The Nutcracker, with his big blocky headpiece, was transformed into a handsome prince in white tights, and he took Clara’s hand and led her through the snow to the land of sweets.
As I watched, a realization came over me. You had to fight magic with magic. The demon wasn’t going to go away on its own. It wasn’t going to refrain from entering me when my mother died just because I told it not to. It was an ancient, dark, and powerful force. And I needed something magical to help me: my own band of soldiers, my own magic slipper, bravely thrown. I needed to go back into my own childhood, to find the girl I used to be, the girl who believed in magic, who performed little spells out in the woods, who had a knife that could banish evil.
When the first act ended and the curtain closed, I grinned wildly, happily, and applauded so hard my hands stung.
“I LOVE PEPPERMINTstick!” Olivia said.
“Peppermint ice cream is gross,” Izzy said.
“Peppermint stick is the best because it’s pink and you can only get it at Christmas.”
“It looks like Pepto Bismol,” Izzy said.
“Well, your rocky road looks like poop.”
“Enough!” Mark ordered.
We were settled in a booth at Sugar and Spice. Mark and I weresharing a hot fudge sundae, but I wasn’t having much of it. I’d ordered a coffee and Mark had frowned. He didn’t think it was such a great idea when I’d been having so much trouble sleeping lately, but I’d assured him it was fine.
“Can we bring some ice cream to Grandma Needle?” Olivia asked.
“I think that’s a great idea,” Mark said. “We can get them to pack a pint and bring it home. What flavor?”
“Peppermint stick, of course!” Olivia said. She stood up, stepped away from the table, and did a little twirl. She still had on her stage makeup—bright pink blush and winged eyeliner. Normally we would scold her for leaving her seat and dancing in a restaurant, but it was her special night—the regular rules didn’t apply. It was a night when magic was possible.
“Wasn’t the Rat King scary this year?” Olivia asked.
“Yeah,” Izzy said. “That new rat mask is awesome!”
“Carrie Forge played the Rat King,” Mark said. “You used to dance with her, didn’t you, Izzy? Isn’t she a grade ahead of you at school?”
I remembered Carrie from Izzy’s dance lessons. She was a shy kid and hadn’t been the strongest dancer. She’d come a long way.
Izzy took a bite of her rocky road. “Yeah, she’s a senior. And I’ve gotta say, I would never have guessed that was her up there in the mask. She’s, like, really quiet and awkward and shy and stuff. But she was the perfect Rat King. It was like… like she was transformed.”
Olivia nodded. “Ms. Perez kept telling her, ‘Be the Rat King. Leave Carrie backstage.’ I guess it worked. It was like her whole body changed. She seemed to get bigger, even. I think she was really scary.”
The girls dug into their ice cream, talked about which costumes had changed since Izzy performed inThe Nutcrackerand which were the exact same. “I remember my rat mask smelled really gross,” Izzy said. “Like whoever had worn it the year before ate garlic every night and it, like, permeated the mask.” Olivia laughed. Said the mouse costumes smelled like mothballs, and one girl had an allergic reaction to the detergent or something and broke out in hives.
I watched them talking, laughing—happy.
I imagined what might happen if Azha got inside me, turned me into a monster; transformed me the way putting on the Rat King costume had turned meek little Carrie Forge into a menacing villain. Would I take up day drinking? Lock Izzy in a closet? Tell my darling little Olivia that I should have drowned her at birth?
My chest grew heavy and tears pricked my eyes.
“You okay, Mom?” Izzy asked.
Olivia gave me a worried look. “Mommy?”
I smiled, wiped at my eyes. “I’m fine. Just thinking how happy I am. How lucky we all are. And how proud I am of you, little mouse,” I said, leaning over the table to wipe a dab of ice cream off her chin.
“Then why are you crying?” she asked.
“Because I’m so happy,” I said.
Olivia laughed. “That’s silly! Crying when you’re happy.”
“I guess it is,” I agreed, laughing with her.
