The Sweetest Kind of Fate

by Crystal Cestari

  Bob comes to, shaking his head like a dog stuck in mud. His shoes crunch glass, and he looks at me with guilt. “I guess it didn’t work?” he asks.

  “It’s not your fault.” I shrug as Mom storms back into her office. The way she whips the curtain behind her is the clearest “do not disturb” sign I’ve ever seen. Bob cringes like he’s been given a lashing. “Don’t worry about her,” I add. “The spell messed up, not you.”

  He lumbers to the back room, returning with a broom and trash can. Carefully, we start piecing the store back together, being mindful not to touch any of the liquids with bare skin. “I just want to help her,” he says, the words laced with sadness.

  “Well, Mom’s done a lot for you, so that makes sense.”

  He shakes his head. “Not your mom. I mean, yeah, I want to help her too, but I was talking about the girl.”

  I stop midsweep. “You mean Iris?”

  “Yeah.” He scoops up an entire display case of tiger’s eye stones in one meaty paw.

  “You don’t even know her.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” The stones drop back in their wooden bowl, plinking as they pile on. “I know Victoria.”

  I almost drop the broom. “You do?”

  He looks up at me, surprised. “Yeah,” he confirms, like this isn’t a big reveal. “How did you think your mom and I met?”

  I run my fingers through my hair, literally scratching through a decade of memories and references to Mom and Bob’s relationship. Did I know how they met? I remember when she first brought him around. I wasn’t even working at Windy City yet, but I spent enough time here to be well aware of the minutiae. At that time, we had another employee, Carol, who was obsessed with charm bracelets. I never understood how a witch could allow herself to wear such loud accessories. Didn’t she ever need to sneak up on people? Of course, I was obsessed with sneaking up on her and stealing the charms one by one, so that’s where my seven-year-old head was at.

  The first time I saw Bob, he was a snarling, writhing, and frankly frightening version of himself. Today, he can still scare small children just by giving a polite wave, but back then, his presence would have melted their skin. There were times when he’d completely freak out, trying so hard to fight a craving, he’d actually roar with yearning. Hair standing on end, eyes perpetually bloodshot: whatever coursed through his veins was wicked, and the withdrawal process was brutal. Mom didn’t let me around him much during his junkie detox stage, saying she’d found him running with a “bad crowd” and felt he needed a positive environment. I guess I never really pressed for details on what that meant.

  “Were you…friends with her?” I ask, trying to conceal my burning desire for details. This whole time I had a treasure trove of information right in front of me, stroking a damn rabbit’s foot.

  “Yeah, we both were: your mom and me.” He frowns. “Though I don’t know how friendly that time was.” His eyes start to glaze over, so I need to be careful not to lose him.

  “Tell me how Mom found you.”

  He sniffs, rubbing his nose against his bare forearm. “I don’t remember how, exactly. I’d been hanging around Victoria for a while, though, doing…bad things.”

  “You don’t have to tell me about your, um, extracurricular activities,” I say (although I’m desperate to know). “But I’m confused; I thought my mom had stopped talking to Victoria, like, before I was born.” Based on Mom’s grimoire timeline, it seemed like the two parted ways around my parents’ wedding.

  Bob shrugs. “Not sure. But Victoria talked about your mom all the time, telling me I could be one of the greats, like how Lucille Sand could’ve been.”

  “Excuse me, could have?”

  He throws his hands up as if under interrogation. “Not my words! It’s just something she said a lot.”

  I shouldn’t be surprised—Victoria has made her feelings known about Mom’s “squandered potential” multiple times—but I figured those were insults reserved for in-person assaults. I didn’t realize she was slandering Mom’s name across the supernatural community.

  “And how was she ‘guiding’ you to be better than Mom? Forcing you to sacrifice kittens and drink the blood of the innocent?”

  Bob grimaces.

  “Oh Gods! I was kidding!” I exclaim.

