My greenhouse is a mirror for a thousand fairy lights, glass flashing garnet and gold in the setting sun. Moonvillians are snacking on Bushra’s shortbread, some clustered together in conversation while others thread from booth to booth, magic pulsing through the ground to amplify everyone’s energy. Morgan is peering into Grandma’s crystal ball, pretending he can read futures, conjuring a fair amount of traffic. I suspect this has more to do with his thick black hair and disarming smile than any aptitude for clairvoyance.
Above, starlight begins to freckle the sky; and around, chattering voices ebb and flow with Gilda’s mixed tape of atmospheric music. Next to her sits a horror from my childhood, pulled from its exile in a closet in the back of her costume shop for years. It’s an eyesore. It’s the eighth wonder of the world. Grandma Dottie once petitioned for it to be killed by fire.
It’s a coin-operated automaton of a psychic woman in a fortune-telling booth. Gilda the Majestic flourishes across its glass front in a silver arc. Toward the bottom, in smaller script: Her wandering eye sees all.
The automaton does look like Gilda. If her head were made of dented papier-mâché and she had haunting glazed eyes with lashes that were falling off. The lower part of automaton-Gilda’s head is slightly melted, so even when her mouth is supposed to be closed it gapes open, which makes for a ghastly experience when she “speaks.” But the lobster-red hair in barrel curls and filmy disco shimmer shawls are dead-on.
I feed automaton-Gilda a quarter. The machine clicks loudly to life, its slot dispensing a small slip of paper exactly like the kind you’d find inside a fortune cookie.
“What does it say?” Zelda wants to know, joining me.
“Avoid burritos.”
I wave it in Trevor’s face as he passes by. “Look, it’s a sign. Not even the fates want your burrito bar.”
“Those fortunes are all ass, man.” Trevor flicks the booth. “I got one earlier and it said: You will fall into a swamp while trying to feed a raccoon.”
“Sounds about right,” Luna inserts, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “Remember when we took Ash to the zoo for her birthday and Trevor ate a sardine that was supposed to be for the penguins?”
“I was dared. I had no choice.”
Luna and Trevor glare at me. I throw up my arms. “I didn’t think he would actually do it!”
“You should always assume he’ll actually do it,” Luna scolds. “Puked all over my van on the drive home.”
“I think some of it’s still inside me,” Trevor says, face green.
Zelda slips a quarter into the machine. Then she stares in disbelief at the unrolled paper. “You’re next.”
I burst out laughing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Is it a threat? Am I being threatened?”
“Maybe you’re supposed to be the next one to cook dinner,” Luna replies in her sage voice, which has the uncanny ability to convince her sisters.
“Sardines, maybe?” Zelda suggests with a playful glance toward Trevor, who dry-heaves.
For a spell, we all find ourselves admiring the labyrinth of lights and magical trinkets. Tarot, teas, and tapestries. Crystals, diaries, stickers, tote bags. A cauldron bubbling with purple punch. “Can you believe we actually did this?” I murmur.
“Of course I can,” Trevor says. “We’re amazing. Speaking of how amazing I am, I came up with a new way to get rich.”
We all groan.
“I’m for real this time! I’m working on developing an Oregon Trail–style game. It’s called The Oregon Entrails. Or maybe The Organ Trails, I haven’t finalized it. All the pioneers who drop dead on their journey become zombies. So, you’re the player, and you’re a zombie, but other pioneers are trying to shoot you, and your guts fall out. You have to keep running around collecting your guts to stay alive in the game. Might find a spleen over here, a kidney over there, hidden in a cave you can’t access until you’ve fought a group of gunslingers. Hearts and brains are the rarest. The more hearts and brains you collect, the more powers you get. Just wait till I sell this thing, then we’ll be rolling in money.”
I smile. We’ve heard many, many similar spiels before.
Teyonna runs over and launches onto Trevor’s back. “Hey, you. I found a fireworks sale and have a great big stash of them in my trunk if you wanna drive out to Coe’s Park and—”
Trevor takes off at a run, carrying a laughing Teyonna along.
