Once Upon Stilettos

She might as well have stuck my mother with a hot poker. “You buy water? Why on earth would you do that? You can get it for free from the tap.” Mom shook her head. “I don’t know what the world is coming to. Buying water.”



Gemma took a can from the refrigerator. “Can I get you something to drink, Mrs. Chandler?”



“I don’t suppose you’ve got a Diet Dr Pepper in there?”



“You’re in luck. We Texas gals have a supply.” She handed a can to Mom.



I took a glass out of the cabinet and filled it from the tap. My mom smiled approvingly. “See, I knew you wouldn’t lose all your common sense when you moved up here,” she said.



I took a sip of the water and fought not to make a face. While I agreed with the practicality of not buying water, I could see Marcia and Gemma’s point. There was something off about the taste, probably the result of flowing through the ancient pipes in our building. I didn’t want to think about what we might be drinking in that water. Something must have gone wrong in the system because I didn’t remember it usually being that bad.



“Dad, can I get you anything?” I called to the living room.



“Just some coffee. Instant’s fine if nobody else wants any.”



It would set off a whole new discussion if anyone said that we usually got coffee at Starbucks, but fortunately Marcia, our resident coffee snob, was out. I found a jar of instant in the back of the cabinet—usually reserved only for dire emergencies—put on a kettle, and made him a cup.



“So what’s on your agenda for tomorrow?” Gemma asked.



“I want to go to Macy’s and I want to see Times Square,” Mom declared. “That’s the heart of New York.”



“You’ll want to go in the morning so you’ll miss the worst of the parade preparations,” Gemma said.



“Then, if it’s nice, I was thinking we could go to Central Park,” I suggested.



“I was hoping we could visit your office,” Dad said. I knew what he was up to. He wanted to see for himself if my boss was an honest businessman.



“I don’t think that’ll be possible,” I said. “We’re in the middle of a big project, so there’s a total security lockdown. I wouldn’t be able to get you in the building.”



“But we’re your parents,” Mom protested.



“Yeah, but if I can get you in, then everyone else’s parents have to be allowed in, and then where would we be? I can’t ask them to make an exception.”



That did the trick. “Oh, well, of course not,” she said. “We wouldn’t want to be any bother.” She was very big on not being a bother and not having anyone make exceptions for her.



All I could hope was that I could play that card the rest of the week.



The next morning, I met my parents at their hotel. They were geared up for a day of tourism, with cameras and guidebooks at the ready. “You don’t need the guidebooks,” I told them. “You’ve got me.” While I hadn’t run into much in the way of nonmagical mischief in my time in New York, being with two obvious out-of-towners might alter my odds. Anyone walking around with a guidebook was asking for trouble.



“You’re probably right,” Mom said. “We don’t want to look like tourists. See, I even dressed like a New Yorker. I hear they wear a lot of black.” She wore black slacks and a black turtleneck sweater under her overcoat. She actually would have fit in if she hadn’t been wearing white sneakers with that outfit. I chose not to say anything. It was better if she was comfortable, and I tried to convince myself that she could pass as a commuter.



Once they’d put the guidebooks back in their room, I herded my parents toward Union Square. “The market’s a lot bigger today,” Mom remarked when we reached the park. “Let’s see if that nice man who sold me the pumpkins is here again. I told him I had a single daughter he ought to meet.” Before I could stop her, she’d headed off into the market. I hurried to keep up with her. “Funny, I don’t see him here today. You’d think a pumpkin seller would be here on the day before Thanksgiving.”



That now familiar sick feeling hit my stomach again. She was right. Any normal vendor who sold pumpkins would have been at the market that day. But my mom shouldn’t have been able to see the magical market.



“Lois,” my dad said, an edge of warning in his voice. “You wanted to see Macy’s and Times Square.”



“Oh, right. I already have pumpkins, so we don’t have time for this. But Katie, make sure you look for him next time you’re at the market. I’m pretty sure he was single. And he lives on a farm. He’d be perfect for you.”