Flash Fiction Magic: March 17 "Croissants & Second Chances"

This flash fiction prompt came from Emily Barnett, on Instagram @embarnettauthor.

Rose knew the human couple hurrying to keep up with her would have all sorts of emotional ideas about how this reunion was going to go. They were probably picturing Rose throwing herself at Thornard, Rose bawling her eyes out, Rose apologizing profusely for disappearing for twenty years.

She would not apologize.

It was not her fault she’d been gone for 20 years.

In any case, these humans would miss the entire scene they were surely dying to witness if they couldn’t keep up. Rose had to resist a niggling urge to look back at them every few steps. Goodness, humans were slow! She hadn’t necessarily forgotten, but… when one passes time with magical creatures, one tends to take the speed at which said magical creatures move for granted.

Rose sighed. She didn’t know where Thornard was. She had an idea, but the part of her that was still full of hesitation and remorse needed them to show her, to guide her there. So she didn’t have to deal with the reunion alone.

So she didn’t have to deal with Thornard’s dumb human emotions alone.

Another thing she’d taken for granted… how shallow were the emotions of other magical creatures. Mature adult humans were blubbering babies compared to Fairies. And Vampires? They were practically dead. No emotions. Ever.

Since she’d just spent twenty years living with one, Rose was definitely out of practice.

Rose slowed her pace, putting on a kind and patient grin with undertones of hurry-the-heck-up, and gave in to the urge to turn around and tap her foot, her periwinkle dust cloud darker than usual.

Gertie seemed to sense Rose’s tension and tugged John forward, quickening their already demanding pace. “Mr. Mackelmoor’s house is right up there, Rose. The yellow one.”

Rose’s breath caught. He… hadn’t left.

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t want to be… what would you call it? Rude? For intruding. You two are his neighbors after all.”

The way Gertie raised her eyebrow reminded Rose that despite their confusing emotions and strange body language, humans were adept at understanding the nuances of verbal communication.

The couple caught up to her, and Rose made an enormous effort to slow down.

“Miss Rose,” John panted, “Mr. Mackelmoor said you caught Kuijer in the early naughties. How did you do it?”

“He said I caught that nasty ogre?” Rose wrinkled her nose. “Well, Thorn always liked to tell a tall tale.”

John’s expression shifted to confusion, but Rose barely noticed it because at that moment they arrived at the one and only house on Hansel Street with daffodil yellow siding and ochre shingles. The front door had been painted recently enough that there were no more chips, and someone had replaced the old blinds with sunflower patterned curtains,

A saltwater cloud seemed to open above Rose because suddenly, she felt a stream of hot salty water dripping down her face. She felt a hand on her arm, and heard Gertie’s gentle and firm voice tell John to go knock on the door.

Every cell in her body told her to run. She shouldn’t be there. Shouldn’t be standing in front of that beautiful yellow house with its burned butter shingles.

Shouldn’t be expecting an apology.

Her skin prickled and her stomach tried incredibly hard to tug her backwards, but her heart… her heart pulled everything back together. Her heart whispered, “stay,” and so, she did.

Smart Fairies knew to trust their hearts, even when everything else felt wrong.

John grinned back at her, his hands folded behind his back, rocking from his toes to his heels as though waiting for a child to open a Christmas present.

Rose sniffed. Croissant. Raspberry jam. And… yes, of course. Powdered sugar. Leave it to Thornard to humanize the perfect Unicornish pastry.

Then Thornard was standing at the threshold, one hand on a hooked chrome cane, the other wiping his fingers on his shiny gray tracksuit. His tongue darted out, collecting crumbs from the stubbles around his mouth.

“John! This is a surprise. I was just having a morning snack. My favorite…”

Thornard’s voice trailed as he turned his gnarled, aging face from John to the two women standing at the bottom of the steps. Then all of his movements froze as though stuck in place by a suspension spell.

Rose rolled her eyes. “Are you happy to see me or not?”

After an excruciatingly long pause, during which a thousand questions raced through Rose’s mind (along with at least one realization that fairies weren’t so emotionally stunted as she had always believed), Thornard finally spoke. No, he didn’t speak. He shouted.

“Where the hell have you been!”

The chrome cane clattered to the floor, and John quickly moved under his neighbor’s shoulder to assist his rush down the stairs.

“I think the better question is, how come you never came looking for me?” Rose seethed.

Thornard’s face fell. He was inches from her, his arm outstretched to balance on John’s shoulder and push him a pace away. John averted his eyes. Maybe these spectacles were not so entertaining to humans after all.

“I thought…” Thornard shook his head. “I thought you were dead, Rose. They told me. After. He bit you and flew away. I just assumed…”

“Assumed, like you always do, that I was done for?”

“I’ve missed you,” he said, his voice gentle, hopeful. “I’m sorry.”

That was it. The apology she wanted. She couldn’t be mad anymore. Rose let a small smile curve the sides of her mouth. “I’ve missed you, too… Thorn At My Side.”

Thornard released John and took Rose’s pale, smooth hands in his own gnarled, and shaking. They gazed at each other in silent communication until Gertie whispered, “John, why don’t we go home and let these two catch up?”

“There’s no reason to leave, neighbors. Besides” Thornard’s eyes were full of tears, and his voice shook. “I’ve never told you the story of how I convinced Rose Windgraven to give me another chance by painting our house her favorite color.”