It Gets Even Better

by Isabela Oliveira

  Without her really noticing, she’d suddenly been twenty-two and had never been on a proper date. Then, she’d been twenty-four and had never been in a long-term relationship that had lasted longer than a few months. Even her mother, after her father had passed, had begun to wonder why Tasha hadn’t found anyone. Tasha cringed thinking about the awkward dates her mother had set for her over the years with sons of her friends, all nice Indian boys who reminded her mother of her father one way or another.

  Which was sweet, she supposed. Tasha had loved her father and missed him every day. And it’d been so hard to tell her mother that she’d felt nothing for any of those boys. She hadn’t had the heart to tell her that she’d never have those feelings for the kind of man her mother dreamed of her settling down with.

  Her father had always been the more conservative one, but Tasha just didn’t know how to tell her mother that, at twenty-seven, her most serious relationship had been with Chloe, a research assistant whose curiosity about Tasha had lasted six months before her frustration with a lack of proper romantic results forced her to give up the experiment.

  Tasha didn’t blame her. Not really. They’d only had sex, or really any kind of intense physical intimacy, a handful of times in the tail-end of those six months, and usually only when Chloe’s need had turned to desperation. Not the most intimate or romantic of settings. And definitely not something she could talk to her mother — or anyone, really — about.

  Tasha shook her head. She just didn’t understand. How did you go from strangers to soulmates after a few dates, or a few weeks, or even a few months? Shouldn’t it take more time, more effort, more… something, to truly know someone enough, to trust someone enough, to mate souls?

  She’d asked her mother that, once. Her mother had admitted that, when they’d been married, she hadn’t been sure if she loved Tasha’s father. They’d been so young; how could anyone be sure? But, day by day, year by year, their love had grown, filling the life they shared together.

  Tasha was sure her mother had meant that to be comforting. Maybe even inspiring or aspirational. But all Tasha could think was that her parents had been lucky in a way she wondered how many people, realistically, got to be. That kind of thing just didn’t happen to everyone, right?

  So, yeah, staring at Faere Trade’s white exterior, Tasha doubted the answer to her problems lay behind that door.

  But what other choice did she have? It was either this or give in to the secret fear that the kind of love she craved, the love she needed, just didn’t exist.

  And she wasn’t ready to give up hope yet. So, she pushed open the door and entered the cafe. Her heels clicked on the gleaming white tile floor as she walked past pale, varnished wood tables and white cushioned chairs. Happy-hour businessfolk and studious college students milled about, filling seats and sipping drinks. The walls were white too, covered with tasteful but bland black-and-white photos of the city. The whole room felt forgettable, bordering on boring.

  It would have felt like just another chain coffee shop, except for the pretty flute music lilting through the space. Tasha looked around the cafe and spotted Ro, seated on a stool at the lip of a small stage, the woman’s thin, pink lips pursed over an antique-looking pan flute, breathing life and song into the woodwind. For a moment, Tasha just studied her, from her pageboy hat pulled over her golden-brown curls, floppy and familiar from every photo she’d shared on the dating app, to her black-booted feet tapping in time to the song.

  Tasha knew that Ro loved music; it was all over her dating profile. But hearing her play was amazing. Ro threw herself into the melody, swaying with the song’s swell and flow. It was like hearing her soul.

  Somehow, it put Tasha a bit at ease, reminded her that she wasn’t just going on some date. She was meeting Ro, a musician she’d been talking to online for weeks now. A sci-fi fan with a wicked sense of humor and a similar outsider outlook on life as Tasha. They’d connected online, the correspondence flowing easily.

  Tasha hoped it would in person as well. She knew from experience that it didn’t always.

  At the end of the song, she took a deep breath and made her way to the stage. “Ro?”

  The woman looked up, her dark brown eyes bright with recognition. She smiled and hopped down off the stage in a graceful move. “Tasha.”

  With a nod, Tasha took Ro’s outstretched hand, before looking around again. “You know, I used to work not far from here and I never even knew this place existed.”

