She finished her beer, left a sulky Myron, and went home, where she changed into black yoga pants and a fleece hoodie. When Dagne arrived a short time later, they laid out the Chinese food in the living room, lit a bunch of candles and a fire to keep the energy costs down, and sat on big floor pillows to dine on sweet and sour pork. It’s hard to do witchcraft on an empty stomach. By this point, of course, Rachel had lost all confidence and had convinced herself that Flynn had been put off by Myron at the very least.
As she told Dagne about it, Dagne’s chopsticks froze midway to her mouth, a piece of pork dangling precariously over the coffee table, and she remained that way, wide-eyed, until Rachel finished the story.
“Is that all?” Dagne asked.
Rachel nodded.
Dagne suddenly shot her arms straight up in the air, miraculously holding on to the pork, and gave a shout of triumph before popping the bite into her mouth. “This is fantastic!”
“I wish,” Rachel said, shaking her head. “But I think it’s over,” she said, staring into her container. “He thinks Myron and I are together.”
“Are you nuts? Remember our spells? Don’t you believe in anything?”
“I know this will come as a shock, Dagne, but I sort of have a hard time believing in witchcraft—even the good kind.”
“Oh, sure,” Dagne said, putting down her chopsticks with a thwack. “You can believe in astrology and parallel universes and past lives, but noooo, can’t believe in a little magic, can you?” She folded her arms, pouting. “Spirituality is so far out of the realm of possibility for you, isn’t it!”
“It’s not that I don’t believe in the possibility of this kind of . . . spirituality,” Rachel patiently tried to explain, “but I think it’s more likely that he got a good look at Ben and Jerry back here,” she said, patting her butt, “and Myron, and then wondered what drugs he was on.”
“Rachel, really,” Dagne said angrily, “why do you always have to put yourself down?”
“Hey! When it comes to guys, I know of what I speak.”
“Bullshit,” Dagne said low.
“Okay, let’s start with high school,” Rachel said, jabbing at Dagne in the air with her chopsticks. “Did I ever tell you that guys used to call me Miss Fortune? Get it? Lots of money, but what a misfortune that I was a chunky one. And then, when I was a senior, this gorgeous guy asked me out. I mean, he was hot and the most popular guy in school, and he was asking me, tubby drama student with frizzy hair, out on a date. And the first date was great—we went to a carnival. He won me a big teddy bear, and then took me home, does not kiss me good night, but casually asks if my sister Rebecca was home for the summer. You remember Bec? The beauty queen? Tall and thin and gorgeous and sleek hair? Then our second date, he comes over to pick me up, and didn’t even get past the gate before he was asking if Rebecca was there. Well, long story short, the guy was only interested in Rebecca, and he was using me to get to her. And that, Dagne, was just the beginning of a long line of complete disasters.”
Even though it had been fifteen years, it still stung like hell.
“What has that got to do with Flynn?” Dagne demanded.
“Everything,” Rachel said. “The point is, guys like him are usually after something else, like, say, my sister. And even if you argue that’s not the deal with Flynn, then I will argue that the situation is actually even worse, because now he thinks Myron is my boyfriend.”
“He used to be,” Dagne pointed out.
“Not helpful, Dagne! Are you ever going to let me forget that serious lapse in judgment?”
“No,” Dagne said immediately. “So anyway, what if Flynn thinks Myron the leech is your boyfriend? You’ll set the record straight. And listen, everyone had a bad experience or two in high school. Are you going to let that guide the rest of your life? Jesus, George Steinbrenner talked me into taking off my shirt in front of the entire football team, and I did it, but do you think I sit around moping about it now?”
The moment the words were out of Dagne’s mouth, she made a tiny gasp of surprise, and she and Rachel sat there, staring at each other, until an unspoken agreement passed that they would leave that admission for another time.
“Not that George Steinbrenner,” Dagne hastily clarified, and picked up her chopsticks. “All I’m saying is that you need to have a little faith. Lookit, I did a spell on Glenn and he called. I did a couple of spells on you and you got a job and you’ve got a cool guy interested in you, so—”
“Glenn called you?” Rachel interrupted, dumbfounded. “I thought you didn’t like Glenn.”
Dagne shrugged. “I was practicing. So come on, just try believing for a week and I promise, Flynn will find you again, and he will be interested in you, and he will not be afraid of your enormous butt or of Myron.”
Rachel laughed. “Okay,” she said, “I am willing to concede something witchcrafty may be going on here. But need I remind you that not all your spells are working? The weight-loss spell doesn’t work for shit, thank you, and I don’t have a real job yet.”
“I never said a real job,” Dagne said cheerfully.
“So . . . if I believe . . . do you think? I mean, is it possible . . .” Rachel stopped there, couldn’t believe such ludicrous thoughts were about to turn into words and come out of her mouth.