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Something like…I put a hex on my ex because love is a curse.
That’s good, right?
Do you think the guys will like it?
I’m glad my broken ankle could serve some higher purpose. I’ll think about Wednesday.
I already made the appointment.
Of course you did. If I’m not there, feel free to bring some more drain hair to stand in my place.
Maybe I’ll go. Wednesday afternoon is when Danny’s meeting Daphne, and I don’t want to wait here at the apartment, thinking about the possibility of him and Daphne banging on a table at my bar.
When I get up, I make my way to the kitchen to prepare coffee, but there’s a cold latte waiting for me on the counter. A maple leaf sits next to it—the colors a stunning blend of gold and red that makes me smile when I lift it up into the late morning sun beaming in through the picture window. Then I look at the note beneath the very-welcome coffee.
Sometimes being a leaf peeper has its benefits.
Wednesday feels very far away right now.
I press the leaf to my chest, feeling a little dizzied by the thought of him choosing it for me—before setting it back on the counter and nuking my coffee. Did he take his car up there? I know he usually bikes, but his wrist might still be bothering him. I like the image of him sitting up on some mountain ridge, or wherever he likes to go, drinking his coffee while he studies the leaves and the birds. Growing up here, the changing of the leaves never really meant much to me—it was one of those beauties of life that went unnoticed because it was always there, but looking at this leaf, this perfect leaf he found for me, I feel a tug of longing. I’ve never purposefully woken up before nine o’clock, but I don’t hate the thought of going there with him sometime.
I sit on the couch with my coffee, and for a few minutes I sit there in dreamy silence, thinking about golden and red leaves and fall flavors and the look of admiration and warmth in Danny’s eyes last night when he told me he wasvery attractedto me.
And then I see it. My “friend” is back in the apartment across the street. She’s watching me again. I look her in the eye and wave, because she deserves to get called out on being a creeper. She doesn’t wave back, but she also doesn’t look away. She keeps staring at me like one of those weird kids in a horror movie, and I feel a prickle of unease skitter down my back. It’s like she wants me to know she’s watching, but why?
I give her the finger to see if that’ll get me a reaction, and it freaks me out more when it doesn’t—when she keeps standing in the window like a murderous doll, peering at my middle finger as if she’d like to break it with her mind. I’m very much inclined to close the blinds, but I don’t want to lose the stare-off or indirectly admit that she’s gotten under my skin. Because even though I don’t understand why, she obviouslywantsto get under my skin.
Is she just bored or is this something else?
It kind offeelslike something else, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen her before this week.
The buzzer rings, and I avert my gaze from the window for a second. When I look back, she’s gone, and I feel like James Bond’s martini—shaken, not stirred.
I don’t like the weird mystery woman, and now I feel absolutely justified by my obsession with Danny’s binoculars. I will be taking a closer look at her apartment later, although I don’t know what I could hope to find out.
Maybe there’ll be a bloody murder weapon on the floor, conveniently visible from the window, and I can call in an anonymous tip and make her someone else’s problem.
I answer the buzzer, because at least I know it can’t be the weird blonde murder lady.
“It’s me!” Delia says.
“And Shauna,” Shauna says. “Tell me you have caffeine.”
I buzz them up without responding, because I’m still shaken.
A few minutes later, I open the door and feel immediate regret for not asking more questions, because my sister is holding a huge cardboard box full of a bag of black salt, a hand-held mirror, a couple of fabric dolls, and a random assortment of other shit.
“We’re here to break the hex!” she announces brightly.
“Is it too late to kick you out?” I ask with a groan.
“Yes,” Shauna says. “Because I haven’t had any caffeine, and Enchanted over here spent all night researching how to break hexes.” Enchanted is her new nickname for Delia, because when they were at Glitterati one night, a drunk tourist asked for her autograph, convinced she was Amy Adams.
“You did?” I ask as Delia walks in with the monster-sized box. I want to take it from her, but there’s the crutches to consider, and I have to stand by like the useless person I currently am while she carries it in, and Shauna closes the door behind her.
“Of course,” Delia says as she settles it onto the kitchen island. Now that she’s inside, I see the dark circles under her eyes. “You’re my sister. I can’t let you dye your hair with peroxide.”
“I’m pretty sure Bryon’s just stupid and the curse had nothing to do with it,” I tell her. “Besides, it sounds like Josie agreed to break it herself if the two of us come by on Wednesday. I’m thinking I’ll go. Just in case.” I nod toward the enormous bag of salt she’s pulling out of the box. “Maybe I’ll throw some of that over my shoulder for good measure.”
