Chapter One
16 years later
“Nuria! We’re going to be late! Where are you?” I can faintly hear the call of my mother through the forest that is our extended backyard. We live on a cul-de-sac that backs onto the state forest, the last whisper of civilization before the deep Wildwood Forest and the Easthelm Mountains beyond. She wants me to join her and my sister, Marissa, for this ridiculous luncheon with the other wives and daughters of the town council. It’s all frills and puff. The hot topic being the new landscaper in town who has come equipped with all the latest technology in lawn maintenance, and the innovative genius of the council’s decision to dig into the water basin to fortify our water supply in the ever growing drought. After all, Easthelm is best known for its glistening green lawns and cookie-cutter homes, we need water to maintain those lawns, right? Even though we have the wildest backcountry just at our back door the town seems to ignore this and focuses on the “beautification” of our spaces. I see it more as conformity but, regrettably, I am mostly alone in this perception.
I have conveniently forgotten about the luncheon and am definitely too covered in mud for such “high society”. Earlier in the week I had stumbled upon the beginnings of the most perfect fairy circle ofMorchella esculentaI have ever seen and had to document it for my nearly finished guide to mushroom foraging before they withered. University is starting back up in a few weeks and I promised Mr. Bugg, my botany professor, I’d have this done for him to edit at the start of term. He was equally excited about the discovery of the fairy circle and was eagerly awaiting my paintings and observations. My adoptive family thinks I’m strange for making such a dear friend in a seventy year old plant enthusiast. I’d rather talk to him about the changing ecosystems than to my peers, who care more about finding the best paying jobs so they can get their own cookie-cutter homes.
“Nuriaaaaaa!” I cringe at the tone of shriek and I know this will hurt me more later on if I don’t haul ass back home now. I quickly pack up my paints and sketch pad and take one more appreciative look at the morels when, a sudden flash of a hand that is not my own reaching down to pick a mushroom sparks in my mind. I stagger back and try to blink away the image but instead, I am momentarily transported to a forest, much like this one, except the greens are much more vibrant and a faint humming sound fills the air. I look down to see the mushroom in my hand has some mud on it, and turn around to wash it off in the pond behind me.
Wait, there has never been a pond back here,I think to myself, looking down.
My reflection takes me by surprise. Upon closer inspection, I see a man, not much older than me, with a shock of red hair looking back. He blinks once, pupils dilating, then I am abruptly snapped back into my own body.
“What in the actual…”
“Nuriaaaaaa!” I’m interrupted by my mother’s shriek. I shake my head, staring at my now empty hand, before quickly hurrying back towards the house.
The scent of Mom’s scones tempts me from even this far away. As I walk through the back gate I can already see perfect little Marissa with her soft blonde curls and flowing lilac dress leaning against the back door, smirking in anticipation of the impending entertainment from the deep shit I am in for being so late. I shove past her and walk through the kitchen, swiping a scone as I pass through, towards the stairs, where my mother is standing, arms crossed, with an impatient high heeled foot tapping on the hardwood floor. Her white blonde hair is swept back in a painfully tight looking bun and her crisp, cream coloured power suit seems to recoil from my grubby appearance.
“I’m here, Mom. Sorry, I lost track of time,” I try to placate whilst shoveling the scone in my mouth. I had forgotten to eat breakfast in my excitement about the morels this morning.
My mother clicks her tongue at me. “We’re going to be late, and look at the state you are in! This is an important event darling and you’re an embarrassment.” I cringe at the use of the worddarling, knowing she is trying her best to not go ballistic on me. After all, she must stay demure and respectable. Delia, my adoptive mother, would never ‘lose her shit’.
“Maybe I should just stay behind. I don’t fit in there and you all know it,” I try to reason.
“Marissa, go help her fix all…this.” Delia gestures from my feet to my head in a little waving motion, ignoring my last statement.
“You just gestured to all of me,” I try to keep the dryness out of my tone.
“Precisely.” Marissa chimes in with a little giggle, “come on I’ve got something that might fit you,” she says with a deviouslook in her eye as she grabs onto my hand and drags me upstairs and into her room.
It always shocks me how different our rooms are. There are several posters of boy bands and her four poster bed looks as if it came straight out of a fairy tale, complete with draping white lace and twinkling lights. The light purple paint on the walls nearly matches the dress she is wearing and I can see more shades of purples and pinks scattered on her dressing table in the form of lipsticks, eye shadows and nail polishes. The mirror on the bureau is covered in polaroids of her and her many friends all smiling and hugging. The only things we both have in common in our rooms are our fencing epees and uniform.
As she is rummaging through her closet I take a quick look at myself in the mirror and grimace at the state my hair is in. At one point I was lying on the forest floor to better see the underside of the morels and must have picked up a few leaves and twigs in the process.
“Here it is!” She whips around holding an outfit that scares the shit out of me.
A few minutes later I emerge from her room in an impractically tight, high-waisted, minty green silk skirt with a matching off the shoulder cropped blouse with long sleeves that cinch at the wrists before flaring out again in a frill. I’m sure the skirt fits her much more loosely but my curves are making it hug me in an uncomfortably revealing way. I stomp down the stairs as Marissa trails behind me, still pinning my dark hair up with a big clip that matches the green of the clothes.
“Ah, lovely work Marissa. The green really brings out her eyes. Quickly now ladies, get in the car,” Mother says as she snaps her fingers at us.
“I can barely move in this. What if I need to run… or sit down?” I complain, already knowing it will get me nowhere.
“Ladies don’t run, my dear,” my mother responds while giving my back a little push out the door, towards the car.
“Shot gun!” Marissa quickly runs to the front seat and hops in before I can get there. I resist rolling my eyes. Already an instance where running was necessary…
As we drive towards the country club Marissa peers at me, over her shoulder. “Were you drawing those silly mushrooms again?”
“They aren’t silly and it’s for a university project that could bepublishedMar. The findings could be used in an affront to our local politicians, proving the rapid decline of the mycorrhizal populous of the forests! You’re too young to understand. You don’t even care about your high school studies.” I huff out a breath as I look out the tinted window at the suburban streets. In just a few minutes I’ve already counted five people spraying their lawns with a herbicide that has been the new popular way to keep weeds at bay and I can’t help but worry, thinking of what other creatures it might be poisoning.
“We can’t all be nerds like you, Nuria. I became captain of the fencing team a year before you did and at least I have friends my own age unlike someone…” Marissa quips back. In truth the only thing we have in common was our skill and passion for fencing.
Our father was a state champion back in his day and firmly believed fencing to be one of the oldest art forms of high society. He nurtured our passions at a young age by play fighting with us. Marissa would always be the princess and I her knight, fighting off our father, the evil king. She would often quickly forget the princess trope and join in the fight which would always end up with both of us piled on top of him in a tickle fight. This was back when he had time for such things. Now he rarely even makes it to our matches.
“Marissa, be nice. And Nuria, darling, please remember to not do that strange thing you do sometimes. It disturbs people,”Delia says casually, trying not to make a big thing out of the fact that I can occasionally guess what others are thinking and can’t help but say it out loud; especially when it’s something judgmental. It’s not as if I can actually hear their voices but rather, I get a feeling for what they are saying. It is almost like reading a book that flashes in my mind for a moment before disappearing again. Maybe I’ve just become good at reading people from spending my entire life as a wallflower. Some have said that they could have sworn they heard my voice in their heads though, which is a little harder to explain.
As we pull up and wait in the queue of cars for the valet I notice that Benji, my ex, is the one greeting cars. I let out a groan and sink low in the seat hoping he won’t see me.
