The Fairest Kind of Love Page 8

  Our apartment buzzer rings, and I dash over to answer the intercom.

  “We’re heeeeeerrreeeeee,” Amani’s voice singsongs through our living room.

  “Be right down!” I call back. Bags gathered, treats assembled, I give Mom what I hope is a reassuring kiss and trudge down three flights of stairs to kick off my first-ever parent-free road trip. Bless Amani for being the beautiful angel she is and agreeing to tag along on this special adventure.

  “I call shotgun,” I shout, dragging my stuff to the curb.

  “Well, duh.” Amani smiles, long dark hair pulled up in a bouncy ponytail. “I don’t think you’d want to be in the back with Miss Havisham there.” I peer through the rear window to see Ivy, bundled under a crocheted blanket, eyes closed.

  “What is happening?” I ask. “It’s like a hundred degrees out here. How is she not suffocating?”

  “I don’t know, but she looks . . . not great.” Amani winces. “Remember when we used to wish her hair would turn into snakes?” Of course I do; it was my favorite visual for when she was torturing us, imagining a head of squiggling serpents screeching along with her. “I feel like she’s actually shedding skin. It’s scary.”

  We cannot get her that dust fast enough. “Cool, that sounds awesome to sit next to for . . . How long is this drive?”

  “Three hours? Ish?”

  I look at my baggie of puppy chow. “Sugar, give me strength.”

  “Gods-speed.”

  Climbing into the Sharma family minivan, I’m assaulted with the lingering smell of her five younger brothers—a mix of sweat, mud, and sour-cream-and-onion chips—as my sandal crunches into some stale popcorn on the floor.

  “You would be the world’s worst cabdriver,” I snark. “This car is disgusting!”

  “Whatever.” Amani rolls her eyes. “At least it’ll get us there. And there’s nothing like riding in a swagger wagon!”

  “I cannot believe you just said that.”

  “I did, and it was awesome.”

  I pull up the directions Rose texted me when I alerted her to our impromptu visit. Unsurprisingly, a fairy farm isn’t something you can look up on Google Maps. She sent over a set of coordinates we entered in our GPS, along with a list of random “turn at the scarecrow” details that I’m sure will make more sense when we get closer. I turn to the back seat, offering Ivy some of my trail-mix cookies, but she groans in dissent, choosing to bury herself away. Wow. If she doesn’t want my cookies, things are worse than I thought.

  Amani starts the car and I sink down in my seat, taking a few bites of treats as my view transforms from tightly packed walk-ups to sprawling suburbs butting against the open expressway.

  I hardly ever leave the city, so watching the terrain shift from urban cluster to sprawling land is mesmerizing. Once the remaining bits of Chicagoland are in our rearview, the road opens up to farmland for as far as the eye can see. Acre after acre of cornstalks and soybean sprouts, with giant tractors and picturesque red barns dotting the horizon. I’m always surrounded by people and concrete: taxis blaring their horns, crowds pushing and shoving to where they need to go. What’s it like to have all this space, to not have smelly strangers breathing down your neck or spilling coffee on you as you walk? My apartment has like five feet of outdoor space on our back porch, but it overlooks a cement lot; everything out here is lush and green, open and free. I really must be a city mouse, because it’s blowing me away.

  “Ivy.” I turn around and poke at our trip companion, who has yet to speak or move in over an hour. “Ivy, look at this.”

  She groans under her yarn cocoon and makes a half-hearted effort to swat me away.

  “No, looooook.” I pull the blanket off her head, and she ducks away from the window, hiding from the sudden influx of sunlight.

  “God, what?!” she whines, struggling to open her eyes, like a mole finally burrowing out of her underground tunnels. “If you’ve woken me up to play the license plate game, I will gut you.” At this point, I doubt she’d have the strength for physical violence, but I guess it’s the thought that counts.

  “We’re in the country!” I cheer with a cheesy smile. “It’s really pretty. . . . I thought you’d want to see.”

  She turns, slow as molasses, toward the glass, giving the rolling landscape about five seconds of attention before pulling her blanket back up. “Great.”

  “You’re not psyched about corn and cows?” I feign surprise.

