The Fairest Kind of Love Page 3

  “Who are all these people?” I say to no one, gesturing wildly to the line before me. Where did you all come from? What do you want?

  Before I can dream up wild scenarios, Kim comes vaulting out the shop’s door, practically vibrating with some sort of information. We took her on as a part-time clerk to help with the summer rush, and she’s been bursting with happiness ever since we told her she was hired.

  “OMG, Amber! You’ll never guess what’s going on!” she squeals.

  I raise my eyebrows in suspense as she bounces on her heels with glee.

  “Please don’t make me guess,” I say.

  “Well!” Kim chirps. “A Navy Pier employee just came by with a media announcement. There’s going to be a live recording in the IMAX theater this afternoon.” Vendors always get notified when something out of the ordinary will be happening on the premises, allowing us to plan ahead and bring in extra staff for big events. We already received the finalized Beat the Heat! calendar, though, so this must be a last-minute addition. “When I first heard, I was totally shocked! I mean, I feel like the Fates must have brought this together!” Her neon bracelets jangle happily around her wrists as she describes the whole interaction, drawing out a story that could have been summed up in one sentence. “And then I was thinking—”

  “Spit it out already, friend. What is the taping?”

  “Matchmaking Magic!” Kim cheers, with some extremely unnecessary jazz hands. “Madame L’Amour, live and in person!”

  I stare at her blankly. “Um, am I supposed to know who or what that is?”

  Kim’s jaw drops. She examines my face, looking for signs that I’m kidding. “Wait, are you serious? You don’t know about Matchmaking Magic!?”

  “I know that I’m a matchmaker who is magic . . . ?” I grimace. “Is there something else?”

  “OMG! I thought you knew! Are you living under a rock?”

  “No, but that does sound cozy.”

  “Ugh!” Kim grabs my wrist, dragging me past the line of waiting customers to the counter, where she pulls up YouTube on the shop’s computer. As she types into the search bar, I notice my matchmaking table has been set up for the first time in forever, complete with its FIND TRUE LOVE! CONSULT A MATCHMAKER! sign.

  “Um, Kim? Why is my table out here?” I ask, eyeing it suspiciously.

  “Shh!” she scolds, cueing up a video. “Watch this.”

  On the screen, the words “Matchmaking Magic!” appear, twinkling with a cheesy animation effect. As they fade, an older brunette with waves piled messily on her head and lavender bejeweled spectacles on the tip of her nose smiles at the camera as “Madame L’Amour” flashes in the chyron below. She swirls around a blindingly fluorescent-pink set, dress embroidered with hundreds of little hearts with arrows darting through, an eccentric, grandmotherly style that would put Miss Frizzle to shame.

  “Wait, this person is a matchmaker? Like, for real?” I ask, clearly struggling to understand the concept of something called “matchmaking magic” outside of my own self. I’ve honestly never been presented with a real-life example of a matchmaker besides the peacock-haired girl living in my mirror, and my only pop culture reflections residing in Fiddler on the Roof and Mulan, neither of which have anything to do with my personal experiences. For years, I begged my mom to help me find another matchmaker to learn from, but it was like looking for a four-leaf clover; our magic is so mutated and rare, you’d be lucky to find it. Could it be I’m not alone in this strange, never-ending rom-com? A flutter of hope I’d silenced long ago awakens in my chest.

  I squint at the screen, searching for similarities in this potential Cupid Sister. Her wacky aesthetic is a 180 from my plain-as-can-be wardrobe, and even just the act of publicizing her sessions means we are not exactly in sync, philosophy-wise. Still, consider me intrigued.

  “But her name’s not really Madame L’Amour, is it? That seriously cannot be her name,” I say, watching my digital counter-part twirl across the screen.

  “Just keep watching,” Kim scolds.