  “But your mom saved me from all that. She is a good witch, and a good person.” He scratches the back of his neck, forehead creased in worry. “And I bet Iris is a good person too. I don’t want her falling into what I did…into what Victoria can do.”

  I sit back at my matchmaking table, letting everything absorb. The more I learn about Victoria, the more it’s hard to picture her being a part of my mom’s life. “I can’t believe Mom was friends with someone like that,” I find myself saying aloud.

  “They weren’t just friends,” Bob says, heading toward the back with a garbage bag slung over his shoulder. “They were best friends.”

  No. No, that’s too much. BEST friends? Best friends take companionship to a whole new level. Best friends create an understanding found nowhere else. They rely on each other, offering support and backup without being asked—no need for justification. They crave each other’s company, knowing that when they’re together, it will always be fun even if they’re not doing anything at all. They see the world from the same filter, even if the individual perspectives differ. Amani and I are best friends. We share everything. There’s no way Mom and Victoria could’ve had a friendship like that.

  Amani. I need to talk to my best friend.

  “WELCOME to the madness! Please watch your step,” Mrs. Sharma says, ushering me inside her home. She has two paper airplanes lodged firmly in her loose waves, and behind her, a primal shriek, the kind only a small boy is capable of, wails through the house. She grips the door as if it could help propel her into the night, far away from the catastrophe building in the background, yet she smiles with acceptance of her fate.

  Several more airplanes fly overhead, and I spot the boys crouching behind the couch. They have a small forest of aircraft ready to launch.

  “I’m Swiss!” I call out, waving my hands above my head. “Hold your fire!” The boys giggle as I dash up the stairs. I didn’t tell Amani I was stopping by. Hopefully she doesn’t kick me out.

  I knock on her closed door, admiring her collection of “Keep Out!” signs. I’m surprised her parents haven’t allowed her a lock, in light of the battle zone below.

  “Go away!” answers Amani’s muffled voice. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

  “It’s Amber,” I reply through the doorjamb.

  She hesitates, then says, “Come in.”

  I slip inside, shutting the door behind me. The volume level drops several decibels, and it feels like stepping onto another planet, not just into another part of the house. Amani is curled up on her bed, cocooned in a blanket with her laptop perched on her knees. She could easily be a prisoner of war, rather than a high school student working on English homework.

  I stand on the edge of her pink shag rug, not knowing where to place myself. Sitting next to her on the bed would be my normal move, but it seems too forward at the moment. Yet sitting at her desk would be completely unnatural since not even Amani sits there. I stand awkwardly, realizing I should have brought some sort of edible peace offering, so at the very least I’d have something to do with my hands.

  Amani, knowing full well I tend to be crap in these kinds of situations, usually takes the lead, but today she sits in silence, fingers on the keyboard but eyes on me. I came over because I needed her, but I need to give her what she needs first.

  “How’s life?” I ask, feeling stupid as soon as the words leave my lips. How’s life? Great opening, Amber.

  “Life is life,” she says coolly.

  “Right. Cool.” I seriously consider throwing myself out the window, but then the words tumble out first. “Only no, not cool. My life has been crap. It’s only been a few days without us talking, and everything feels like ga
rbage. I miss you so much, and it’s all my fault. I’ve been a complete selfish baby when it comes to Kim; of course the two of you are friends. I guess I was so wrapped up in my own head, I didn’t realize she had become important to you.”

  Amani closes her laptop. “Amber—”

  “No, I’m not finished yet. I feel like I’m broken. Like I can’t get anything right. I’ve been so used to trusting what was happening inside my head, I stopped looking at what’s happening before my eyes. Clearly, I need to put less weight on my matchmaking, because who knows if it’s even accurate anymore? Iris is matched with Brooke, and now she’s sitting like a lump of mashed potatoes because of it. You are matched with Vincent, and yet he makes your skin crawl.”

  “Amber—”

  “Please let me finish.”

  “NO!” she blurts, pounding a fist into her pillow. “I have to tell you something.”

