Chapter 189 B4. 3.2 – Not So Sweet Cake

“That’s so beautiful, Mom. I first thought it was jewelry. Thank you so much.” The dutiful daughter was always grateful. I took the sparkling keychain from Mom’s hands. It felt heavier than it looked, and definitely wasn’t cheap plastic. Hardened glass or something? I wasn’t the most careful of people and would hate to break this awesome gift. “Glass slipper… From Cinderella’s story?”

“I know you like that fairy tale,” Mom said, “because of the horrid part where Cinderella’s stepsisters cut off portions of their feet to fit into the glass slipper.”

I exaggerated my frown. “Mom, don’t make it sound like I’m some psycho into mutilation.”

I super hated it whenever Mom brought up my past. It interfered with the faces I wore at present. This was similar to the problem I wanted to avoid with Rule #17. And mothers just couldn’t help sharing stuff about their kid, especially the disturbing bits.

Really for the best that Mom returned to Europe.

“I enjoyed that part because the evil stepsisters got their comeuppance,” I said. Comeuppance. A funny-sounding word that I managed to weave into my sentence. It was a good day. “Though I can’t really say it’s their comeuppance because they did it to themselves. There’s probably a lesson there somewhere that we have a part in our bad outcomes.”

I was very familiar with that lesson because a lot of shit that had happened to me was due to my actions. But they were unintended consequences. I firmly believed that the universe was intent on fucking me over because of my incredible cuteness, and I wouldn’t take any other explanation or accountability. 

“Cinderella?” Deen tilted her head. “I’ve heard that story when I visited a newly-opened library several years ago. They had a scheduled reading for children as part of the opening programs. I haven’t experienced a story being read to me, so I listened in.”

I mentally groaned. No one cares about your sad backstory, Deen.

Mom glanced at me. She knew better than to bring up Deen’s upbringing. But Mom might act motherly to Deen because of this. It really was for the best that Mom was leaving.

“If I recall correctly,” Deen said, “Cinderella’s name was because her stepsisters tormented her, treating her like their lowly servant. After cleaning the house, Cinderella would sleep next to the fireplace for warmth, and the ashes would fall on her.”

“Meaning… Cinderella’s not her original name,” I said. “Huh. I realized it just now. Kind of weird that ‘Cinderella’ stuck with her even after she married the prince. Her original identity was erased. I don’t think the story mentioned her real name ever.”

“The story I’ve heard also didn’t mention any mutilation.”

“No way they’re going to put that in the version read to children today. Like, think of the complaints from the parents. Things were much wilder back in medieval times or whatever.”

“But I remembered about this glass slipper.” Deen took the keychain out of my hand. She held it up to the light. “It was part of Cinderella’s new outfit, magically gifted by her fairy godmother. She was going to attend a ball held by the prince.”

“Imagine dancing in glass slippers,” I said, hooking my finger into the metal circle end of the keychain and fishing it out of Deen’s hands. Irksome me that she took this without asking. “Slippery slippers.”

“A small movie studio made a child-friendly version of Cinderella around sixty years ago,” Mom said. “The company was called Disney, if I’m not mistaken. It was their last-ditch effort to save their failing studio, which did eventually fail. Very unfortunate.”

I snapped my fingers. “Ah, I remembered watching that. They also made a Pinocchio movie, and other stuff.”

“How I wished we had watched them together when we were kids, Erind,” Deen said. “It must’ve been fun sleeping over at a friend’s house. Maybe we can do it now? Is it possible to find copies of Disney movies?”

“Will probably be difficult,” I lied, shooting Mom a glare. I just knew that Mom would offer to host movie nights with Deen when Mom returned to the country.

“But I can’t stomach mutilation,” Deen said, making a face. “I’m not one for gore,” added the girl who had seen more blood and death than the average person.

“It’s a children’s cartoon movie, dear,” said Mom. “None of that nastiness. Erind, how did you come to know of the older version? Oh, right. I told you that the original stories were darker and more brutal to scare children into following their parents.”

“And then, I researched it,” I added.

