Don't Expect Magic (25 page)

Before Dad can say anything, I do.

“How is that going to work when you get married? You’ll have to have Dad on speed dial.” From Andrea’s embarrassed expression, I can tell she already does. “That won’t be enough, though. He’ll have to move in with you.” Andrea’s eyes brighten for a second until she realizes I’m being sarcastic.

She turns to Dad, pleading. “I only need one day. I promise. I got out all the books. See?” She picks up a stack of Dad’s books from the floor next to the couch. Sticky notes and bookmarks and scraps of paper poke out from the pages in every direction. “I’m going to read each one again, and—”

“That’s not going to change anything,” I tell her. Andrea looks to Dad for rescue.

“Delaney, that’s enough,” Dad says.

But it’s not enough, and I’m not going to let him stop me before I’ve finished.

I walk over to Andrea and take hold of her arms so she has to face me. “Andrea. You’re a stratospherically high-strung fashion disaster with no self-confidence.” Andrea looks like she’s about to burst into tears when I say this, while Dad seems on the verge of exploding into a lecture on manners, but I can’t stop now. “Basically, you’re a mess. But hey, that’s who you are. Own it. Let Aaron see it.”

Andrea cocks her head as my words seem to sink into her brain. Dad’s expression has changed too as he absorbs what I’ve said. Even Andrea’s cat tiptoes out from the kitchen to hear more. “Magic is just a superficial fix.” I glance over at Dad when I say this. “Cinderella may have had the ball gown on when the prince fell in love with her, but he proposed to her when she was in rags.”

“She didn’t stay in rags, though,” Andrea protests. “She became a princess and then she had the gowns again, lots more of them—”

“Okay, never mind, I take it back. This isn’t a fairy tale. You don’t need a ball gown and glass slippers to go to brunch. Just a sundress and some flip-flops.” The cat slinks around Andrea’s ankles, agreeing with me. I guide Andrea over to a tarnished mirror hanging on the wall. “Be yourself,” I tell her. “Your whole self.” Andrea’s eyes meet mine in the mirror. “Let your hidden depths come
out, whatever they are. If Aaron doesn’t like the real you, it was never going to last longer than a spell anyway.”

Andrea shifts her gaze to her own eyes. The near-tears expression is gone, replaced by a curious, thoughtful one. She seems to straighten up a little, and her stare grows hard, like a challenge.

“Drop us a text, let us know how it goes.” I grab Dad’s hand and pull him to the door.

“Shouldn’t we—”

“Nope,” I tell him. “She’s got it now. It’s up to her.” As we leave, I catch Andrea’s eyes in the mirror one more time, and she gives me a little smile. She’s not there yet, but she’s on her way.

We stop at a burrito shack on the way home, and I order two with everything plus an extra side of chips, because I am ravenous. It’s as if that huge breakfast I ate never happened.

“That was great!” I announce between bites. “Andrea wasn’t even my client and I got her the big wish.
Without
using my wand.”

Dad picks the tortilla strips off his taco salad. “It’s not over yet.”

“It will be.” I glance around for some small wishes to grant. I may not always need the magic, but it’s like a first-aid kit—a good thing to have in emergencies, and it’s best if it’s fully stocked. “Feel free to thank me anytime.”

Dad shakes his head, but not at me. “All these books I’ve written, telling people how to change themselves—when that’s not the problem at all. I should give everyone their money back.”

“It’s
from
your book,” I tell him. “
Be Your Own Life Coach
. Don’t you remember?” Dad gazes above my head, like maybe the book will suddenly appear, floating in midair. “Chapter Five: ‘Aim High, but Accept Your Basic Loserness.’ ”

Dad’s gaze lowers to meet my eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever used the word ‘loserness,’ Delaney.”

“Whatever. It was something like that. It goes on and on about how you have to work with your limitations or they’ll turn against you, and how you can’t win a battle with yourself. Blah, blah, snooze.”

Dad shakes his head again, this time in amazement. “I can’t believe you read my books.”

“Somebody had to. Andrea’s obviously forgotten what she read, and you don’t remember what you wrote.”

“You’re right. I did forget. I’ve been trying to make my clients … different from how they are.”

“Everybody’s screwed up in some way, but they get even more screwed up if they try to change themselves.” Forget transferring objects and manipulating atoms.
This
has been the biggest f.g. lesson I’ve learned so far.

Dad smiles. “How did you get to be so smart?”

I shrug. “Experience. You know what I did to get Flynn his wish? Nothing. I just … left him alone.” My voice cracks a little on the last word, and the night comes flooding
back like it happened two minutes ago, every pang of emotion fresh. I force the memory away and bite down on another chip, but it must be stale, because it’s like cardboard in my mouth. I load the next one with salsa, but the salsa’s lost its taste too.

I notice Dad watching me with the same concerned look he had this morning. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? I thought so.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Does Flynn know how you feel?”

I can’t speak for a second. When I do, I pretend that I have no idea what he means. “Feel about what?”

“Feel about
him.
”

“I need some new salsa.” I start to stand, but Dad takes my hand and pulls me back to my seat. “Delaney. Talk to me.”

