Page 6 of The Slug Crystal
I shrug helplessly. “What’s the difference between a snail and a slug?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jake says. “Internet says you need a terrarium and some fresh lettuce.”
I’m about to make a joke about organic produce when Alina claps her hands, startling the snail back into its shell. “Field trip!” she shouts. “Pet store. Now. We’re getting you a setup worthy of this curse.”
“Fine,” I say, reaching for my keys. “But you’re responsible for Alex if he tries to slime away.”
I can’t believe I’m going along with this, but the truth is, I don’t want to be alone with the snail. Not because I’m scared of it, but because if it’s really my ex, if a spell actually did this, then someone else needs to witness what happens next with me. Otherwise, it’s just another weird thing I’ll have to explain to my next therapist.
Alina giggles, already wrangling her tote bag over her shoulder. “Okay,” she agrees.
“I’ll meet you there,” Jake promises. “I have a deep scientific curiosity about snail-Alex, and also a coupon for 10% off all aquariums.”
I pop the coffee cup in my purse, after placing it in a plastic grocery bag for security, and hope that the pet store doesn’t have a “No Sorcery” policy posted on the door. Because at this point, I’m not sure what to expect.
Saturday, 11:12AM. The pet store is exactly how I remember it from my childhood. It’s a boxy strip-mall relic with flickering lights, the faint ammonia tang of turtle tanks, and a soundtrack of distant parakeets absolutely losing their shit in the aviary aisle. Alina finds a cart, Jake finds us, and I cradle the coffee cup like it’s a holy relic and I’m one step away from launching a new religion.
We are immediately greeted by a teenager in a purple vest, who introduces himself as a Customer Experience Lead. But his name tag says ‘Dante’ in thick, black Sharpie, like he’s so new that he hasn’t even been given a permanent name tag yet. He’s tall, with two-tone hair and black lipstick, and when he sees us eyeing the Bug, Reptile & Other section, his entire face lights up like a Christmas tree set to goth.
“Looking for a friend?” Dante asks, eyebrow ring doing the heavy lifting.
I clear my throat. “We have a snail emergency.”
Dante doesn’t miss a beat. “Aquatic or terrestrial?”
Alina chimes in, “Terrestrial, but possibly magical.” She flashes the coffee cup in my hands open, just enough to reveal the blue-gloss shell and the single eyestalk peeking over the rim.
Dante’s mouth makes a perfect O. “That’s the most beautiful gastropod I’ve ever seen. You must be very proud.”
Jake nods solemnly, as if introducing his own child and agreeing with a compliment received in response. “We need the Cadillac of terrariums.”
“Err, but portable,” I add in, thinking it’s likely Alex will need to accompany us to a different location at some point in the near future. This snail status isn’t going to be… permanent. I’m definitely going to fix it.
Dante bows slightly. It’s weird, but one of the least weird things about my day so far, so I ignore it.
“Right this way,” he says.
We follow through aisles of crickets, snakes, and hermit crab shells painted like NFL helmets, until we reach a row of gleaming glass tanks. Dante launches into a monologue about airflow, humidity, and the dangers of overly enthusiastic heat lamps. It’s clear he knows about snails, but it’s less clear whether he believes my snail is, in fact, the result of a magical crystal curse.
After Dante finishes showing us the terrariums, we all just stand there for a minute, taking stock. Alina wants the deluxe model with LED lights and a fake waterfall. Jake votes for function over form, opting for a very plain container with zero features. I just want something that’ll keep the snail from escaping and haunting my nightmares. And is, once again, portable.
Dante pulls down a mid-sized glass terrarium with a green border and handle and sets it on the counter, and winks. “This one’s escape-proof. We recommend coconut coir for bedding, and you’ll want to add a few hides so your new friend feels safe.”
Jake loads up on supplies. Alina picks out a tiny log cabin for “aesthetic value.” I can’t stop staring at the snail, who is now exploring the rim of the coffee cup with the slow, almost sensual confidence of someone who knows they can’t be harmed.
At the checkout, Dante rings us up while narrating every step. “That’ll be two pounds of coir, a bag of cuttlebone, a waterfall fountain, and a log cabin. Anything else? Calcium supplements for shell health?”
Alina grins. “Do they make emotional support shells?”
Dante, without missing a beat, pulls out a bin of decorative shells in pastel colors. “Some people say it helps. Who are we to judge?”
We all laugh. Even Jake, who is usually allergic to retail humor.
After a brief “how did we get here?” moment in theparking lot. Otherwise known as Alina asking, “Do you think Dante would be into a date?”
And Jake responding, “I think he’d be more into destroying the patriarchy.”
We head back to my apartment and get to work.
