Once Upon Stilettos
Page 51

As luck would have it, she just about ran head-on into a uniformed park ranger. A uniformed park ranger with wings. A uniformed park ranger with wings who used to date one of my friends. It was Pippin, Trix’s ex (?) boyfriend. This was supposed to be a big city, so why was I running into more people I knew in Central Park than I’d expect to in the town’s only grocery store back home?
Mom took one look at him, with his pointed ears, slanted eyes, and wings, and screamed bloody murder. He looked almost as shocked, then closed his eyes like he was mentally checking the status of his veiling spell. I ducked behind Dad to make sure Pippin didn’t recognize me. The last thing I needed was for him to ask me about Trix. I couldn’t begin to explain how I knew a guy with wings who worked in the park.
Dad grabbed Mom’s arm again. “Sorry about that, sir,” he said with a nod toward Pippin. “She’s heard too many stories about muggers in the park.”
Pippin looked vastly relieved. “No problem, sir,” he said. “But the park’s changed a lot in the past twenty years. In daylight, you’re as safe here as you are anywhere else in the city.” Then he went on about his business, and I let out my pent-up breath in a sigh.
“I didn’t think he was a mugger, Frank,” Mom protested. “That boy had wings. Was he another one of those alternative lifestyle people, Katie?”
I didn’t know how to answer that. No matter what I said, one of my parents would think I was either crazy or a liar. How had I managed a whole year as a magical immune in this city before I had to face the truth, when Mom was getting so close in only one day? I supposed it was because she wasn’t even trying to be cool or fit in.
“You know what, Mom?” I said at last. “I learned a long time ago to give up figuring out every little weird thing in this city. It’s the only way to stay sane.”
Mom came over bright and early Thanksgiving morning to get the turkey in the oven. I was her trusty lieutenant for the cooking. Gemma and Marcia, who weren’t so adept in the kitchen, served as foot soldiers, helping clean up so we could keep cooking. Dad, who knew what was good for him, stayed out of the way.
Once the Macy’s parade was under way, Mom flitted back and forth from the kitchen to the living room, which wasn’t a huge distance. “Frank, can you believe we were just there yesterday?” she kept saying.
“Yes, Lois, we were there,” he always replied, with infinite patience.
After one of those bouts, she returned to the kitchen and said to Gemma, “Did Katie tell you what we saw in Times Square yesterday?”
“The naked guy with the guitar?”
“Well, yes, we did see that. But have you seen the people with wings?”
Gemma looked at me over the top of Mom’s head and mouthed, “Wings?”
“I think Times Square was a weirdness overdose,” I said. “It can be overwhelming.”
“There are some very strange people in this city,” Mom said.
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Gemma agreed. “You wouldn’t believe half the weird things I see on a daily basis. And New Yorkers don’t even look twice.”
The downstairs buzzer sounded and Marcia answered it. She returned to the kitchen and said, “Jeff’s here. He’s on his way up.”
Speaking of weird things, I thought. Jeff was magical, though Marcia didn’t know it, and he had a tendency to get magical pranks pulled on him. That was potential disaster around my mother. I managed to be nearest the front door when he got up to our apartment. “Hi, Jeff, good to see you,” I greeted him loudly, then whispered, “My mom’s an immune, so play it safe, okay?” His eyes widened, but he nodded. I brought him further into the apartment. “Dad, this is Jeff, Marcia’s boyfriend. Jeff, this is Frank Chandler, my dad.”
Dad stood to shake hands very properly, which took Jeff aback. “Oh, um, hi, good to meet you,” he said.
“And it’s nice to meet you,” Dad said. “Marcia goes way back with us. She’s like part of the family.” There was a stern warning underlying his friendly words. Jeff wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he nodded like he got the idea.
Philip came along next, and he was the one I was most worried about, for he really had spent decades as a frog. As a result, he was very old-fashioned and had an unhealthy fascination with flies.
I shouldn’t have worried, though. His archaic manners meant he fit right in with my parents, and there were no flies to be seen. He arrived with an armful of flowers—a bouquet each for Gemma and Mom. It didn’t take him long to get into Mom’s good graces. He handed her the bouquet with a courtly bow. “I must offer you my most sincere thanks for inviting me,” he said, then kissed her hand.