That is the story of you, Aurora: You are always waiting until tomorrow to be sad. You’re a fairy princess beaming at me, remaking the world in your image. Wiping away everything that hurts. But someday everything that hurts will come back and kill you. Your face, your wide dark eyes, your white hair, the skin I know as well as I know my own. “Okay,” I say. “For you, tonight, I will be happy.”
“See? It’s easier than you thought.”
“Aurora?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you stop hanging out with Minos?”
She goes still. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
“He told me he can take me to see my dad.”
“Aurora. Your dad is dead. Your dad’s been dead for fifteen years.”
“I know that,” she says. “But you know Minos isn’t like other people.”
“I know he’s a lot fucking creepier than other people.”
“You promised me you’d stop. You promised me now we wouldn’t talk about this.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not sorry.”
“No. Seriously, Aurora, come on. Your dad—”
“It’s easy for you,” she interrupts. “You live in a world that’s black and white. You’re so sure of everything all the time. What’s good. What’s bad. I’ve always envied you that, but sometimes it drives me nuts. I’m not like that. Nothing about my life is like that. Not even the color of my skin.” I’m crying again, and I don’t even know why. She splashes bathwater at me. “Look what you did. Knock it off. We’re happy.”
“We’re happy,” I agree. She tosses me the washcloth and I scrub the tears from my face.
“Listen,” she says. “There’s something else.”
“What.”
“I might go to LA for a while, too.”
“With Jack?”
“With Minos. I mean, yeah, Jack will be there. But I probably won’t even see him. Or not very much. I’ve never been, can you believe that? Minos thought it would be fun.”
“You and Jack. You’re both—”
“Babycakes. Come on. It’s not like that. This is me, okay?”
I know better now than to ask if I can come. “We’re happy,” I say. It takes all the will I have to keep my voice from shaking. Her smile lights up her whole face.
“I knew you wouldn’t care.” She flings her arms around me again. I bury my face in her shoulder so this time she can’t see me cry.
I start to put my clothes back on after we are done with our bath but Aurora takes them out of my hands. “No,” she says. Still naked, she disappears into her walk-in closet. I wait, listening to her mutter and crash around. “Here!” she shouts at last, triumphant, emerging with a handful of glitter and fabric that she thrusts at me. I hold it up, letting its full length hang, and shake my head. It’s like something made out of cobwebs—pale, nearly transparent silk, whisper-thin straps and plunging back, strung with glass beads that catch the lamplight and send it flying.
“No way,” I say. “This is not even enough fabric to qualify as a garment.”
“I wear it,” she says, indignant.
“An hour ago you were walking around in your underwear. Pick something else. Anyway, there’s no way this will fit me.”
“No,” she says. “It’s my birthday. My present is you in this dress. It’s big on me, it’ll fit you fine. Take your bra off, you can’t wear one with this thing.”
I roll my eyes and obey, holding up my arms so that Aurora can put the dress on me. It pours around me like water. It does fit, after all. Silk whispering against my skin. I try not to touch it. Without my jeans, my hoodie, I feel exposed, helpless. Aurora wears these fairy clothes like armor but on me they feel like a trap. She turns me around so that my back is to the mirror and holds up one hand. I wait while she scampers into the bathroom and comes back, wearing a kimono and with her hands full of tubes and compacts. “Sit on the bed,” she says, “so I can do your face.” I close my eyes as she daubs my skin with creams and powders, feeling the cool swoop of liquid liner across my eyelids, the whisk of a brush dusting color on my cheeks. When she stops I open my eyes again. Her face is inches from mine, her huge dark eyes studying me thoughtfully. Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss her. She smiles against my mouth, puts her hands on either side of my face. She tastes like gin and cigarettes and sugar. “I have to do your hair,” she says, her mouth still against mine.
“I love you. Happy birthday.”
“I know. Hold still.”
When she’s done she parades me in front of the mirror. She’s mussed my hair in an artful way. The dress clings and sparkles, and I cross my arms over my breasts. “I can’t wear this,” I say, horrified.
“You look beautiful.”
“I look naked.”
“Naked and beautiful. For me. You promised. Did you remember a mask?”
“No, but I remembered your present.”
I pull the banner from my bag and offer it to her. She tears away the paper and the canvas unspools across her floor. When she sees the painting she gasps and covers her mouth with her hands.
“Oh my god,” she says, “oh my god. This is me. You painted me.”
“Someday I’ll be able to afford a real present.”
“You idiot.” Her eyes are bright with tears. “How could I want anything other than this? It’s the best thing anyone’s ever given me.”
“Do you remember when your dad’s manager got you a pony?”
“Oh, god. That poor fucking thing. It’s in a pasture somewhere. Who gets a six-year-old a pony?”
“You did say you wanted one.”
“Everyone wants a pony when they’re six. That’s what’s wrong with me, you know? I’m the girl who
“Nobody’s getting married, Aurora.”
“God, you are so
I go and find one of the caterers while Aurora gets dressed, and get him to help me hang the banner. I’d thought to put grommets at the corners, and it only takes us a few minutes to secure it in place so that it hangs, waving gently, over the back porch. The sky is purpling. I lean against a pillar, careful not to dirty Aurora’s dress, and watch the caterers light tiki torches and mill about, pretending to look busy until the guests arrive. I want to tell them that no one here cares, that they can sit on the grass and drink cocktails if they want. But maybe that’s weird. I feel soft hands on my shoulders, and I turn around.
Aurora is wearing a loose, transparent dress made of something cream and gauzy, sewn all over with hundreds of sequins that catch the light and shatter it into a halo around her. Her feet are bare, and her white hair hangs in a sleek curtain down her back. She’s outlined her eyes so that they look even bigger, put on a mask of white feathers. She looks inhuman, like some half-bird, half-girl creature who’s crossed over to linger, dazzling, in the mortal world.
Jack is with her, and I wonder when he got here. Dark clothes to her bright, black hair to her white. They are so glorious I can barely look at them.
I am already drunk when Minos comes. Here in Aurora’s house, I think, surely we are safe. I can’t erase the image of Jack and Aurora together, Jack’s hand at Aurora’s waist. Jack leaving. Aurora knew. Who told her? Jack, or Minos? Who told her first? What are they keeping from me? I fill my cup until the edges of the world are fuzzy. Not Minos’s eldritch drink; Aurora’s perfectly normal vodka. Instead of erasing the world it makes everything worse. I lean on a wall, alone and maudlin in my magical dress. I know who wore it better. Putting pointe shoes
