take to rearrange my internal organs to be comfortable in these styles again.”
“I can’t believe you can walk in those shoes!” Arden squints at my heels, made to look like gilt vines growing around my feet. They’re shiny and delicate, like everything else I’m wearing.
“They’re not that bad. The cobblers here are exceptional. They can make stilettos almost feel like sneakers. Plus pixies are naturally light on their feet.”
“I can’t even hear them click on the pavement.” Arden is truly fascinated now.
“That’s a pixie thing,” I explain. “It’s the wings. You just haven’t noticed before because I’ve always acted human.”
“About that, you all have wings, but I haven’t seen a single fairy fly anywhere since we got here. You can fly, right?”
“We can.” I chuckle.
“Then why don’t you fly everywhere?”
“Why don’t you run everywhere? You can run, right?”
She snorts. “Because it’s easier to walk, and running is exhausting.”
“Exactly.” I’m about to tell her how much effort is involved in flight, especially if you’re out of practice like I am, when a human woman grabs me from behind by the elbow and yanks me to a stop.
“Can we get a selfie?” Although she phrases it like a question, it’s actually a demand. She’s wearing a Tinker Bell T-shirt that readsI clap for fairies.Two children cling to her sides, a boy who looks about eight and a girl who might be four whose lips are stained red from the sucker in her mouth.
“Of course,” I say in a falsetto that’s just on the edge of singing. I turn my wrist over and hold my hands gracefully to my sides. My smile is wide enough to hurt, and I use a little luck to make myself sparkle.
“Oooh, you’re so pretty,” the little girl says before she barrels into my legs, her tiny body completely lost in the layers of tulle that make up my skirt.
“Come out of there, Patty,” her mother yells. “We can’t see you for the picture.” The woman reaches into the nest of fabric and withdraws her child. Patty no longer has her sucker, and I wonder how long it will take me to extract the candy after these people are gone.