  “Shockingly, no.”

  “But you must be pumped about possibly getting your powers back, right? So you can resume your terror across the land?” I say, hoping to lift her spirits, even a little.

  Ivy runs a heavy tongue over chapped lips. “Because if anyone can help me, it’s a matchmaker,” she deadpans.

  I try not to be offended, considering her physical state. “I mean, I’m trying to—”

  “You know you’ve never even told me my match?” Ivy interrupts, gaze suddenly steely. “In all the time we’ve known each other.”

  Her comment catches me by surprise. “True, but you never really asked. When you were sirening it up, you looked pretty happy playing the field. Happily-ever-after wasn’t really your focus, unless I’m totally wrong.”

  She waits for a long time before saying, “Yeah, well, the end never seemed so near.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “And besides, I’m not lovable. Oh, don’t give me that look; we both know it. I’d pity anyone who gets stuck with me.”

  Her words hang in the air, circling ’round to the sounds of a soaring pop ballad before piercing my heart. I’ve never had anyone hope they don’t have a match because of their own self-loathing. Even without looking into her eyes, I picture her match now—tall, quiet, peachy fuzz topping a gentle face—and in every vision I’ve had of them throughout the years, this guy has been nothing but caring and loving toward Ivy, offering calming companionship against a powerful presence. In a true opposites-attract pairing, he’s destined to bring out the best in her, dulling her edges to a place where she can finally mellow.

  It was always such a strange dichotomy for me—envisioning the future idyllic Ivy while dealing with present pain—but I still believed it. She drove me so crazy in school, I couldn’t find a way to be the bigger person and give her the satisfaction of a happy ending. But she needs that now, and maybe sharing a glimpse into tomorrow will help her hold on today.

  But I’ve taken too long to respond, and Ivy has disappeared back into her shell, letting her belief harden into her truth. Everyone deserves love—everyone—whether they believe it or not. Making someone accept it is a much different thing.

  AS WE GET CLOSER to fairy family fun times, the mood in the car shifts toward somber. Amani’s poptastic karaoke playlist gave way to an indie rock cryfest, and after we devoured all of my cookies and popcorn balls, all that remained was some sort of kale smoothie Ivy threatened us with that looks like the color of my nightmares. She’s been emitting a sad, whimpering moan for the past thirty minutes or so, yet refuses to let us help her in any way. I’m trying to stay strong here, but I suddenly feel like we’ve been in the car forever and there’s no escape.

  “Not to sound like a toddler or anything,” I whimper to no one in particular, “but are we there yet?” The magic of seeing farmland has faded, since it’s all we’ve seen for hours now, and I’d really like this part of the journey to be over so we can get to the dusting. Sitting here, knowing Ivy is suffering yet unable to do anything, is torture.

  Amani grabs my phone off the holder on the dash, big brown eyes squinting at the GPS pinpoint we’re approaching. “It says we’ll be there in five minutes, but”—she looks ahead of the steering wheel—“it doesn’t look like there is any there to be had for miles.”

  “Ugghhh,” I groan, slumping so far down in my seat I can barely see out the window. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a vehicle this long. I feel like my butt has fused with the upholstery.”

&nbs
p; “Tell me about it,” Amani yawns. “My eyes are so tired, it feels like they’re liquefying and running down my cheeks.”

  Now there’s a visual. “How are you, Ivy?” She snorts like a warthog, which I guess means “Not great.”

  I turn back to Amani. “Sorry you had to do all the driving.”

  “Yeah, do you think you’ll ever get your license?” she teases.

  “Unlikely. Why learn to drive when there’s the CTA?”

  She nods. “Guess I’ll be doing a lot of driving like this next year, though.” Right, when she leaves the city to go to college hours and hours away from me. When I’ll only get to see her sweet, beautiful face on holidays and breaks, instead of every single day. Amani is going to the University of Illinois, which is in the same town as this farm; I knew she was going to be far, but now, having experienced this drive, the distance squeezes my heart like an evil vise, turning the crank tighter with each additional mile. Chest constricting, I breathe through my pre-separation anxiety as best I can, remembering that we still have time before this painful divide begins. More than ever, I want to hurry and wrap up this mission, smoothing all the magical dirt that’s been kicked up so I can be selfish and relish in the wonder that is my best friend for as long as possible.

