Page 69 of The Slug Crystal

The final message, sent just yesterday: "'It's been weeks, Emma.

I don't know if you're still mad or if this is some elaborate counter-prank, but I'm done trying to get my key back.

I changed my locks. For what it's worth, I'm sorry about the snail thing.

It was immature. But this silent treatment is extreme, even for you. '"

I lower the phone, my face burning with a mixture of embarrassment and indignation. The men exchange looks of stunned disbelief, processing this new information.

"So let me get this straight," Luca says, breaking the silence. "He came to return a hoodie, overheard your crystal ritual, and decided the appropriate response was to... leave a snail and disappear?"

"Who even does that?" Jake adds, his protective instincts clearly flaring.

"Apparently, my ex," I reply, my voice rising with each word. "My immature, prank-loving ex who thought it would be hilarious to make me think I'd transformed him into a snail!"

Marco clears his throat. "To be fair, it does seem he attempted to clarify the situation multiple times."

"After I was already in Venice!" I counter, anger building like a physical force in my chest. "After I'd already been carrying that snail around in a terrarium, believing it was him!"

Ben snorts. "You've got to appreciate the cosmic irony, though. If you hadn't blocked his number?—"

"Don't," I warn, but there's no stopping Ben when he's found an angle.

"—We wouldn't be here. All of us. Together." He gestures around the villa. "In Italy. With approximately fifty baby blue snails."

The reality of our situation hits me all at once.

"We've been carrying around a random snail around Italy because my ex is an immature jerk.

" My voice rises with each word, indignation replacing embarrassment.

"We've been searching for a witch who doesn't exist to reverse a transformation that never happened! "

"I don't think it was a waste," Jake says quietly, his steady gaze meeting mine. "Not all of it."

Something in his tone makes me pause, my righteous anger momentarily derailed.

I look around at the four men who've become so much more than traveling companions in the past few weeks.

My gaze lands on Jake with his unwavering support, moving next to Marco with his scholarly devotion to our cause, then to Ben with his protective humor, and lastly to Luca with his grand solutions to impossible problems.

"Maybe not all of it," I concede, sinking back onto the couch. My anger starts to leak away, fading as I process Jake's quiet words.

My phone buzzes again in my hand, likely another delayed message from Alex.

I set it face down on the coffee table, not ready to deal with him yet.

The terrarium sits beside it, the blue parent snail now surrounded by its miniature offspring, all of them blissfully unaware of their role in our absurd saga.

A small, reluctant laugh escapes me before I can stop it. It bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest, past all the layers of embarrassment and anger and confusion. The sound surprises me, almost as if it's coming from someone else.

"I'm sorry," I gasp, pressing my fingers to my lips as if I could push the laughter back in. "It's not funny. It's really not."

But it is. It's possibly the most ridiculous thing that has ever happened to anyone. The laughter returns, stronger this time, bending me forward until my forehead nearly touches my knees. My shoulders shake with it, and tears gather at the corners of my eyes.

Jake snorts, the sound escaping him like he's tried and failed to contain it. When I look up at him, his blue eyes are crinkled at the corners, his stoic facade crumbling.

"We made it a special carrying case," he says, voice trembling with suppressed laughter. "With air holes and temperature control."

That does it. My laughter breaks free completely, and Jake joins in, his deep chuckle harmonizing with my higher-pitched giggles. The sound fills the room, infectious and irresistible.

Ben doubles over next, bracing his hands on his knees as his shoulders heave with mirth. "We—we gave it premium lettuce," he gasps between laughs. "That snail has eaten better than I do most weeks."

Luca howls with unrestrained amusement, his usual suave demeanor completely abandoned. He collapses onto the couch beside me, tears streaming down his face. "We lied to customs for a snail!" he manages between gasps for air.

Marco's scholarly reserve holds out the longest, but even he succumbs, his shoulders shaking with quiet chuckles that gradually grow more pronounced.

