She didn’t mean it. She already had it all worked out. My mind shut down just a few seconds in and her words became nothing more than a posh English drone. My lack of enthusiasm didn’t seem to faze her. She didn’t seem irate when I walked her to the door a few hours later. Her mind was elsewhere.
“I’ve much to do, darling.” She waved her almost full notebook at me before dropping it into her purse. “It’s going to be a wonderful day.”
59. COMPLICATED RAMBLINGS
Ryan
I was beginning to have some serious doubts about our sanity by week four of operation wedding. Our apartment had become a working sweatshop. Every spare surface was covered with bits of dresses and sparkly junk. Like me, Bente seemed to have lost interest in the planning weeks ago, mainly thanks to Ivy and the queen’s hostile takeover. The unlikely duo met for the first time over lunch and had been firm friends ever since. Ivy had grand ideas and my mother had a grand bank balance to accommodate them. “She’s a little rough around the edges,” commented my mother, “but her talent is extraordinary.”
She’d gone as far as visiting Ivy’s home to check out some of her creations. Whether she’d meant to or not, Ivy had garnered my mother’s interest in the pageant scene. I was subjected to all the details over coffee at Billet-doux.
“Do you think Charli would allow Bridget to enter a pageant?” she asked hopefully.
I almost choked. “Charli wouldn’t be the loudest opponent, Mom,” I warned. “Adam would freak out if you gussied up his daughter like a two-dollar whore.”
“Ryan!”
“It’s true. You can’t tell me you approve of that.”
Her shoulders slumped as she thought it through. “No, of course not,” she admitted. “But those dresses are a work of art.”
***
I knew Bente was struggling with the out-of-control wedding plans, but wasn’t expecting to be woken by the sound of sobbing coming from the bathroom at one in the morning. I rested my head against the door and called her name.
“I’m okay,” she sniffed. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Can you open the door, please?”
It took a long moment, but the door finally opened. I’d reached another unwelcomed milestone. I’d never had to comfort a woman before, probably because I was usually the one who reduced them to tears in the first place. Seeing Bente standing in front of me with tears streaming down her face made me feel terrible. I had no idea what to say. “We’ll call it all off,” I offered. “We’ll go to Vegas.”
Bente almost smiled. “No, it’s nothing to do with the wedding.”
Now I was stumped. I had no clue what was upsetting her, but was hopeful it had nothing to do with me. “Tell me,” I urged.
“I’m hopeless, Ryan,” she wailed, pushing past me. “A noose around your neck.” She waved a piece of paper at me and I stepped forward to grab it. She explained before giving me a chance to read. “I’ve had twenty-six rejection letters in less than two months.”
I read the letter in my hand, instantly realising the reason for her hysterics. As far as rejections go, it was particularly nasty:
An above average vocabulary does not make for interesting writing. While I appreciate your attempt at gaining employment in this field, I have no desire to read the complicated ramblings of an amateur.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” I scrunched up the letter and threw it on the bed. “Some people are dicks.”
“She could’ve just said no,” she wailed, collapsing against my chest.
I stroked my hand through her hair. “Don’t give up,” I whispered. “You’re an excellent writer.”
“Twenty-six people beg to differ,” she mumbled.
I knew she was frustrated because she hadn’t secured work, but I had no idea she was at the point of midnight meltdowns. “Why didn’t you tell me this was upsetting you so much?”
She sniffled. “I didn’t want to burden you with drama.”
“I want to know if you’re unhappy,” I told her. “We’re a team now.”
“Okay, I’m sorry.”
I kissed her lips, tasting her tears. “Something will come up,” I assured her.
“What if it doesn’t?” she asked, sounding worried. “Then what will I do?”
I rested my forehead against hers. “Keep doing the things that make you special. Write and sing and love me.”
60. LIGHT BULB MOMENTS
Bente
As usual, I felt better by morning. Late night tantrums were never a good idea, but the drama was definitely dulled by the concern of the cute boy I lived with.
I didn’t have much time to dwell. I had a long shift ahead of me at Billet-doux. And thanks to my less than exemplary attendance record of late, Noelle was gunning for me.
“Nice of you to show up, Bente.” She barely slowed her walk to squeak out the snarky comment.
“Where do you want me?” I asked, determined to play nicely.
Giving her attitude wouldn’t have been fair. I was in the wrong.
Noelle snatched a piece of paper off the bar. “It’s a large high tea today,” she said, thrusting it at me. “Forty kids.”
I nodded, pretending to study the menu. “No problem.”
Noelle walked away without another word.
My plan was to lie low and do my job. As far as I was concerned, the longer Noelle went without talking to me, the better. Setting the tables as meticulously as I did was probably pointless. Fairies were messy creatures, and depending on the level of alcohol consumed, their mothers could be worse. The set up was complete an hour before service was due to begin. Trying to keep out of Noelle’s way in an empty restaurant wasn’t easy but I gave it my best shot, right up until Charli and Bridget walked through the door.
Bridget called out to me, gaining the instant attention of Noelle who stormed over and intercepted them.
“What are you doing here?” She was already ramped up, despite the fact Charli hadn’t yet uttered a word to upset her. “We’re busy today.”