  Suddenly, there’s a break in the stretch of farmland ahead. Out of nowhere, a forest rises above the surrounding corn, giant sequoias stretching to the sky above. It’s jarring, for sure, to see nothing but flat acres for hours and then to drive up to mammoth trees packed into a tight radius. I didn’t even think trees like this could grow in Illinois (not that I’m an arborist or anything), so if having a random forest sprout up like this isn’t magic, I don’t know what is.

  With Rose’s coordinates leading the way, we pull off on a dirt path between two rows of corn, tall stalks encroaching the car. After twisting and turning for a few minutes, we lose sight of the forest until it’s right upon us, and we stop at the base of the biggest tree I’ve ever seen in my life. It has to be at least as wide as my apartment building yet four times as tall. Several gargantuan trees form a sort of barrier, though in the one straight ahead, I detect an arch-shaped carving with the words “Wisteria Farms” etched in a swirly font. With solid wood in front of us, and corn all around us, it appears we’ve hit a dead end.

  “Um, what is happening?” Ivy croaks, peeking her head into the front. Curious but tired eyes explore the space before us, a small glimmer of hope keeping her going. “This doesn’t look right.”

  “Rose’s text says: ‘It’ll look like you’re in the wrong place.’ See?” I flash her my phone screen, but she keeps staring outward. “Don’t worry.”

  “Sure, why would I worry? We’re just stuck in the middle of nowhere with no magic at all.” Ah, Ivy. Never change.

  A small, window-shaped section of the tree pops out, and a little man appears like he’s a freaking Keebler Elf. He motions at us to come forward, and since we can’t move the car any closer, we all pile out and walk over to his office space inside the tree.

  “Is this weird?” I whisper to Amani. “It feels weird.”

  “What’s weird about talking to a man living inside a tree in the middle of a farm that’s completely off the map?”

  “Right. Good point.”

  The man looks down at us from his perch, and I’m getting very strong Wizard of Oz gatekeeper vibes. If there is a horse in there that changes color, I am here for it. “Hello, travelers! I hope you haven’t journeyed too far.” He smiles warmly. “Sorry to be a bother, but we’re actually not accepting visitors today. Harvest season keeps us very busy, after all!”

  Amani stands tall, hands on her hips. “We were invited. By a Wisteria,” she insists.

  The guardian of the gate frowns, checking notes on his clipboard. “Hmm. According to my records, the Wisterias are not expecting any guests. I’m sorry, but I’ll need to ask you to leave.”

  Taking a cue from my name-dropping boyfriend, I step forward and say, “We’re here to see Jane, to help her with her”—I lower my voice—“matchmaking problem.” I give him a knowing wink, effectively making me want to scrub my insides.

  He leans out of his wooden window, all the color draining from his face. “Jane? Is she . . . getting the help she needs?”

  “We sure hope so,” I say, smiling warmly. “Can you please let us through?”

  He hesitates, then reaches for the phone in his pocket. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” the guard warns, turning back toward his booth and hitting a buzzer. As his window shuts, a gateway carved into the sequoia before us slowly opens, and if you’ve never entered a fairyland via a magical wooden portal, well, you’re missing out.

  The farmland behind us melts away as a world that glows and shimmers beckons. We pass through the tree into an impossibly large open field surrounded by trees that form a leafy canopy. Near the top, countless rope bridges crisscross the sky, each leading to clusters of bright, rainbow-colored blossoms with glittery centers. Oven-sized petals curl back as twisting stamens burst all around, each spilling a steady stream of sparkle into large wooden barrels tied to the branches. There have to be hundreds of these flowers, each more remarkable than the next, and yet for every exploding bloom, there’s a fairy in flight, iridescent wings dancing against the vibrant reds, greens, blues, and purples. It almost feels like there is glitter in the air, as everything from the dirt at our feet to the tiny cabins dotting the perimeter takes on an otherworldly sheen.