  Ro’s face flushed as she fiddled with her hat. “Well, it’s not easy to find unless you know where it is.” She coughed and led the way to a table in the back before pulling out a chair for Tasha. “Can I get you a drink?”

  Cafe date. Drink. Right. “Umm.” Tasha bit her lip and sat down. “Whatever you’re getting is fine.”

  When Ro came back, she was carrying a small tray with a lime-green teapot and two matching teacups resting on pretty saucers. She set the beautiful tea set on the bland, white table. “Do you mind if I pour?”

  Tasha shook her head. “Please.” More used to cardboard Starbucks cups, she was a little intimidated by the fancier ware.

  Without sitting down, Ro picked up the teapot and filled each cup with the delicious-smelling tea. Tasha reached for one of the cups, but the other woman held on to it. Tasha gave her a questioning glance before Ro sighed and sat down. “So, there’s something that I want to talk to you about before we go any further.”

  That didn’t sound good.

  But, Tasha had learned that it was best to just lay out all your limits and baggage at the start. So she nodded.

  Ro’s fingers tensed over the saucer for a moment before holding the cup toward Tasha. Tasha breathed deep, the aroma sweet and familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. “What is it?”

  “Pistachio tea.”

  That was it! Tasha sniffed the tea again. Yes, it smelled exactly like a pistachio cookie. She could almost taste the buttery, sweet treat. She swore she could practically feel the flaky cookie crumble in her mouth. Her hands, as if drawn, wrapped around the warm cup to pull it closer.

  “Wait.”

  Tasha stopped.

  “Listen first.”

  Tasha looked up, feeling dazed, as if she were waking from a dream. She pushed the teacup away. “That’s not tea.”

  Ro picked up her own cup and took a lengthy sip. “It is.” She set the cup down on the saucer. “And it’s not.”

  Tasha shook her head. “What does that mean?”

  The other woman took a deep breath before saying, “The reason you never noticed this place before I invited you is because this is a haven place.”

  Tasha blinked and glanced around. A haven place, huh? She’d heard the term on the news and in passing, but she’d never known anyone who’d been to one, much less seen one herself. “So everyone else here…”

  “Is magical?” Ro tilted her head. “Not all of them, but,” she said with a shrug, “yeah.”

  Tasha narrowed her gaze. “Which means you are…”

  Ro nodded. Then pursed her lips. “Half.” She smiled sadly. “My mom was human.”

  “And the rest?”

  Ro winced and paused before taking a deep breath, as if readying herself. “My father is puck.”

  “Puck? Like Puck puck?”

  Ro’s smile tightened, making her whole face look tense. “The myth of Puck is…” She gave a slightly tired sigh. “It’s somewhat based on actual pucks, pans, and satyrs, but in the same way Kung-fu movies aren’t a perfect picture of Asian culture or cowboy Westerns aren’t exactly American culture… you know?”

  Tasha cringed. “Of course.” She thought about the many times that people made all kinds of assumptions about her based on some caricature of her heritage. “Sorry.”

  “No.” Ro grimaced. “I mean, I don’t even…” She tilted her head awkwardly. “I grew up with my mom for most of my life, but she died when I was sixteen. After that, I moved in with my dad.”


  Tasha had lost her father too, so she understood loss, but she couldn’t imagine losing a parent that young. “I’m sorry about your mother.”

  Ro nodded. “Thank you. But I just mean that I’m part puck, but I was raised pretty human.”

  Tasha got that. “I grew up in a mostly white town, so my parents thought it would be easier for me to assimilate as much as possible.” At the time, it’d seemed simpler if she just kept her head down, if she made herself as much like everyone else as she could, not only for herself but for everyone. “Most of what I know about my parents’ culture is from school reports and recipes.”

  Ro let out a breath of relief. “So you’re…” She tensed. “Okay with it? With me?”

  Tasha shrugged. Sure. “My friend dated a fairy once.”

  Ro wrinkled her nose. “It’s, uh, not quite the same.”

  “No.” Tasha felt her face redden. “Of course not.” It wasn’t as if she thought all magical beings were the same. “That’s not what I meant.” She held out her hands. “I just mean that I don’t judge.”