Charli darted her eyes in every direction. “You don’t look busy.”
“Ugh!” Noelle waved her hands around. “Just go.”
“I’m going,” growled Charli. She motioned to me with a nod. “But I’m taking Bente with me.”
“Charli, I’m working,” I protested.
“You can play with me,” offered Bridget.
“Not today, Bridge.”
Charli grabbed the little girl’s hand. “Please Bente,” she begged. “I have a meeting with an art dealer in an hour. Mrs Brown bailed, Adam’s at work and Ryan’s across town. I just need you to watch her for a few hours.”
“I would but I can’t. I just got here,” I told her. “What about Fiona?”
“She has plans with Ivy today.”
I bit my lip to stop myself asking what they were. I didn’t want to know.
“Please,” she begged. “It would really help me out.”
It was too much to hope that Noelle hadn’t seen the tiny nod I gave her in reply. She was furious. Her head bobbed from side to side as if she wasn’t quite sure who to direct her anger at. Mercifully, she went for Charli.
“You can’t just come in here and take staff whenever you want.”
“I know and I’m sorry, but it’s an emergency, Noelle.”
My irate manager turned her wrath on me. “If you walk out that door, you’re fired.”
“Yes, yes,” rushed Charli. “She’ll be fired. And then Ryan will rehire her tomorrow.”
As far as light bulb moments go, that was a big one. Working at Billet-doux wasn’t working out for me any better than it was working for Noelle. I used to be a great server. I also used to like doing it. Those days were long gone.
“Noelle, I’m sorry,” I told her. “I think I should just quit.”
I winced, bracing myself for a squeaky reprimand, but it didn’t come. “Oh, thank God,” she groaned, pressing her palms together as if she truly was thanking h
im. “You’re of no use to me.”
“No hard feelings?” I asked quietly.
“None if you leave straight away,” she replied making Charli laugh. “I’ll call someone in to cover your shift.”
“Excellent,” said Charli, already leading Bridget to the door. “Let’s go.”
Noelle called out to her. “Now all I need is for you to stay away too.”
Charli replied without turning back. “I’ll work on it.”
***
I’d never spent any time alone with Bridget before, and even though I was happy to help Charli out of her bind, I was nervous.
“I’ll only be a couple of hours,” she promised. “I don’t usually work Fridays but the bloke I’m meeting is from out of town.”
“It’s fine, Charli,” I assured her. “We’ll meet you back at your place later.”
Charli stooped and kissed Bridget. “I love you so much. Be good please.”
That was the only instruction she gave. Two seconds later, she turned on her heels and hailed a cab.
***
Predictably, Bridget wanted to spend the few hours we had together at the park. It was a place she never tired of, and spending time with her helped me understand why.
“You see how it’s changing?” she asked, pointing at the yellowing elms lining the path. “Soon the leaves will all be gone.”
I looked at our surroundings, studying them as intently as she did. Fall was setting in and the big green canopy that the trees provided in summer was slowly morphing into earthy shades of orange and brown.
“The colours are lovely,” I told her.
“You know how they get the colour?” she asked.
I shook my head. I was sure her explanation was going to be far more interesting than anything I could come up with.
“The sprites do it,” she said. “They fly around painting yellow and orange and brown.”
“Why?”
“To play tricks on squirrels.” She screwed up her pretty face. “They don’t like squirrels. I don’t either. They growl at me.”
I looked up at the trees overhead so she wouldn’t see my smile. “I’ve never seen a sprite.”
“Me neither,” Bridget confessed. “They come at night time.”
We took a detour and sat on the next bench we came upon. “What do sprites look like?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I can’t see any.” Her head flicked so wildly from side to side that her blonde hair lashed her face. “They must have wings because they can fly.”
“I see,” I replied. “What else do you know about them?”
Bridget frowned at me. “You ask me lots of questions, Bente.”
Her tone made me giggle. “I do. That’s my job, really.”
At least, it should’ve been.
“Oh. Is it a good job?”
“Yeah.” I leaned back on the seat and settled my hands in the pockets of my coat. “It’s nice work if you can get it.”
My answers weren’t really cutting it for her. She spent the next few minutes questioning me, trying to grasp the job description of a writer.
She took my explanation a little too literally. By the end of her Q and A session, she was of the opinion that newspaper journalists handwrite the newspapers each day. Her questions were becoming too left of centre to answer honestly. When she asked if my hand ever got tired of writing or if my pen ever stopped working, I told her yes.
“How many papers did you write today?”
I shook my head, feeling entirely too sorry for myself. “None. I’m not working for a newspaper at the moment. I wish I was, though.”
Bridget put her tiny hand on my knee. “Keep your wishes and it might happen,” she said sagely.
Saving wishes hadn’t been part of my childhood, which was a shame. I might have had a few to spend by now if it was.
“How many wishes do you have saved up, Bridge?” I asked curiously.
“A thousand and sixty twelve.”
“Awesome.” I chuckled. “That’s a nice stash.”
She grasped the silver locket around her neck. “I keep them in here. My grandpa gave me this,” she explained. “Not Papy, the Rex one.”