  “This is amazing!” I exclaim, barely able to take it all in. “How does this exist?”

  “It’s like something out of a movie!” Amani twirls around, arms spread wide. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful! These flowers . . . their sparkle . . . I’m dying!”

  Even Ivy in her emo state looks around in wonder. “This is crazy,” she mutters, still clutching her crocheted blanket like a cape. “What is this place?”

  I shoot some texts to Rose letting her know we’re here as we continue to roam around the compound. Although the patch of forest didn’t seem terribly expansive from the outside, now that we’re inside, the grounds don’t appear to have an end. Like the contents of Mary Poppins’s bag, Wisteria Farms just keeps going, revealing a small village of homes, storefronts, and community areas, including the most eco-driven patch of land I’ve ever seen, with a series of rain barrels and solar panels that work together in a singular quest to save the planet. Everything that’s not colored green is rainbow bright, and there are so many turns and hidden corners tucked into the trees, it feels like it’d take days to uncover all the secrets hiding within. I quickly pull out my phone to snap a shot and send to Charlie:

  If dragons do exist, I bet they live in fairy trees

  Almost immediately, he texts back:

  DO NOT PLAY WITH ME I WILL DRIVE THERE RIGHT NOW

  I send back a kissy emoji, and return my attention to this new world around us. We continue to stroll over a crushed-limestone path, weaving through modest, moss-covered homes, each with signs displaying a family name and specialty like CARPENTER, SEAMSTRESS, and BUTCHER. A bakery sign catches my eye (of course), and I make a mental note to stop in later. Rose said this was her family’s farm, but it’s so much bigger: an entire fairy community snuggled away under a magical canopy of flora and fauna.

  “This is all a little too hippie for me,” Ivy groans, stomping beside me like a sleepy T. rex. Compared to the Technicolor all around us, she looks even more like a ghost. A crabby ghost, at that. “Everyone is smiling. And wearing so much hemp. Blech.”

  Before I can respond, a pack of fairy children flies by, chasing after a running target. She trips, curling herself into a protective ball once she hits the ground, shielding herself from the sticks and tiny rocks her airborne bullies drop on her from above. Even with sea-foam green hair covering her face, it’s not hard to tell who they’re picking on: it’s Jane.

  “And they all lived happily ever after!” one of the pint-sized terrorists taunts,
too much glee on his smug little face. How anyone could want to hurt sweet Jane is a mystery to me, but this tiny tyrant sure seems to be enjoying himself.

  “Hey!” I yell, sprinting over to their circle, Amani and Ivy in my wake. But before I can swoop in and save the day, a flash of lavender whisks by, sending the cruel cluster into a flurry. Most of the fairy pests fly away in panic, but Rose catches one of them by the wings, making him drop to the ground.

  “You little creep!” Rose yells, admittedly terrifying in her fury. She sticks her pierced nose in his face, effectively evaporating his previous grin. “You think it’s okay to pick on someone? Just because she’s not like you? What is wrong with you?” The boy whimpers an apology, and she releases his wings in disgust, bending over to help her little cousin as the bully buzzes off.

  “Are you two okay?” I ask, on the verge of tears myself. Rose and Jane look up at me, both faces brightening upon seeing me.

  “You made it!” Rose smiles, truly happy at our arrival. Lavender wings perk up behind her as she helps Jane to her feet.

  “Amber!” Jane cries, wrapping her tiny arms around my waist. “You’re here! Rose told me you were coming, but I didn’t believe it until now!”

  I resist the urge to pet the top of her cute little head. “Yes! We meet again, my matchmaker sis!” At this, she beams, sunlight warming her freckles as she snuggles into me harder. I pick a few leaves out of her minty strands, wanting so badly to crush those pint-sized jerks. “What happened? Why were those kids after you?”

  Keeping her cheeks buried in my stomach, she mumbles, “It was nothing.”

  “No, it was something,” Rose corrects her, still flush with anger. “Those kids were in the wrong, Jane. I want you to remember that.”

  “Seriously, I don’t know them at all, but I can tell they’re terrible,” I agree, squeezing her tighter. Jane doesn’t respond, so I look to Rose, who is shaking her head.