  I stop short, unsure of what this revelation could bring. That I’ve been replaced, my short absence resulting in Kim being named as the official Best Friend? That I was right all along, and now Kim and Charlie have fallen madly in love? I cringe, as either is definitely an end-of-the-world scenario.

  “I…went on a date, with Vincent,” she says, choosing her words carefully as if she doesn’t quite believe them herself. She winces, mouth curling up in a question, and I can’t tell if she’s about to burst into tears or song. “It was an accident, actually.”

  I snort unintentionally. “Um, how do you accidentally go on a date with someone?”

  She relaxes, exhaling a small laugh. “Well, it takes skill. Definitely an advanced move.”

  I’m stunned. This is not at all what I was expecting. “How? How did it happen?”

  “I went by the Black Phoenix, hoping to catch you. Vincent met me at the door, and said you weren’t there, but we got to talking…then somehow, we ended up in a booth, drinking lattes. The place was closed, so it was just us, sitting in the dark with a few tea lights.” A faint smile blossoms. “With no one else around, he seemed to mellow a bit, you know? Not so flashy-flashy and over the top. He talked to me like a real person.”

  I can’t believe it. I mean, I should believe it; I’ve been envisioning it for years. But Amani’s first reaction to him was filled with such disgust, I thought she’d never recover. To hear her recall time spent with Vincent in a positive light is shocking.

  “That’s awesome,” I say, tempering my enthusiasm so it doesn’t come off like an “I told you so.” “Do you think…you’ll go out with him again?”

  She shakes her head, but the sunshine remains. “I don’t know. I haven’t really processed it yet.” Her glance falls downward, long waves concealing her face. “I didn’t have anyone to talk to.”

  I approach carefully, choosing my steps as if anyone could set off a land mine. I sit down before her and pick my words with the same precision.

  “What about Kim? She seems like she’d be really good at this stuff.”

  “Yeah,” Amani says, “but it’s not the same. She doesn’t have the backstory, and it’s too exhausting to explain it. It’s better to talk to someone who just knows and doesn’t require footnotes.”

  Our eyes lock, and I instantly feel like I’m going to start crying. Not because Amani and Vincent are taking a moonlit stroll through my head (they are), but I’m so relieved she’s missed me just as much as I’ve missed her. I don’t deserve it—I’ve legit been the worst—but I still welcome it, praising the Gods I haven’t lost my true soul mate.

  “I know exactly what you mean,” I say. My head is so crammed with the events of the past few days, there’s barely room for normal brain function. “If I didn’t say it before, I am really sorry.”

  “I know.”

  “You are my best friend, and I cannot take you for granted.”

  She nods and reaches out for me. I lunge forward, practically suffocating her in a ferocious hug. It feels so good to be reunited with this magical girl, I may never let go.

  “So,” I start, my arms still squeezing her rib cage. “Did he kiss you?”

  Amani delivers more details of the date (no kiss, but there was a friendly hug) and how Vincent’s texted her a few times. She asks me what I’ve been up to, and I unleash a tidal wave of emotions, going on about Marcus’s poem, Iris’s tunnel trip, my school interview, and Mom’s true relationship with Victoria. It feels like I’m talking for hours, but Amani lets it all sink in, and we slip right back into our usual rhythm. In retelling everything that’s happened, it reinforces how lost I’ve felt without her, and I know I can never survive this life if I don’t have Amani.

  “Yikes,” she says, leaning back in her pillows. “So how is Ivy? I’m surprised she hasn’t murdered you.”

  “She can’t.” I shrug. “She’s powerless now. And besides, she needs the Sands more than ever.”

  “How many days until the full moon?”

  “Seven.”

  She looks off at the corner of her room, and I’m hopeful she’s having a vision. Any insight into Iris’s fate would be a huge advantage right now. But nothing comes to light.

  “I should tell you,” she starts, bunching up a wad of blanket in her fist. “I did tell Kim about Charlie being her match, and that it’s why you’ve been screwy toward her.”

