“Nope.”
He mock-gasps. “Lunamisbehaved?”
“Definitely not.”
At his confusion, I smile ruefully. “She was the best-behaved of all of us, but our parents were still the hardest on her. I don’t know why. Romina acted up so much that whenever she was good, she got praised for it, and I had my grumpy moments. Luna was expected to be perfect for some reason—they lectured her for any tiny misstep. If she’d tried to run offinto the woods like I did, I can’t even imagine how they would’ve reacted. Would’ve been a blowup.”
He winces. “That’s why she doesn’t talk to them anymore?”
“That’s part of it.” I still have a relationship with my parents, but we aren’t close. I see my mom maybe a couple times a year, and I call my dad on holidays. “What are your parents like?”
“They’re awesome, I get along with them great. Which sounds funny to say, honestly, because I used to kind of hate my dad. When I was little, he was tons of fun. I worshipped—and I meanworshipped—him. I had friends hanging out at the house all the time because they idolized my dad. When I was thirteen, my parents found out they were having twins, which wasn’t expected at all, and things were pretty tight moneywise so Mom had to go back to work. Dad started working longer hours, too—actually, this is why I don’t want kids; I fell into the role of third parent because they were gone a lot, so it feels like I’ve already raised my kids, you know what I mean?—and anyway, I found out that my dad’s way of coping with stress was by chasing women. More than once.”
“Oh no.”
“He framed it asloving women too much, like he couldn’t help himself. Mom left him a couple times, but always went back. Every time she forgave him, she’d rationalize it as Dad being overly friendly, not realizing he was behaving inappropriately,that’s just his personality, blah blah blah. He’d say he was sorry and would never do it again. They treated it like a congenital weakness, and not a choice he continuously made.”
“Wow. I’m…very sorry you went through that. I can onlyimagine how frustrating it would’ve been, and how you must’ve hurt for your mom.”
“Yeah.” He picks at his sleeve. “It’s so weird, because it’s like…I love him. He’s great to me, always has been. Super charismatic, life of the party. He’s the guy you call at two a.m. when you’ve blown your tire in a snowstorm—that’s happened before, and he was there in six minutes, wearing pajamas. But I still resent how he hurt my mom. Part of me wishes she’d walked away from him for good, because he deserved to lose her. But the other part of me is happy for how happy she isnow, because she loves him so much and they seem to be in a good place, so it’s conflicting.”
“I can understand that. I’m still mad at my mom for selling The Magick Happens to Trevor when she knew Luna was looking forward to inheriting it someday, and sometimes I want to punish her by ignoring her calls. But then I remember that my grandma—and I love her, don’t get me wrong—but Grandma wasn’t always that nice to my mom. She wasn’tmean, but she wasn’t…warm, I guess you’d say?” I trace patterns in the rock, reminiscing. “Totally different when it came to her grandkids. We were flawless angels who could do no wrong. But when I got older, I did notice some coldness between Mom and Grandma, and I know Mom was unhappy because she’d wanted a better relationship with her. After Dottie died, Mom admitted to me that she regretted selling the store.”
Luna will never forgive her. I’m not sure if I forgive my mom or not, but I don’t want to make her feel bad about it anymore, because I’ve made mistakes, too.
“Family is complicated,” Morgan says.
I hug my knees. “So very true. Speaking of family, how’s Forte?”
He takes a peek in the sling. “Awake, but strangely docile? I think he must really love being swaddled.”
“Don’t let him out. He’ll maul my other leg.”
We’re quiet for a while. Morgan lies down, patting his outstretched arm to indicate that I can use it as a pillow. I’m not one for cuddling, as it makes me hot and I don’t like feeling restrained, but it’s about forty degrees in this cave so I’ll take heat however I can get it.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Morgan tells me once I’ve made myself comfortable.
“And what’s that?”
“You’re thinking about trying to seduce me again.”
I roll onto my side, exhaling into his chest. “Curses.”
“You couldn’t wait to yank off all your clothes and get wet with me. And you kissed my hand when we were high on psychedelic potion.”
“You kissed my hand, too, if you’ll recall.”
“If I recall? Do you think I’d forget getting my mouth on you? Anyway, back to your trial here. You, Miss Boots, dragged me into this sexy cave”—he pauses while I burst into laughter—“and are plotting your next move. I bet you knew the cave was here all this time. I bet you’ve got a picnic basket with grapes and cheese stashed nearby.”
“Grapes and cheese in a cold cave with no mattress to lie on,” I reply dryly. “What a fantasy.”
“My fantasy is you, Zelda. In it, you’re thirty feet tall andyou pick me up like I’m nothing. You throw me onto a giant cupcake.” He spreads his hands above him, finger-painting the scenario in the air. “I swim in French buttercream frosting. Then you swallow me whole and I live inside you like a symbiotic parasite.”
“We shouldn’t talk to each other anymore.”
Morgan wraps his arms around me and hauls me close. “I feel the same way,” he murmurs in my ear, as if I’ve just confessed that he makes my insides warm and fuzzy. Which he certainly does not. It would be a waste of time to have my insides kindled into warm fuzzies in regards to Morgan Angelopoulos, who is an interference in my path to finding True Love. My True Love wouldneversay he wants to live inside me like a symbiotic parasite. I bet he’s a psychologist or an archivist. Somebody who takes his job seriously and would never, ever post gleefully incorrect movie synopses in a newspaper under the moniker Moe Angelfish.
I think about my True Love as we drift in and out of consciousness, sleepy and comfortable, lulled by the pattering of rain. Our bodies move closer, closer. I say to Morgan, “I bet my True Love wears a newsboy hat and he’s got a proper library in his house,” but the syllables get all jumbled up on their way out of my mouth, so instead it sounds like I’ve said, “I like being alone with you.”
