Once Upon Stilettos

Page 53

Mom had taken on the role of hostess, and she spoke up again to keep the conversation rolling. “Ethan, we ran into a friend of yours the other night,” she said. “Or maybe ‘friend’ isn’t the right word. He said some very mean things about you, and I’ll have you know I didn’t believe a word of it.”
Ethan shot an utterly baffled look at me, which I returned, equally baffled. I had no idea what she was talking about. “My friend?” Ethan asked.
“Yes, he was at the restaurant where we had dinner Monday night,” she explained. “He came over to talk to Katie—very rude young man. He didn’t so much as acknowledge us, though I suppose Katie should have made the introductions.”
Only then did I realize what she meant. Oh no, she’d thought Idris was talking about Ethan when he referred to my boyfriend. It was a natural assumption to make, but it was a misunderstanding right out of a bad sitcom, and I couldn’t think of a way out of it. I’d been so worried about getting tangled up in magical problems that I hadn’t considered the potential for maternal-meddling complications.
Mom continued, oblivious to my discomfort. “Now, I know you do more than walk Katie to and from work. I’m sure you take her to some very nice places. That boy was just being mean.”
Realization dawned in Ethan’s eyes. I knew he’d figured out exactly who Idris was referring to as my boyfriend. I wished I could play it cool and insist that it was just Idris being a jerk, but I felt my face growing warm. Ethan frowned and nodded slightly, and I was sure he’d noticed. He might not have had magical powers, but I felt like he could see right through me.
A split second later he managed to compose himself. “If it’s who I think it was, you can ignore anything he said. I beat him in a tough negotiation once, and he’s never forgiven me.” Then he abruptly changed the subject. “What do you think of New York so far?” I could have kissed him. Well, I wanted to kiss him anyway, in spite of what he might have thought at that moment, but his coming to my rescue made me want to even more.
“It’s interesting,” Dad said with a nod. “I’d like to get a better look at the park. You know, I’ve got this new fertilizer in stock that might help them. I wonder what they’re using now.”
“Was the city what you expected?” Ethan clarified his question.
“I knew it would be kind of strange,” Mom said, then dropped her voice to a stage whisper. “But I wasn’t expecting all those alternative lifestyle people.”
“Alternative lifestyle people?” Gemma asked. “Katie, you didn’t take your parents to the West Village, did you?”
“No, just Times Square,” I said, trying not to grit my teeth.
“We saw this woman wearing fairy wings in public,” Mom said. “Very odd.”
“No, odd would have been a man wearing fairy wings in public,” Gemma said with a laugh. “Preferably with pink tights and a tutu.”
“Oh, we saw one of those, too,” Mom said. “Though not with the tights and tutu. But he had wings.”
“There wasn’t anything that strange about that woman,” Dad said. “Lois just thought she was a street performer and tried to tip her. And the man was a park ranger with a backpack on, not wings.”
“Frank, the woman had wings and was flying.”
“She was tall. You were imagining things. It wasn’t even the oddest sight in that part of town.”
“Don’t you tell me what I did and didn’t see. If you’re not going to speak to me with respect, then you don’t have to speak to me at all.” She crossed her arms over her chest and pointedly turned her back to Dad.
I got up and said, “Anyone for pumpkin pie?” I’d thought my worst problem would be getting Mom home before she clued into the magic. It hadn’t crossed my mind that my parents would fight over what Mom did or didn’t see. The last thing I needed was for my parents to fall out because of magic.
Later that afternoon while the others watched football, Ethan and I washed dishes. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked softly, his voice masked from the living room by the running water.
“Not quite as bad as the first time my oldest brother brought a girlfriend home for a holiday,” I admitted. “But they’re still not speaking to each other.”
“If they aren’t talking, then they can’t be comparing stories about what they’ve seen.”
I picked up the pan he’d just rinsed and dried it. “True. But I think this would be easier if both my parents were immune. Then the same story would work on both of them.” I chuckled. “Then again, with my dad, he might be immune and we’d never know it because he’d think it was none of his business to comment on someone’s obvious physical deformities.”