Page 68 of The Slug Crystal

Just as I think this situation couldn't possibly get any more absurd, Jake bursts into the room, terrarium clutched in his hands, his expression a mix of alarm and wonder.

"Emma, you need to see this." His voice carries an urgency that pulls me from my stupor. "Something's happening with the snail."

My heart lurches. "What now?" I ask, voice flat with emotional exhaustion. "Did it sprout wings? Start speaking Italian? Turn into a different ex-boyfriend?"

The sarcastic edge in my tone doesn't deter Jake. He crosses to me in three quick strides, placing the glass enclosure directly in my line of sight. "Look closer. At the lettuce."

The other men file in behind him, drawn by the commotion.

Marco adjusts his glasses, leaning in with scholarly interest. Ben slouches against the doorframe, arms crossed but eyes alert.

Luca moves to stand behind the couch, peering over my shoulder close enough that I can smell his cologne mingling with the earthy scent of the terrarium.

"I don't see what—" I begin, then freeze as my eyes focus on dozens of tiny specks dotting the damp lettuce leaves. At first, I think it's some kind of mold, a whitish-blue growth spreading across the green surface. Then one of the specks moves. "What are those?"

"Baby snails," Jake says, his voice hushed with discovery. "Dozens of them. They're all over the place. On the leaves, the glass, and even the water dish."

I lean closer, disbelief momentarily overshadowing my emotional turmoil.

Sure enough, what I thought were specks of dust or minerals are miniature snails no bigger than pinheads, their translucent shells tinged with the same blue as their.

.. parent. Their shells catch the light as they move with surprising speed across their glass world.

"Holy shit," I whisper, suddenly dizzy with this new revelation. "Are they... are all of them...?"

"Blue? Yes." Jake confirms, pointing to a cluster near the water dish. "Every single one."

Marco moves closer, removing his glasses to clean them meticulously before replacing them and bending until his nose nearly touches the glass.

"Fascinating. Gastropod reproduction is typically hermaphroditic, with individuals possessing both male and female reproductive organs.

This specimen has clearly been carrying fertilized eggs for some time. "

"So, what you're saying," Ben interjects with a growing smirk, "is that Alex has been getting busy with himself?" He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Talk about self-love."

"Ben," Jake warns, though the tension around his eyes has softened.

"What?" Ben holds up his hands in mock defense. "I'm just saying, if I'd known Alex was this talented, I might have been more intimidated. "

I can't take my eyes off the tiny creatures. "How did we not notice this happening? How did I not see eggs or... or whatever?"

"Snails often bury their eggs in soil or hide them in dark, moist places," Marco explains, shifting into lecture mode. "Given the limited environment of the terrarium, it's possible they were laid beneath the lettuce leaves or in that small hide you provided."

Luca leans forward, his chest brushing my shoulder as he points to a particularly dense cluster of baby snails. "They're quite beautiful, aren't they? All those perfect little spirals." His breath is warm against my ear, grounding me in this moment of surreal discovery.

"The adult has been getting fatter," Jake observes, gesturing to where the blue snail, not-Alex, rests on a particularly damp section of lettuce. "I noticed when I was changing the terrarium yesterday. I thought it was just... healthy."

"I thought it looked bigger!" I exclaim. “You all denied it.” A bubble of hysterical laughter builds in my chest. "I've been carrying around a pregnant snail because I thought it was my ex-boyfriend."

The absurdity hits me like a physical blow.

Not only was Alex never transformed, but the random snail I've been carrying across three countries has been happily reproducing the entire time.

Every heartfelt conversation I've had with the terrarium, every tear shed over "Alex's" condition, every moment of guilt about my developing feelings for the four men standing around me… None of that was real.

"So the reproductive capabilities of gastropods are remarkably adaptive," Marco continues, oblivious to my internal crisis. "They can store sperm for up to a year after mating, producing multiple clutches of eggs from a single fertilization event."

"Are you saying," I manage, my voice catching, "that my non-magical, non-Alex snail came to me pre-knocked up and has just been waiting for the right moment to surprise us with parenthood?"