“A morbid curiosity you had as a kid,” Mom said. “You never really grew out of it, did you? Watching true crime documentaries ended up as our bonding moment when your father was gone.”

I should prevent the conversation from turning to dad. I didn’t want any sob story or emotional shit. It’d ruin my appetite, whatever pitiful appetite I had for this olive oil cake. “It’s not morbid curiosity, Mom. Just thought it was funny that people in the olden days taught their kids moral lessons with gore and horror. What was the moral lesson of Cinderella’s story anyway?”

“Be good to others?” Mom suggested before she ate the cake. “This is really good. They must’ve used high-quality olive oil.”

“I think it’s more substantial than a generic ‘be good’ lesson,” Deen said. “What about, ‘it’s more beautiful to be good than actual beauty. The fairy godmother rewarded Cinderella’s kindness.”

“Actual beauty is actual beauty.” I pointed my tiny fork at Deen. “You should know that. No one really cares if Cinderella’s good or bad, just that she’s beautiful.”

“Are you saying that I have no substance?” Deen lightly kicked me under the table. “I’m not—”

“Relax, Deen. You’re a… good person,” I said, pausing for a moment, recalling the times she definitely wasn’t. Deen had a flexible morality. Everything was good if it favored her; bad, if otherwise. A very privileged way of thinking. “I’m saying that Cinderella’s story came down to beauty in the end. No way the prince would’ve noticed Cinderella at the ball in her dirty clothes. Actually, she wouldn’t have been allowed inside.”

Deen shrugged. “I suppose you’re right…” From her tone, I knew she wanted to drop the topic. She always bristled when it came to beauty privilege.

But I wasn’t done. “And even if Cinderella was dressed up all nice but wasn’t beautiful, the prince would’ve ignored her. Actual beauty is actual beauty.”

“I’ve heard this before.” Mom covered her mouth as she chuckled. We’ve had this discussion many times when I was a kid, when Rule #13 came into effect, preventing me from arguing with her. “Point taken, dear. It’s human to judge appearances.”

“Fairy tales reflect life, Mrs. Hartwell,” Deen said. Such a suck-up.  

“Perhaps a lesson from Cinderella applicable to real life is the prevalence of luck,” Mom said. “Cinderella was very lucky to have a fairy godmother who gave her a magical makeover. Conversely, she was extremely unlucky that her father remarried an evil woman. A large percentage of our lives is up to luck, more than people would care to admit.”

“Luck makes the world go round,” I said. “Like, I’m very unlucky I was present during the Adumbrae attack. But I was also super lucky that I survived.”

I could name more examples. Last night had several—I was unlucky that the four-armed BID agent came along with Tower Cop, but also lucky that Four Arms stopped the Corebrings from taking my disguised self to be examined. Continuing this train of thought, I should make sure to survive the unlucky parts of my life until luck returned.

But if life had unlucky and lucky bits, then they essentially cancelled each other. Fortune was an illusion. Stuff just happened, and I should be ready to adapt. This might be the most mature thought I’ve had in a while.

“That’s right, dear,” Mom said. “Don’t tempt luck again. Be very careful while you’re in this city. It’ll be great if you can leave today. I’ll be at ease in Europe knowing that you’ve transferred to Vegas.”

“We’ll decide later,” I said, nodding at Deen. “Hopefully, there are no Adumbrae in Vegas,” I added with a slight smirk.

Deen flashed me a glare. If we had Pino’s link to mentally communicate, Deen would be scolding me.

“The Las Vegas police have the most advanced law enforcement ComExo units in the country,” Mom said. “Rightfully so, given the Greaves headquarters is in their city. Massive tax cuts in return for donating some units, a deal they’d take any day.”

“What other benefits does Greaves Corporation receive for being headquartered in Las Vegas?” Deen asked as part of her plan to endear herself to Mom and replace me. No way Deen really cared about Greaves.

Tuning out the boring topic, I stared at the glass slipper keychain.

Glass. With the power to disguise…

Just like my third mask’s transformation.