  From what I can tell, Matchmaking Magic! combines the upbeat insanity of an early morning talk show with the dread and discomfort of a dating app, all rolled into one roller coaster of heightened emotions. I usually aim to make my match-making customers feel calm and comfortable, but this show throws that out the window, looking for the biggest reactions possible. In a clearly fake French accent, Madame L’Amour (I will never get over that name) starts describing her first guest, weaving a weepy tale about a man whose parents deserted him when he was sixteen, causing him to push away love and affection from everyone in his life. In an attempt to make his match reveal all the more heartwarming, this backstory is purposely pulling out the most depressing aspects of the man’s life.

  “That is super sad, though,” Kim interjects.

  I give her some major side-eye. “It’s a little emotionally manipulative, don’t you think?”

  “I guess so?”

  “I would never share anyone’s personal details like that.” I frown, crossing my arms in superiority. I don’t want to hate on perhaps the only other matchmaker I’ll ever encounter, but something about this performance is ringing false. Love is a sensitive subject, and broadcasting the intimate details feels a little opportunistic. Although I guess a billion seasons of The Bachelor prove I’m alone on that point.

  The man comes onstage and takes a seat next to Madame in a fuzzy fuchsia armchair. The two exchange some small talk, and then it’s time to get to business: the matchmaking. I feel nervous as she takes his hands. I’ve never in my life seen another matchmaker at work, and my curiosity takes over. Will it be totally different? Clearly her approach is much cornier than mine, but will the general flow be the same? Have I been doing it right all these years, or have I missed steps along the way?

  Madame coos about being in a safe space and how the process is painless. “Now, look into my eyes,” she instructs as the camera zooms in on both their faces. After some truly theatrical eyebrow work, she launches into describing the physical and personality details of his match. “I can already feeeeeel a connection to your future bride,” she adds to his delight.

  On a screen hanging behind them, a computer-generated image of his match begins to appear like a police sketch rendering, not unlike what Bob does for me. As a swell of triumphant strings play, the man turns around to see the image, tears streaming down as he gazes upon his romantic future. The live studio audience cheers as he thanks Madame L’Amour for finally giving him hope. She blows a kiss to the camera, the corners of her eyes wrinkling with joy, as a theme song plays her out.

  “Finding love is magic! Open your heart and see!”

  Well. It’s sappy and schmaltzy and dorky as hell, but the channel has nearly half a million subscribers, so what do I know? Being sugary sweet has never really been my brand, but I guess people like that kind of thing. I have to wonder if Madame is the real deal, though. Who knows what’s happening behind the scenes of this streaming show?

  “How can it be so popular without me knowing about it?” I wonder.

  Kim wipes a tear from her eye, cementing her place in the target audience. “It’s so hopeful! And so sweet,” she sniffs. “The world is full of so much sadness that sometimes it’s nice to be reminded of things that are good. Why do you think all those people are lined up outside? They want to meet with a matchmaker and find some hope!”

  I don’t want to burst her love bubble, but I have to ask, “How do we know it’s real?”

  “What do you mean?” Kim whimpers, visibly offended by my accusation.

  “It’s great that she’s spreading love and rainbows and all that, but is she actually matchmaking?” I ask. “There’s no real way to verify if this woman can see true love; she could be showing any image on the screen and no one would be the wiser.”

  Kim bites her lip. “Um, not to be rude, Amber, but isn’t that true of you also?”

  “What?” I snap, feeling betrayed by a member o
f my inner circle (not that I have multiple circles). “I mean, maybe. Technically! But you know I’m not faking. Amani and Vincent are the proof! And besides, this is real life. Pretty much nothing online is true.”

  “But it’s so lovely, who cares if it’s fake?” Kim asks.

  “I do!” I raise my hand. “Because first of all, this zany woman is putting matchmaking on the map for maybe the first time ever, and if she’s faking it, she could obliterate any shred of reputation I’ve managed to maintain. And second, if she does have the goods, maybe she can help me figure out why mine are broken!” I didn’t even realize I was thinking it until I said it, but as soon as the words leave my mouth, I know I have to pursue this avenue. If I could get some face time with this cheeseball love guru, maybe I could pick her brain about her magic, her life, and if she’s ever, oh, I don’t know, short-circuited while envisioning a match. It was hard to tell with the lighting and costumes, but Madame appears older than me, and if she’s still kickin’ and thrivin’, maybe she knows the secret to matchmaking longevity. Madame and her amazing Technicolor fashion sense may be the answer I’ve been looking for, Roscoe be damned! That is, if she’s actually magical.