“I need to start brainstorming our next project,” Luna says.
Zelda looks at her, bemused. “Maybe relax and enjoy the success of this project for a while?”
Luna purses her lips. “Mm. No, probably not.”
She and Zelda wander off in different directions, leaving me with only my nerves for company. There’s a frenzied charge in the air—new beginnings, magic, community. My dreams are coming true, and I should be mingling with vendors and browsers. Instead, I can’t focus. What tonight represents is more nerve-wracking than a first date. Than meeting the parents.
But beneath the nerves, there is excitement.
I picture the calendar on my fridge with its barrage of sticky notes. Some are inspirational quotes I found on the Internet. You are worthy. Most of the words, though, are Grandma Dottie’s. I mentally coast over the note that reads: Moving forward is how this whole Being Alive Thing works. The people you loved in your past loved you back, and they would want you to be happy. So bring their love with you, and keep it moving.
I’m ordinarily a mellow creature, with an easy, soft little life. And I prefer it that way—or at least, I thought I did. What I didn’t know I needed was for Alex to sweep in and light a fire beneath me. All it takes is one sideways glance from that man, and my nerves twitch like crossed wires. I didn’t like it, at first. Struggling as he invaded my home and place of work, witnessing my life, forming opinions I wanted to be impervious to. I didn’t want Alex to be capable of making me feel anything. I didn’t want to feel, if it wasn’t easy, and especially not if it was scary. The unknown holds no guarantee of safety.
But I’m eating up the unknown now, and every layer that I peel back is a brand-new favorite flavor. I’m rapidly wanting more.
I swallow, checking the time on my phone. Alex will be here to pick me up any minute, and this isn’t just any ordinary date.
As if thinking about Alex summons him to me, a black truck appears on the curb. He exits, then helps Miles out of the back seat.
My foot taps the pavement uncontrollably, schooling my smile so that it’s more subdued, polite. I want to come across as friendly, fun, not too eager.
Oh, I hope he likes me.
They’re in new, matching Cincinnati Reds hats, so adorable that my heart twinges, heels rising up off the pavement on tiptoe as my hands press together. Alex gives me a huge grin and a hug hello, smelling of sweat and popcorn.
“Hi,” I say tentatively to Miles, who’s jumping around pointing his giant foam finger at passersby. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Did you have fun at the baseball game?”
“Can we have macaroni and cheese when we get home?”
Alex sweeps him off his feet, upside down. Tickles him while Miles laughs and wriggles. “Sure, we can have macaroni and cheese. Romina? You vote yes for macaroni and cheese?” He sets Miles back on his feet, then stage-whispers, “Romina’s a big-time cheese fan. I think we’ve got this in the bag.”
Miles jumps up and down. “Say yes, say yes!”
I pretend to deliberate. “Hmmm. Yes.”
“Hooray!” Miles punches the air with both fists. “Romina, do you want to watch Moana with us? Daddy said you’re coming over to watch a movie.”
“I would love to, Moana’s one of my favorite Disney princesses. It has great songs, too.” My eyes flick up to Alex, who smiles.
“Are you and my daddy friends?”
“She’s my girlfriend,” Alex answers for me. “She’ll hang out with us sometimes. I promise she’s cool.”
“Maybe you and I can be friends,” I tell Miles, hope creeping up inch by inch. “Would you like to have another friend?”
His response is rapid-fire. “Do you play Roblox?”
My mouth opens. Is this the deciding factor?
Alex grins. “Do you?”
“I can learn!” I insist. Here’s the Romina who read stories to kids at daycare, putting on accents and sound effects, who helped them craft Popsicle stick picture frames and sing silly songs while pulling silly expressions.
“Yeah, I like new friends.” Miles pokes me with the foam finger, then laughs and jumps away, his grin so much like his father’s that I can’t help but melt. And all in a moment, I know the answer to a question that’s plagued me for years.