"The statistical improbability of this entire scenario is.

.." he adjusts his glasses, which have fogged slightly from his laughter, ". ..truly astronomical."

The absurdity feeds on itself, each new realization sparking fresh waves of hysterics. We laugh until our sides ache, until breathing becomes difficult, until the tears running down my cheeks are as much from mirth as from the emotional release.

"That snail," Ben wheezes, pointing at the terrarium, "has more frequent flyer miles than most Americans. It deserves elite status. It should have its own lounge access."

Jake wipes his eyes, fighting to regain his composure and failing spectacularly. "Do you think the babies need passports? Tiny little snail passports with blue shell photos?"

"The cost-per-kilometer of gastropod transportation," Marco calculates, his academic instincts surfacing even through his laughter, "must be unprecedented in the annals of zoological research.

We've spent approximately—" he pauses to do the math in his head, "—thirty-seven euros per gram of snail weight. "

"Premium snail transport," Luca agrees, his accent thickening as he struggles to speak through his amusement. "Five-star accommodations for our distinguished mollusk guest."

I wipe tears from my eyes, clutching my aching sides. "We asked a gondolier in Venice to go slower because we were worried about snail motion sickness."

This sets us off again, a fresh round of hysterics that leaves us gasping for breath. Ben slides from the couch to the floor, lying on his back as he stares at the ceiling, occasional giggles still escaping him.

"Remember when that security guard at the Florence museum wanted to check the terrarium?" Jake recalls, setting off another wave. "And Marco gave him a fifteen-minute lecture on proper gastropod handling techniques?"

"The restaurant in Milan," Luca adds, "where we ordered fresh lettuce as an appetizer. For the snail."

"The waiter's face," I manage, the memory vivid and suddenly hilarious rather than mortifying. "He thought we were completely insane."

"To be fair," Ben says from his position on the floor, "we absolutely were."

Our laughter gradually subsides into comfortable silence, punctuated by occasional chuckles and deep, satisfied sighs.

The tension that has defined our journey, the desperate search, the fear of failure, the growing complexity of our relationships, temporarily dissolves in the aftermath of our shared amusement.

I wipe the last tears from my eyes and lean forward, picking up the terrarium with a gentleness born of habit. The blue snail continues its unhurried exploration, tiny offspring now visible on nearly every surface within their glass world.

"Well, Alex or not," I address the snail directly, my voice still rough from laughter, "you're the most well-traveled snail in history.

First-class accommodations across Italy, premium organic produce, personal protection detail of four grown men.

" I glance around at my companions, feeling a surge of affection for each of them. "Not a bad life for a snail."

Marco's chuckles have subsided into a thoughtful smile. "In scientific research, the journey often matters more than the destination. Unexpected results frequently lead to the most significant discoveries."

"What exactly have we discovered here?" Luca asks, his breathing finally returning to normal, though his eyes still sparkle with amusement.

The answer forms itself in my mind with surprising clarity, though I'm not quite sure I’m ready to give it voice: we've discovered each other in ways that might never have happened without this absurd catalyst.

The thought sobers me slightly, though not enough to dispel the warm afterglow of our shared laughter.

Whatever happens next, whatever decisions we make about returning to our regular lives, I know with certainty that none of us will ever forget the summer we spent transporting a snail across Italy in the misguided belief it was my transformed ex-boyfriend.

We exchange glances, a silent conversation passing between us.

Jake's steady blue eyes hold a question he won't voice first. Marco adjusts his glasses, scholarly composure returning, though his gaze remains soft.

Ben's usual sardonic smirk has transformed into something more genuine.

Luca leans forward, elbows on knees, fingers laced together as if physically restraining himself from being the first to speak.

The unspoken hangs between us, as heavy as the summer air. Now that our quest has been revealed as meaningless, now that the urgency has evaporated, what reason do we have to remain together?

Luca breaks first, his voice carefully casual, though his eyes betray the weight behind his words.