  “Amber, I never even thought of that!” Kim claps her hands, black hair swinging happily. “This taping today truly is meant to be! And—OMG!” Her whole face lights up as she grabs my shoulders. “When it’s all said and done, maybe she could even tell you your match!”

  Whoa, now that’s interesting. I was only thinking about my botched-up abilities, but hey, if Madame L’Amour could definitively tell me whether or not Charlie is my match, well, that’d be icing on the cake. Okay, decision made: time to put on my fangirl pants and stalk an Internet-famous matchmaker.

  I’VE BATTLED MURDEROUS WITCHES and chased down packs of goblins, but nothing has prepared me for this. I’ve never met someone like me, though I dreamed about it a lot when I was little. Working through my matchmaking abilities on my own was no easy feat, and seeing Mom with her coven made me wish I had a support system of my own. I’ve longed for someone I could relate to, someone who would completely understand what it’s like to be flooded with visions of love, day in, day out. While Amani has been a sympathetic ear, she doesn’t live and breathe my issues, and the thought of sharing my troubles with a person exactly like me has my heart tangled up in cautious optimism. If Madame L’Amour truly is a matchmaker, all my worries could be over.

  I walk into the massive IMAX theater, and the amount of glitter per square foot is absolutely astounding. Everything is drenched in pink and sparkly fabric, and on the stage there’s a replica of the Matchmaking Magic! set, complete with fuzzy wing-backed chairs. The sixty-foot-high screen is all ready to display the forthcoming match revelations, with a banner reading OPEN YOUR HEART AND SEE! dangling across the top. The room is humming with hopeful voices dreaming of falling in love, set to the soundtrack of generic pop beats. There have to be, what, three hundred people in here, some of whom I recognize from past Windy City Magic sessions. I try not to be bitter that my matchmaking performance alone did not satiate their need for love.

  The shop was given a set of complimentary tickets, which is lucky, since the place is so packed. Charlie, Amani, Kim, and I file into aisle seats not too far from the stage; I told my bestie and boy to get to the pier ASAP so they could witness this potentially life-changing meeting. The first step, though, is to determine whether or not Madame is legit, and my crack team of superfriends have come up with an A-plus scheme.

  “Man, they really laid down the red carpet for this thing I never knew existed until this morning,” I mutter, staring at a giant cardboard dove hanging directly overhead.

  “What a weird and strangely specific phenomenon,” Charlie says, scanning the crowd before turning to me to tease, “Why don’t you get this kind of treatment, babe?”

  I scrunch my nose and eyebrows together. “I will cut you, Blitzman.”

  He grins, wrapping his arms around my waist before quickly kissing my collarbone. For a split second, the insanity of our surroundings melts away, and I disappear into him: his sunny laugh, his adorkable face. The boy really does have a knack for distracting me.

  I lean over his lap, poking Amani in the shoulder. She bats her eyelashes, fanning herself with the little heart-shaped fans we were given at the door. “Yes?”

  “Are you ready for the plan?” I say with more force than necessary.

  “Hmm, what now?” She feigns ignorance.

  “Kim, you too!” I yell.

  She smiles at me, giving an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Yup!”

  The lights dim, and the crowd erupts into ecstatic cheers as the Matchmaking Magic! theme song blares. “Finding love is magic! Open your heart and see!” After watching that first video, I binged the entire series at the shop while waiting for this taping to start; I’ve now heard this song so many times, I’m worried the tune is tattooed on my subconscious. I’m getting nervous, so I reach for the bottom of my seat just to have something to claw at, but Charlie intercepts, locking his fingers between mine. “Breathe, babe,” he instructs, and I do, trying my best to keep my brain from melting out my ears.