  Whoa. “WHAT?!” I blurt out, but then catch myself, trying to maintain Zen. “What did she say?”

  “I think she was weirded out at first; she didn’t know how to handle being responsible for a breakup while being an innocent bystander. But she did understand how hard it must have been for you.”

  I don’t want this circling back to the “poor, tortured Amber” mentality that got me here in the first place, so I spin it back around. “Is everything okay, though? You two are still friends?”

  “Oh, it’s fine. She asked if she should call you, but I told her to chill. And that it probably wouldn’t matter what she said to you anyway: your matchmaking visions are your truth.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re not wrong.” Although, I really wish she was. A sinking feeling worms its way into my heart, dragging down the elation of the moment. There was a small part of me hoping maybe my matchmaking was cracked, and I shouldn’t rely so heavily on what I see. Knowing my match for Amani was way off base gave me a small trickle of promise toward love inconsistencies. Even though it goes against what I’ve practiced and preached since I was seven years old, I was beginning to think maybe my visions were thoughtful suggestions, a peek into what could happen, not what 100 percent would. But if Amani is turning a corner toward Vincent, it just reconfirms what I already knew: there is one match, and only one match, for everyone. This means Kim and Charlie probably aren’t far behind. I’d be fooling myself to think otherwise.

  “Did she, um, happen to mention that Charlie kissed her?” I ask.

  “Wait, what?” Amani shoots up. “When?”

  “I’m not sure. I just know that he did. He…told me.”

  Amani shakes her head in disbelief. “I don’t believe this. C’mon, Charlie! Why would he do that?”

  I shrug, though it’s a much more casual gesture than the situation requires. “He said he was trying to prove me wrong.”

  She slouches back in her pillow, frowning. “Boys are so dumb. That makes no sense. This had to have just happened, and, not that I’m trying to lead the Kim parade or anything, but I can’t imagine she actively participated in the kiss. I mean, when I told her about Charlie being her match, she genuinely didn’t get it. She started rambling off reasons why he’d never be her type: too many tattoos, not athletic enough. She thinks it’s funny you picture them together,” she adds, certainly sensing my shift in demeanor. “She can’t see it.”

  Right. Until one day she does—just like Amani now sees Vincent, once an object of her disgust, in a whole new way. The day will come when Charlie says or does something so hilarious or adorable, Kim won’t believe she’s ever let such a precious creature out of her sight. When he turns to h
er and suddenly he’s the only person on the planet.

  When she sees him like I do.

  AT lunch the next day, with Amani joyfully beside me, I decide I need to hear Kim’s side of the story on this kiss. If she truly doesn’t like him, if it was truly some disgusting plot point in her life, she shouldn’t mind telling me, right? And I should just be strong and listen to her actual words, instead of spinning them into the Kim-Charlie fairy tale I’ve been writing in my head, right?

  I get to the cafeteria as early as possible, choosing a table right near the exit, in the event that I suddenly have to bail. I also make sure there’s no cutlery within reach, in case I go into a blind rage. Safety first, friends.

  I spot Kim walking in, searching the room for a friendly face. When she spots me with Amani, she does a quick double take, which then melts into a genuine smile. She starts bounding over like a puppy excited that her owner’s come home, and Amani dangles an oatmeal chocolate-chip cookie in front of me like a sugar-covered carrot (a store-bought cookie, not from this cafeteria, because she loves me) and gives me a thumbs-up of encouragement. “You got this, champ.”

  “Thanks, Coach.”

  “Amber!” Kim says excitedly, setting her tray down across from me. “You’re sitting with us today?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say, looking at her directly, being bold (for once) and not avoiding her eye. I prepare myself to see Charlie, only…he’s not there. In fact, nothing is. A fuzzy crackle plays before me, showing me nothing of Kim’s love life except static. It’s just like what I saw (or didn’t see) with Charlie the other day, a visual disconnect. I lean in closer, really trying to get in there, but the blur continues, leaving me with nothing.