  She wanted to roll her eyes. Was this what this conversation felt like on the other side? She suddenly felt a wave of sympathy for every well-intentioned white person who’d ever stuck their foot in their mouth around her. There was such a difference between knowing what not to say and knowing what to say. And she had absolutely no clue about any of it, so it was hard not to trip over all the inappropriate words she did know, no matter how hard she tried to avoid them.

  She coughed. “So this tea then?” She turned the cup in her hand. “It’s enchanted?”

  Ro nodded. “It’ll allow a human to see behind the veil of magic for about an hour or so.”

  Tasha wrapped her hands around the cup again, still staring at the brew a little warily. Okay. She could do this.

  But before she did… “There’s something I should probably tell you too.”

  * * *

  Ro held her breath, knowing what was coming next. Some Midsummer Night’s Dream fantasy. Or some humanity-first philosophy. It was the world she lived in and she’d long since learned to brace herself for it.

  Tasha’s grip on the teacup tightened, her long, teak fingers tapping against the vibrant green. She took a steadying breath. “I like to take relationships slowly.” She looked up at Ro, her dark eyes wide and impossibly vulnerable. “Like, really slowly.”

  What did that mean? Ro couldn’t even guess. “Explain that to me.”

  Tasha shifted in her seat, her long, thick side braid swaying a bit against her shoulder. She bit down on her bottom lip, worrying the full flesh. She sighed and shot Ro a clear fuck it expression. “Since we’re laying it all out there, I guess you should know that pretty much every relationship I’ve ever been in has ended because I never feel comfortable getting… physically intimate with someone until I know them well.”

  Ro huffed, steeling herself a bit. “Look, I know that there’s a stereotype about pucks and sex.” She waved her hand dismissively. “The whole ‘you know what pucks like’ thing.”

  “What thing?”

  Was she kidding? “That pucks like to…” She felt her cheeks flush. Surely, Tasha had heard the saying before. Ro had certainly grown up with people — classmates, friends, lovers, strangers — teasing and taunting her with it. She’d spent her whole life being the punchline of a lazy, rhyming sex joke.

  “Oh!” Tasha’s face paled as she shook her head. “Oh, no, that’s not what I meant at all. I didn’t mean that you —” She swallowed hard. “I just mean that I —” She took a breath. “It sounds bad, but this really is a case of ‘It’s not you; it’s me.’” She looked so awkward, her jaw clenched and her hands tucked tightly in her lap, that it was hard not to believe her. It wasn’t judgement Ro felt radiating from her; it was shame. “Truth is, I’ve never really felt like I’ve known anyone, so, you know, intimacy — all kinds, not just sex — and me just…”

  Ro fought to freeze her face, not wanting to show her shock. “So.” How to phrase this? “You’ve never…”

  Tasha gave a humorless laugh. “I have; it was just…” She wrinkled her nose. “Uncomfortable.”

  Ro sat back thoughtfully. Okay. “So how well do you need to know someone before you feel comfortable?”

  Tasha leaned on the table, resting her face in her hands as she stared into the tea pensively. “Well, the idea of sex never really sounded all that appealing to me. Truth be told, I often wonder what possessed the first people to even try it. It just sounds… messy and awkward and, if everything I’ve heard is true, often more work than it’s worth.”

  Ro frowned. She wasn’t the stereotype people thought pucks were, some sex-crazed creature constantly in heat. But she did like sex. A lot. And intimacy in general. She enjoyed kissing and cuddling and holding hands. She couldn’t imagine being in a relationship without those things.

  Tasha looked up, her dark eyes a little hopeful. “But the idea of making love…” She lifted her shoulder a bit, smiling sweetly. “That sounds like it could be nice. Like a physical manifestation of that feeling.” Then her shoulders slumped. “But making love kinda necessitates that you be in love, right?”

  Ro didn’t believe that sex had to come packaged with love, but she understood the sentiment. She’d had enough bad romantic and sexual encounters to know that, even if it wasn’t love per se, sex went down better with at least affection and trust.