  A man prances out onstage, a spotlight following his wild waving. Gleaming a megawatt smile, he raises both hands to quiet the rabid fans. I don’t recognize him from any episodes. It’s not like there’s a supporting cast of characters. He’s decked out in a pink polo shirt and white pants. Whenever someone manages to wear white on their bottom half without it immediately getting destroyed, I have to assume dark magic is at play.

  “Hello, Chicago!” he cheers, causing an additional round of hollers. “Who is ready to fall in love?” More screaming, more thunderous applause. He smiles even wider somehow, pretending to be blown back by the crowd’s enthusiasm. I catch Ivy out the corner of my eye. She looks like she’s going to vomit.

  “My name is Paul, and I’m a producer for Matchmaking Magic! I’m so happy to be here with you all today. Did you know we film every episode right here in Illinois?” What, what, what? I did not know this has been brewing right under my nose. Another matchmaker, in my own state! Charlie, sensing my extra pinch of tension, squeezes my hand harder. “That’s right! And because you’ve shown us so much support, we wanted to return the love. Today, Madame L’Amour will be conducting three live matches from our audience, right here at Navy Pier!”

  “Yes!” I find myself cheering along, despite the fact that live matches have been happening here literally every day for the past five years or so, courtesy of ME. Whatever—shake it off, Amber. I need to focus on our plan. Before I go spilling my heart out to a stranger, I made Amani and Kim promise they’d volunteer to go onstage given the chance; that way, when their matches are revealed, I’ll be able to tell if Madame is real or a fraud. Preferably Amani, because even though I’ve become more familiar with visions of Kim’s new match, I can’t totally trust that pairing, seeing as how he only started coming into view when I started falling apart. I feel most confident with Amani, since her real-life love story with Vincent has unfolded right before my eyes. Both girls are wearing good-luck talismans from my mom’s private collection, plus they are both so adorable, who wouldn’t want to put them on camera?

  “Any volunteers?” Paul asks, covering his heart with mock surprise when the crowd goes nuts yet again. “All right! I’m releasing three cupids into the audience—if you’re chosen, they’ll lead you backstage, and then the fun will begin! Good luck!”

  “Finding Love Is Magic” plays throughout the room as a trio of poor unfortunate souls sporting wings and slings of arrows appear onstage. You could not pay me enough to wear those tacky costumes. They leap into the audience, running through the aisles as people scream and reach for them. Occasionally they stop and point an arrow into a section, causing a total frenzy, before dashing off again. I purposely sat us next to the aisle to be more visible, and my heart jumps into my throat as a blond cupid makes her way to our area. She waves her arrow aroun
d before firing at her final target: Amani. I leap into Charlie’s arms in excitement as the cupid takes my best friend’s hand. Amani quickly signs a You’re welcome before disappearing into the disappointed crowd.

  “Wow, your plan is actually working!” Kim says, working hard to share a smile. I think she likes Matchmaking Magic! more than she’s let on, and I’m sure she would’ve loved the thrill of being chosen.

  “Thank you for helping me with this,” I tell her. “All of you. Now we can sit back and see if love is real.”

  Because the Fates hate me, Amani goes last. We sit through two other hopefuls, watching their future lovers come to life on-screen. One contestant cries, holding on to Madame L’Amour so tight that Paul has to come out and pull her away. The crowd is eating it up, though, waving their heart fans in the air like they’re witnessing the Second Coming. I’m so anxious, I’m practically vibrating.

  Finally the second participant leaves the stage, and it’s time. Madame turns to the crowd, a tiara of diamond hearts crowning her long, frizzy hair. I can’t imagine where someone would acquire such a tacky accessory, and honestly I don’t want to know.

  “When I met with our third guest backstage, I was instantly enchanted,” Madame begins in her French accent. She’s framed by a single spotlight, and I have to admit she commands the stage. No one is shuffling in their seats; no one can take their eyes off her. Even when I was at the top of my matchmaking game, I could never stand in front of spectators like this, hungry hearts waiting for answers. It’s one thing to do a job well; it’s quite another to do it in front of an audience. “A recent high school graduate, my final contestant feels confident she may have already found her true love, but today, we’ll find out for sure. Please help me welcome . . . Amani!”