xp_logs | The Curse of the Man-Thing! Rictor & Harriet Bromes

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Rictor "breaks up" with a girl he's not dating. Except she thinks they were.

Hope's words continued to echo in Rictor's head. Had he really been so oblivious to Harriet's intentions that not only had he led her on, but he had alienated Shatterstar while doing so? Star was a jealous friend, so of course Rictor had assumed that's all it was when Star pulled away while Rictor befriended a new person. But if Hope was right and it was something else . . .

One thing at a time. He pulled his mansion-borrowed car into a parking space at the coffee and crepe shop near Hordeculture that he and Harriet had been enjoying. (Ay, crepes. He should have known better than to take her there! Chocolate and whipped cream–filled pastries, no girl could resist!) He mentally fortified himself as he stepped out of the car and entered the cafe where she was already seated. With two mugs and a plate of caramel apple crepes in the middle of the table.

Shit.

"Rictor!" Harriet's face lit up as she looked up from her phone, alerted to his entry by the bells on the door. She waved him over. "I already ordered you your usual. It's on me today." Long blonde hair was pulled up into a ponytail and there was a glitter of eyeshadow on her lids- a presentation carefully curated for romantic intentions.

"That's . . . very generous, thank you." Had they been together so much that she had a "usual" for him? And she was wearing makeup, too? Now instead of Hope castigating him, he could hear her laughing her head off at how stupid and blind he was. He hesitated before taking his seat, and though he picked up the mug with his latte, beautifully decorated with a foam rose (oh God, has she asked the barista for that, too?), he didn't drink it. Just held it in his hands. "Uh, how was your day?"

She seemed to immediately sense the difference in vibe. "It was.. good. My dionaea muscipula is doing much better, thanks to your suggestions. You were right about there not being enough drainage in the soil mix." Taking a sip of her drink, Harriet asked, "How about you?"

I have suffered a humiliating tirade of taunting from a teenage girl from another dimension and now I am drowning in a sea of very confusing thoughts, so, not great!

Gracias a Dios Rictor's gift did not psychically broadcast that inner monologue, though maybe it would have been easier if a psi like Topaz could share his feelings for him. Words by themselves were prone to problems that real emotions were not.

"Traps can be very tricky," he said instead, clinging to a topic he could navigate. "They need a lot of water but you can't let them drown in their own waste. Have you seen the pitcher plant that Miss Opal is growing? It's beautiful."

"Ohmigosh yes! It’s so gorg. I’ve been begging for a cutting.” So far her pleading had been ineffective, but Harriet could be very persuasive. She would wear her down.

"She is very secretive with her personal projects. They all are, even Miss Augusta. You are going to have to fight her for whatever she finds out about your swamp lily!" Rictor's own bulb of that seemed to be growing just fine in the greenhouse under his and Clea's care. Not a vibrant bloom yet, but he was sure he would crack the secret eventually, even without Hordeculture's advice. That was his gift.

Talking to girls in any romantic capacity wasn't, and as soon as he snapped back to reality from this little botanical detour, his face reddened and he looked down at the mug in his hands again.

“Yeah…” Despite Rictor’s careful avoidance, she could tell something was up. He never seemed this… tense when they were together. “Hey, is everything like, good? You seem off today.”

And now his lack of caution with his emotions led him directly into a non-vegetative trap. He paused for a moment while he tried to assemble the words to properly and gently explain his feelings. In English. Not that this would be any easier in his mother tongue.

He cut off the edge of the crepe with his fork, trying to maintain a casual demeanor as he spoke. "I want to talk with you about something important. For us. But it's, uh, difficult to say."

“What do you mean?” Harriet paused with her mug halfway to her lips. That wasn’t what she expected him to say.

"I think . . ." How could he say this in a way that did not blame her? "I think I may have misled you." The words came out slowly, deliberately. He put down his fork, still holding the uneaten slice of crepe. "Are we on a date right now?"

The cup came down with a clatter. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

The noise caught the attention of a few nearby customers. Some of them turned back to their own business, but Rictor could see a couple people just pretending to care about their coffee when they were really interested in this drama. When he answered, he was quiet so as to not be overheard. "I . . . no? What? What's the joke?"

Harriet, on the other hand, only grew louder. Being friendzoned after weeks was so humiliating. “What the hell do you think we’ve been doing? Huh? I like you Rictor. A lot. I thought you felt the same way!”

"I like you, too," he protested, still keeping his voice low and trying to urge her to do the same as more eyes turned to them, now not even pretending they weren't eavesdropping. "Just as a friend. Not anything else. I'm sorry you misunderstood." Even as he said it, he realized that positing this as Harriet's mistake, and one that he should apologize for her on behalf, was the wrong thing to say.

Her eye twitched. “Misunderstood? Well no shit I guess!”

"I'm sorry!" As if his insistence of remorse meant anything. Sorry was not a magic word, and even so, after almost two years here, he had to admit that he was a pretty crappy magician. "Can you please speak more quietly and tell me what I can do to make it up to you?"

Standing up, Harriet said, “Don’t bother! Lose my number,” flipping the plate of crepes onto him as she did. She grabbed her bag and stormed out of the cafe, tears forming in her eyes.

Other than the hissing of the foam machines and the clattering of utensils, the cafe was silent, all eyes on Rictor and the caramel sauce dripping down his face. He sat still for a moment, stunned into dissociation, before his brain caught up again, the mental buffering complete. Grabbing a fistful of napkins from the dispenser, he cleaned himself up as best he could before standing. Still the center of attention in this little shop in this little town, he offered a weak chuckle at the patrons as if it were a joke they were all in on. "Women, right?"