I leaned in, pretending to notice it for the first time. I’d never seen her without it, but until then I’d been unaware that she kept wishes in it. “It’s very pretty,” I told her.
“Yes, I know.”
We were quiet for a minute. I wasn’t sure what was holding Bridget’s attention but I was content to sit and let life drift by for a while. I knew we weren’t going to be able to stay much longer. The dark sky was threatening rain, and the wind had picked up. When a strong gust whipped down The Mall sending dry leaves skittering past, I stood and reached for her hand. She shuffled along the seat out of my reach. “Not yet,” she replied simply.
Things were about to get tricky. I had no authority where Bridget was concerned because she didn’t allow it. She wasn’t the least intimidated by me. I, on the other hand, was marginally scared of her.
“Now, Bridget.” I tried to sound firm, but wasn’t sure I’d pulled it off. “The weather is coming in. We need to get home before it rains.”
Her unusual dark blue eyes shone as she looked up at me. “I can catch a wish for you in a minute, but you have to sit with me.”
Common sense told me I should’ve dragged her out of the park kicking and screaming. Curiosity told me to sit back down.
Catching wishes is far more complex than I imagined. Judging by Bridget’s refusal to give me the scoop on how it worked, it’s also a highly secretive business.
“Shush Bente,” she commanded. I was actually becoming slightly alarmed. She sat completely still, watching dry leaves barrelling past us. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was conjuring up the wind herself. “Just wait.” I was relieved to hear her voice. It was the only proof I had that she was still a little girl and not a witch. “We have to wait for a leaf to land on you. If it does, that’s a wish.”
“That’s all there is to it?” My voice was just as tiny as hers.
“Yes, just wait.”
I did as I was told and was rewarded early. Just a minute or two later, the wind whipped a bunch of elm leaves into the air and a couple of strays landed on my sleeve.
“You got two!” beamed Bridget. “Good girl!”
I couldn’t help laughing. “Now what?”
A big smile lit her face. When she was concentrating or pouty, she was her mother all over. Smiling Bridget was a carbon copy of her dad. “You have to put them in your hair,” she told me. “Near your ears.”
I was in too deep to back down, even at the risk of looking stupid. “Like this?” I asked, tucking them behind my ears.
“Yeah, just like that,” she approved.
“Can I make a wish now?”
“Not yet.” Bridget climbed off the bench and scraped up a pinch of dirt off the ground. I might’ve stopped her if I’d realised what she was doing; it was damp and muddy and I had nothing to clean her with. “You have to paint it on your head, right here.” She rubbed her forehead with her clean hand. “Then you make your wish.”
I realised I didn’t have much to lose. I was already sitting on a park bench wearing leaves behind my ears. “Fine.” I edged forward. “Just do it.”
She reached out, but stopped. “What’s your wish?”
“I haven’t made it yet.”
“Tell me and I’ll make it for you,” she offered.
I didn’t even need to think about it. A few months earlier I might’ve considered wishing for true love. I wasn’t in the market for love any more. There was only one thing my heart desired.
“I just want a job, Bridge.” I sounded pathetic but she took no pity on me. Her little fingers ground the pinch of mud into my forehead while she repeated my wish out loud.
“There,” she announced, brushing her hands. “All done.”
I went to wipe the muck off my face but a firm little hand grabbed
my wrist. “You have to leave it on.”
“How long?”
Anything longer than five minutes, I’m out.
“You can wash it off when we get home. The wish will be done then.”
I’d come this far so I might as well see it through. If I was stopped by the relevant authorities and committed on the way home, I was sure they’d call her parents.
***
Charli was home when we arrived at the apartment. Bridget leapt into her arms at the door and was showered with a ton of kisses. “I missed you today,” crooned Charli. “What have you been up to?”
“We found Bente some wishes,” she replied.
Charli looked at me for the first time. Her confused expression troubled me. If anyone should be accepting of a woman with leaves in her hair and mud on her face in the name of wishes, it was her.
“What happened to you?” she demanded.
I looked at my little charge as if that explained everything. Charli looked confused but cottoned on that it was to do with her daughter. “Bridge, go and hang your coat in your room, please,” she instructed.
The little girl took off down the hall, dragging her coat behind her. As soon as she was gone, I demanded to know the process of wishing on autumn leaves.
“You can wish on fallen leaves,” she confirmed, still staring wide-eyed.
“Okay,” I replied. “Job well done then, right?”
She nodded and shrugged, which was a gesture as clear as the mud on my face. “If a leaf lands on you, you’re entitled to a wish,” she explained.
I waved my hand, prompting her to elaborate. “And?”
She shrugged again. “And nothing, Bente. That’s it.”
“No, no, no,” I whispered forcefully. “What about the wearing it behind your ear and rubbing mud on your head to make the wish come true part?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I’d been duped. I swept my hand through my hair, flicking the leaves to the floor. “Your kid belongs on the stage, Charlotte,” I informed her.
She didn’t dare laugh until I did, and then there was no stopping her. “I’m so sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry. She barely got the words out because she was laughing so hard.