“I think you’re confused,” I say calmly. “I have no emotional attachment to Flynn. Our relationship was strictly professional. He’s in love with Cadie, remember? If you don’t believe me, you can go to her boffo beach blast and look for them, making out in the surf.” I yank loose from his grasp and gather up my food. My appetite is officially gone.

“Were you invited to the party?”

Really, this conversation should be over by now. “I’m not going to any stupid beach party. Did you forget about your book signing?”

Dad keeps talking like he doesn’t hear me. “You know
what? It doesn’t matter if you were invited or not.” He follows me as I carry my food to the trash. “You have to go, Delaney. And you have to tell him.”

“Why? So I can be humiliated? I’m not his wish.” I weave through the tables to the parking lot, concentrating on the mental wall I’m holding up to keep my feelings penned in, where they can’t do any more damage.

“If he knew how you felt, he might change his mind.”

We get into the car and I slam the door. “No, he wouldn’t. She’s
Cadie.
”

“And you’re Delaney.” He smiles at me. A kind, fatherly smile, and it reminds me of Mom, and how she’d look at me sometimes as if she were viewing me through those soft-focus glasses that make parents think their child is the smartest or the prettiest or whatever-est. It’s nice, even if it’s wrong, and I don’t like that it starts to make me sad all over again.

“Don’t use me as a role model, Delaney,” Dad says. “Don’t use being a fairy godmother as an excuse to cut yourself off from other people. It may be too late for me, but it’s not too late for you.”

I don’t respond. Suddenly I don’t have the strength to speak or even move. All the hyped-up energy I had at the beginning of the day has drained away. As we drive out of the lot, I just want to get home and sleep for a hundred years.

I can’t sleep, though, because I have to go to the signing. When we got home from the taco stand, I told Dad
that it was important to me to go, because this was a part of his life I’d never gotten to share before now. This was the perfect thing to say, because he instantly forgot all about Flynn and the beach party and started to tell me a bunch of stories about his signings from the past, all of which sounded beyond dull. I’m sure this one will be just as deadly, but at least it’ll be a distraction.

Before we leave, I tell Dad I have a present for him. (I’ve decided to embrace the local custom of gifts-for-no-reason.) I meet him in the living room and hand him a small box. Dad opens it and takes out a pair of star-shaped cuff links I found at one of the yard sales. There weren’t any with magic wands on them, but I figured this was close.

“Wow, I haven’t worn cuff links since … I’m not sure I’ve ever worn them.”

“It’s never too late to try something new.”

He smiles. “Thank you, honey.” He gives me a kiss on the cheek. “I have something for you too.” He hands me a shopping bag from Vogel’s, the department store at the mall. “I hope I did better on this than I did on the bedroom.”

Oh God, what if it’s some plaid jumper, or a khaki skirt with a pink sweater twinset? Or a cute sundress with little bow ties on the shoulders? Dad’s smile is so eager and anxious that I vow not to retch no matter how hideously un-me it is. It’ll be easy enough to spill something on it “accidentally” so I don’t have to wear it.

I lift out the gold-tissue-wrapped item, and the sparkly
paper crinkles as I unfold it. It’s a dress. Not a sundress or a jumper, though, and it’s not pink or any other pastel color—but it’s not black either. Instead it’s dark green, the color of a forest at night, with slashes of fiery red and yellow like comet tails all over it. I hold it up and it hits mid-thigh, perfect for boots. The material is slinky and soft.

“Well? What do you think?” When I drop the dress back in the bag, Dad looks worried, until I run over to him and hug him.

“I love it.” I do. It’s nothing I’d ever think to buy or even try on, and yet, somehow, he knew it was exactly right for me. Dad’s arms wrap around me, strong and tight in a real hug, our first, the one I’ve been waiting for since before I can remember, and it’s like a spell I didn’t even know I was under breaks. I’m stepping free from something dark, with teeth, that’s been holding on to me.

Weirdly, it feels like Mom is hugging me too, and it’s really great. Sad, but not the usual “I want to set off a nuclear bomb and wipe out everybody” sad. Instead it’s “this is a part of me now and I’m almost okay with it” sad. The kind of sad that can still let some happy in.

By the time we get to the bookstore, I’m glad I’ve come. It’ll keep my mind off other things. I may have been crazy this morning, but I wasn’t wrong. I need to stay focused on
other people
. Today it’s Dad.

When we get upstairs to the events area, there’s already a crowd. The chairs are all taken and more people squeeze
in at the back. I grab a seat at the café, where I can watch the action from afar.

I prop my boots up on a chair and admire the way the dress drapes over my knees. They’re the boots I wore on the plane. The yellow swirls match the yellow slashes on the dress, and for once I’m not horrified at being color-coordinated, because it feels like the boots and dress were made for each other. It’s not a ball gown and glass slippers, but there
is
something a little magical about it, like part of my past with Mom has mixed with my future with Dad.

Dad’s fans swarm him as soon as they see him, until Gina and the assistant manager shoo them away and back to their seats. Gina and Dad say hello but they barely look at each other. Not good.