Ben snorts. "Congratulations, Emma. You're a snail grandmother."

I stare at the terrarium, at the dozens of tiny lives now dependent on our care. The blue adult snail, who I really should name something other than Alex, continues its leisurely exploration of the lettuce, apparently unbothered by either its new offspring or our collective existential crisis.

"I don't understand how the shell is blue," Jake says, bringing us back to the detail that started this whole misadventure. "That's not natural, right?"

Marco frowns thoughtfully. "There are some gastropod species with bluish coloration, but this particular shade is unusual. Perhaps a genetic mutation or environmental factor..."

My fingers trace the glass, following the path of a baby snail no bigger than a grain of sand. "Maybe it ate something with blue dye. Or maybe..." I trail off.

"Maybe some mysteries don't need solving," Luca suggests quietly, his hand coming to rest lightly on my shoulder. "Perhaps we can simply appreciate the wonder without explanation."

I nod, unable to form words as I watch the tiny blue lives move across their miniature world, unaware of the chaos they've caused in mine. Wonder without explanation. That seems fitting for everything that's happened since Venice. Both the heartbreak and the connections that grew from it.

"Wait." The word cuts through my daze as a thought strikes me with sudden clarity.

My fingers fumble for my phone, nearly knocking it off the coffee table in my haste.

"I blocked his number. I blocked Alex's number because I couldn't bear seeing his name pop up after he broke up with me. Then my email hasn’t been working since we came to Italy.

Maybe… maybe I should text Alex for an explanation or tr y again to check my email?

" I glance at the terrarium with its miniature blue residents.

Jake's brow furrows. "You think he's been trying to contact you this whole time?"

"Only one way to find out." My thumb hovers over the screen for a heartbeat before I navigate to my blocked contacts. Alex's name sits there. With a quick tap, I unblock his number.

The effect is immediate and overwhelming.

My phone erupts in a cascade of notification sounds.

Dings and buzzes overlap like an electronic symphony gone haywire.

Seventeen text messages, two voicemails, and four missed calls flood in all at once.

The device vibrates so violently in my hand that I nearly drop it.

"Jesus," Ben mutters, peering over my shoulder. "Someone's been persistent."

My hands shake slightly as I scroll through the message previews, each one a tiny window into a reality I've been completely disconnected from. The timestamps tell their own story; a barrage of messages sent at first, then a couple more sporadic messages sent over the last few weeks.

"What do they say?" Luca asks, moving closer until his thigh presses against the couch beside me.

I take a deep breath and open the earliest message, dated three days after I thought I'd transformed my ex into a gastropod.

"I came by your apartment on Friday night to drop off your favorite hoodie.

I was trying to be nice. I heard you and your friends through the door doing some kind of.

.. spell? Chanting? I thought you were having a weird girls' night, but then I heard my name. It sounded like you were trying to curse me or something. I almost knocked, but then I had a better idea. I felt a little bad for eavesdropping. But then… I thought a little prank might lighten the tension between us. I went to that exotic pet store by your house and bought a sn ail, they didn’t have slugs, and dropped it in a pile of my clothes in the apartment. "

"There's more," I say, “I need my key back now, though Emma. Also, did you take the snail? I can’t find it in my apartment, and I’ve torn the entire place apart. I don’t want a snail carcass in here that’s going to start to smell.”

"You've got to be kidding me," Jake mutters, running a hand through his hair in disbelief.

Marco adjusts his glasses, his scholarly brow furrowed in concentration. "He appears to have been aware of the situation from the beginning."

“It keeps going,” I say, then read the rest. “Emma, are you ignoring me now, or is something wrong?

I just want my key back so we can both move on.

I'm going on vacation with Tyler and Mark in the Hamptons.

My phone's been acting up, so if you've been trying to reach me, that's why. But seriously, Emma, don’t go into my apartment again without me here. '"

"The Hamptons," Ben repeats, a note of derision in his voice. "Of course, he was in the Hamptons while we were schlepping his supposed gastropod self across Europe."

I continue reading, my voice growing tighter with each message. "Emma, did you call my work and tell them I had a family emergency? What is wrong with you?"