  And a little foresight, if one could find it, never killed anyone.

  So Ro bit her lip, still a little hesitant even as a plan began to form in her head. “I think I might have an idea about that.”

  Tasha arched her eyebrow. “About what?”

  “About knowing someone.” For all its troubles, some days, being puck had its advantages.

  The other woman’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

  Ro rolled her shoulders, a bit uncomfortably. “Pucks and pans have some prophetic abilities.” She held up her hands cautiously. “I’m not great at it but I could show you, if you want.”

  Incredulity still sharpened her gaze, but Tasha leaned in with interest. “Show me what?”

  Tasha would like this, Ro was sure of it. Or at least she hoped Tasha would. One could never know for certain until they were in it. But Tasha had questions, had doubts, and Ro could give them both answers. Tasha just had to give it a chance. Grinning, Ro cocked her head invitingly. “What it’s like to make love.”

  * * *

  Tasha stiffened indignantly. This was the weirdest date she’d ever been on. “So when I said that I like to move slowly, you thought the first date would be the best time to try to get me into bed?” Had she not been listening at all?

  Ro shook her head. “I’m not trying to get into your bed.” She picked up her tea and took a sip. “I’m trying to get into your head.”

  Uh-huh. Tasha snorted and instinctively took a sip.

  But the second the sweet brew touched her tongue, the world changed.

  The black and white cafe burst into brilliant color. The backs of varnished wood chairs bloomed into looming, leafy trees that canopied the cafe. Even the scent of the place was different, the aroma of coffee and pastries mixed with more earthy smells like rain, mud, and growth. The soft jazz music that had been playing over speakers stopped, replaced by lilting live music playing that reminded Tasha of whatever flowing song Ro had played before, echoing not just in her eardrums but in her soul.

  The voices in the cafe had changed as well. The quiet chatter became a strange harmony of sounds, some higher or lower than human vocal cords were capable of. Some spoke languages Tasha didn’t recognize. She looked around. The business execs in suits were all gone and in their place were people with scales and fur and feathers chatting to each other or on phones. The student, nose-deep in a book, suddenly had wings that fluttered to the beat of the music streaming through her headphones. A strange sound made Tasha turn. She gawked at a gargoyle — this small, gray, compa
ct creature that looked so stony they shouldn’t have been able to move — in an apron, of all things, as they bussed tables.

  “Try not to stare.”

  Tasha dropped her gaze immediately. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to see more anyway. “So everyone here is…”

  “Magical?” Ro’s voice sounded tired and a little sad. “Mostly. There are quite a few staff members who are half-human, like me, and at least one person I know of who is fully human. I don’t think he’s on shift today though. But, like I said, this is a haven place — a place for magical people to be who they are without worry. We don’t have to wear glamours or hide here because the whole place is hidden from everyone but us.”

  “Is it okay that I’m here?” Tasha didn’t want to cause trouble or anything.

  Ro nodded. “You were invited.”

  “And if I wasn’t?”

  “You wouldn’t be here.” Ro pointed to runes carved and painted in the cafe’s corners. “Haven places have layers and layers of spells — glamours and way-wards and protection charms — so humans don’t notice them.”

  Tasha studied the runes, amazed by the magic. “And now that I know it’s here?”

  Ro shook her head. “Without an invitation, the human mind can’t see past the spell.” When Tasha looked at her skeptically, she continued, “Have you ever woken up from a dream and tried to fall back into it? You can try, but it’s not really up to you.”

  That sounded convenient. And a little terrifying. “So why invite me in the first place?”

  Ro fidgeted a bit. “Being magical in the human world is a double-edged sword. Some humans look at us and see the stuff of dreams. Others see…”

  Nightmares.

  Ro gestured to the cafe. “Haven places give us a safe space to see and be seen.”

  It was a way to test who could be trusted and who couldn’t. Given the recent rise of humanity-first rhetoric, Tasha supposed she could understand the need for caution. “And the tea?”

  There was a pause before Ro sighed. “Is part of a seeing spell. So you can see the world as it is.” Another pause. “So you can see me as I am.”