"We could still go to Bali," he suggests, straightening to his full height.

"Not for snail hunting or witch chasing, obviously.

Just for us. For relaxation." He gestures expansively, as if already picturing us there.

"The villa I found is available. Private beach, incredible views.

We've come this far, why not continue the adventure on our own terms? "

"We have jobs," Jake counters, his practical nature asserting itself, though his tone remains gentle. "Responsibilities. Lives waiting back in Boston." He looks directly at me as he speaks.

"Technically," Marco interjects, "my sabbatical extends through the fall semester. My teaching obligations don't resume until January."

"And my work is portable," Luca adds, warming to his case. "As long as I have my laptop and occasional airport access."

"Must be nice," Ben mutters, though there's no real bite to it. "Some of us have to show up at actual offices occasionally."

I move from the couch to perch on the edge of the bed, the terrarium within my line of sight but no longer the center of my focus. My emotions churn like water coming to a boil, a mixture of relief, embarrassment, and a surprising sadness.

"I do need to go home," I admit, the words feeling like small betrayals as they leave my mouth.

"My boss has been amazingly understanding about this 'family emergency,' but there's only so long I can push that goodwill.

" I swallow hard, my throat suddenly tight.

"And I should probably deal with the actual Alex situation face to face. "

No one argues, though Luca's shoulders drop slightly with disappointment. My fingers find the hem of my shirt, fidgeting with a loose thread as I struggle to articulate the more complex truth beneath the practical considerations.

"But I'm not ready for this to end," I continue, the words barely above a whisper. "Whatever 'this' is."

The admission hangs in the air, delicate and dangerous.

My eyes remain fixed on my hands, unable to meet anyone's gaze as vulnerability washes through me.

The loose thread has become fascinating, the most interesting thing in the room, certainly easier to focus on than the four men watching me with varying degrees of intensity.

"I know it's complicated," I press on when no one immediately responds.

"I know we came together, unknowingly, under completely false pretenses.

I know what happened between us, all of us, was at least partly because of this crazy situation.

" I gesture toward the terrarium, toward the snail that was never Alex but somehow catalyzed everything.

"But it feels real. What we’ve built between us… It feels important."

I finally look up, my eyes moving from Jake to Marco to Ben to Luca, lingering on each face that has become so dear to me in such a short time.

"I just don't know what happens to... this.

.." I say, gesturing to encompass the five of us, "when we go back to real life.

When there's no magical quest binding us together.

When we're just people with jobs and apartments and everyday problems instead of snail-transporters on an impossible mission. "

The question lands in the center of our circle, unanswered.

Jake shifts his weight, opening his mouth as if to speak, then closing it again when no perfect words emerge.

Marco removes his glasses, cleaning them methodically as he often does when processing complex emotions.

Ben's gaze drops to the floor, his usual quips abandoned in the face of genuine uncertainty.

Luca's expression softens into something rare for him, complete sincerity without performance.

Outside, the Italian sun begins its slow descent toward distant hills, casting long shadows across the villa's stone floors. Time continues its relentless forward motion, heedless of our human desire to pause, to extend this moment of possibility before decisions must be made and paths chosen.

In the terrarium, the blue snail reaches the edge of a lettuce leaf, antennae extended as if testing the air, sensing the boundaries of its world.

After a moment's consideration, it changes direction, charting a new course across the familiar landscape.

Its offspring follow, tiny blue echoes retracing and reinventing their parent's path.

The future stretches before us. Uncertain, unwritten, and full of possibilities, both wonderful and terrifying.

Boston waits with its familiar routines and separate lives.

Bali tempts with continued adventure and delayed decisions.

And somewhere in between, perhaps, exists a third option we haven't yet articulated or imagined.

The question remains unanswered as the afternoon light turns golden, as we sit in a silence that feels less like an ending and more like the pause before a new beginning. Five people bound together by the strangest of circumstances, now waiting to discover what comes after "once upon a time."