This wasn’t just a coincidence. I had a keychain of the granny wolf from the Little Red Riding Hood story—my first mask was Blanchette. Deen gave me a Pinocchio keychain, more specifically, the head of the puppet with the pointed nose. Pino was my second mask. Then there was this glass slipper keychain now.

This wasn’t a simple coincidence. Something was going on, and I didn’t know what. And maybe I shouldn’t care because I couldn’t control it. Just going back to luck making the world go around. The universe could do whatever it wanted, and I’d be here, doing my best to survive and have fun. Not sure which of the two I prioritized more.

I managed to finish the olive oil cake. Since it wasn’t super sweet, other aspects of the cake came to the top, like its lightness and mild flavor.

Still, I was an advocate of making everything overly sweet. No idea why I was like this. Maybe because sugar gave me happiness that I couldn’t normally experience doing normal human stuff? Sugar was my drug.

We finished our meal and headed to the airport, dropping Mom off at the entrance.

“Are you going to miss your mom?” Deen asked as we drove on a road weaving around the airport’s perimeter. Planes took off and landed to our right, beyond the embankment and linked fences.

“Of course…” I softly said.

Was that a lie? What did it mean to miss someone? I had to care about them first, right? I did care about Mom in a financial way. Beyond that, I suppose that I had fun interacting with her.

Did I want her around? Not really. Main characters always had dead or absentee parents, so they could do main character stuff without anyone checking in on them. But Mom, in small doses, was fine. So… I did miss her. Sometimes.

Or I had just gotten used to her. We were together for a couple of decades, after all.

“I miss your mom,” Deen said. “You’re very lucky to have her.”

“Yeah…”

“We can visit her in Europe someday. Someday… When we aren’t busy with law school and other matters.”

“Law school isn’t really our problem,” I said. “It’s the ‘other matters’ stuff. Now that Mom’s gone, it’s time to get down to business. What’s next on our plate?”

“Here.” Deen opened her palm. A crumpled yellow paper.

“A parking ticket?” I had seen Deen checking her windshield wipers after we left the café. “I thought we were in a parking spot?”

“Open it.”

Unfurling the paper, I found that it really was a parking ticket. A blank one except for the scribbled words on the meeting. ‘Meet at the pub today. 4 pm.’

“Auron,” I muttered.

Who else could it be? Auron wanted his USB drive back and was telling us to return to that British pub-themed restaurant that must be owned by a PCM member. This parking ticket was a message that the PCM was watching us.

“Three choices,” Deen said. “We can bring a fake USB made by Cecilia. Or we can attend the meeting but bring nothing. We'd better prepare a believable story.”

“They can’t do anything to us even if we have a bad story,” I said. “Maybe we can say that we left it inside the tunnels? Or some place cordoned off by the police?”

“Our last option is to leave the city now and wait for Auron to chase us. Your mom will be out of the country soon, so she’s safe.”

“Auron still believes we’re Adumbrae,” I said, noting that Deen didn’t mention her older sister, who’d be left in La Esperanza. Deen probably didn’t care if the PCM did something to her sister. “I don’t think the PCM will harm our families. But they can push through with their threat to expose us.”

“If we’re leaving La Esperanza, the PCM might think we’ve decided to forego our human lives. I also doubt they’re ready to push through with their threat.”

“I don’t think so, either.” I looked out the window, following an airplane becoming smaller and smaller in the distance. Then I turned to Deen. “The threat of nukes works if it’s not used. Once the PCM exposes us, then nothing’s stopping us from hunting them down. They threatened us so that we wouldn’t make the first move.”

“We hold more cards than initially thought.” Deen gave me a sidelong glance.

We both burst out laughing, tickled by the silliness of the situation. Two gal pals scheming about this kind of stuff? Someone could change our voice lines with a dialogue about breakups and got guys, and it’d fit more.

“What do you think, Erind?” Deen asked. “It’s your call.”

“Wow, you’re letting me be in charge? Hmmm… I think we should leave the city without meeting Auron—this will buy us the most time while we’re also moving to Vegas. But we shouldn’t make it too obvious. And we have to talk to Myra and Kelsey first.”