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Mira
Conversation with Byron
You’re coming this afternoon, right?
I almost fell into a manhole, yesterday. I could have died, Mira. And I had to get my hair cut short.
Oh, the humanity
This is serious. I’ve learned not to mess around with this Halloween black magic shit. Never again. There are powerful forces in the universe.
Yes, they’re called karma. And peroxide. But, fuck it, yes, I’m coming.
You won’t regret it.
Don’t be late.
Seriously. She might curse us again if you’re late. She doesn’t seem right in the head.
At least you’ll have an easier time telling our hair apart now that you’re a blond
Iwant to be with Danny.
I want to show him Glitterati the wayIsee it.
It is, obviously, a bar. It smells terrible in the back alley, and there’s no denying it is, first and foremost, a place people go to get plastered.
But I see it as more than that. I see it as a place where they can step away from the harsh realities of life and into a fantasy where everything glitters, names are fantastical, and everything is softer. I run my fingertips across the top of the resin bar, admiring the threads of glitter that run through it. I was here for a couple of hours last week, but I’ve missed it. I’ve even missed the broccoli stench of the back alley.
This place is my escape.
It’s my sanctuary.
It’s the one thing I’ve built.
It’s my proof that while I might not have school smarts, I have a knowledge for what people need.
“You’re going to be late, girl,” Azalea says, gesturing to the clock on the wall, one of the melting Salvador Dali clocks, because people shouldn’t have to worry about time while they’re here. We just got done finalizing—and laminating—our updated menu. It won’t be distributed tonight, but Azalea will roll it out this weekend.
She’s right. Judging by the approximate position of the minute hand, I have to get going. At least I screwed up my left ankle and am thus capable of driving—uncomfortably—on my own.
“You’ll tell me if…”
I trail off. I don’t really know what I’m asking for. Whether Danny and Daphne start making out across the table? Or declare to the bar that they’re getting married and moving to Europe to have genius babies?
Or if Big Mike puts Danny in handcuffs and leads him away before any of that can happen?
The feeling of pressure in my chest and head is almost painful.
“Maybe I don’t need to go to this anti-hexing thing. I could stay…”
“You need all the luck you can get,” she says pointedly. “Your sister is too nice to hold the fort down much longer. Last night, she gave away five drinks.Five. She said they all seemed depressed. I said, yes, you dear sweet soul, that’s why they’re at a bar.”
“You’re right,” I say, but a part of me wonders if I’m agreeing so easily because I’m afraid of what I’d see if I stay. “Make Danny a Moment of Truth, okay? Whatever he wants is on the house.”
“I look forward to meeting him,” she says, giving me long look. “You’ve never fussed yourself over a guy like this. He must be something else.”
I can see him the way she probably will—the way I did before I moved into the apartment. Quiet. Fastidious.Agreeable.