If I had the power to go back in time and change it all with a snap of my fingers, I wouldn’t do it. I still would have called off the engagement, would have watched us break up, go our separate ways. In an alternate reality where we didn’t, there would be no Miles.
And who wants that reality?
Not me.
“This place looks SO COOL,” Miles says, spinning around. “Can I buy something?”
“Yeah, sure.” Alex hands him five bucks. “Make it quick, though. We’ve gotta get home and get started on that mac and cheese.”
“Yeah, okay!” Miles bolts off.
I look back at Alex, amazed. “Didn’t he used to be shy?”
“Not when he’s fueled with junk food and spent the day cheering in a stadium. This is slap-happy Miles.”
He sifts his fingers through my hair. “I am so happy,” he tells me, voice low. Alex’s smile is warm as August.
I bury my face in his chest, breathing him in. “Me, too.”
A contented humming reverberates against my cheek. “Romina?”
My eyes are closed. “Yes?”
“You know I’m in love with you, right?”
My eyes fly open. I try to speak, but we’re interrupted by Miles, rushing back at us with something metal in his hand, held high. It’s one of Gilda’s suncatchers, a butterfly ornament with prisms on chains dangling below.
“Daddy, look!”
“That was quick,” Alex remarks. “Did you buy the first thing you saw?”
“Yeah!”
We both laugh. As Alex holds the suncatcher aloft, I’m gripped by a peculiar sensation, as if we’re being watched by a rapt, unseen audience. Goosebumps prickle down my spine.
“It’s for you,” Miles tells his father.
“Aww, really? That’s so sweet, little man. Thank you.”
Miles spins proudly. “You’re welcome! Do you love it so much?”
“I love it big time. All right, you ready to go?” He tousles Miles’s curls, and we all pile into the truck. I wave goodbye to Luna, who’s watching us leave. Her returning wave is absent, her expression strangely hollow. As if she just saw a ghost.
Windows down, a warm wind blows as we make a left turn toward the future and my mind runs through all the things we could do together—camping! Fishing! Horseback riding! Pie baking! Not that long ago, even hoping for these relationships was scary. Now I can’t wait to see what happens next.
By the time we pull into the driveway, Miles is asleep.
I laugh into my hands, trying to muffle the noise. “You think he’ll wake up for Moana?”
“Yeah. We’ll just let him rest for a minute first.” Alex turns off the engine and releases his seatbelt, but stays in the truck. Fiddles with the CD player.
“Teach me everything you know about Roblox,” I command in a low, urgent tone.
“You’re cute. I do know that.”
“But did you know . . .” My gaze drifts to the suncatcher that he affixed to the rearview mirror, prisms spinning the weak light of a streetlamp as they slowly revolve. I look closer at the butterfly, which isn’t a butterfly at all—
But a moth.
A luna moth. The prisms refract light upon its silver body, upon a disc sliding into the CD player, and Miles’s sleeping face. Upon Alex, watching me with stars in his eyes. The magic feels like Here we go! as it travels at the speed of light from all points of the world to converge in my chest, glowing so fiercely that it’s a wonder I’m the only one who knows it’s here with us.
“That I love you?” I say at last, laying a hand to his cheek as we lean close until my mouth grazes his. Kissing Alex, touching him, feels like a door unlocked, like all the right magical ingredients combined. Loving Alex makes the magic sing. His eyes close, lashes a dark sweep. His gaze is luminous when I pull away, and I trace the shallow groove of his dimple with my thumb.
Mine.
“I do,” he tells me.
I knew he would say this, that he must know already, because he’s been carrying my love around with him all this time. It’s why I could never give it to any other man. All along, he’s the one who’s been keeping it safe.
“Are you ready to listen to my top-secret playlist?” he asks, fingertip hovering over the CD player buttons.
Time to climb inside Alex’s head and feel what he feels when he listens to music with intention, dreaming about us and our future.
“I’m ready for everything.”