Page 87 of The Slug Crystal
The suggestion hangs in the air, oddly compelling in its earnestness, but also still completely delusional. I watch Alex exploring his lettuce, his movements unhurried and deliberate. Is there still a human mind trapped behind those eyestalks? Does he understand what's happening around him? Does he recognize us, remember us, judge us?
Luca sighs dramatically. "Look at him," he says, gesturing toward the terrarium with his espresso cup. "Moving at thepace of continental drift. Do you think he knows he's missing the trip of a lifetime?" His casual comment punctures our serious mood, and suddenly the floodgates open.
"Maybe he prefers this life," Ben suggests, leaning back in his chair. "No job, no bills, no expectations beyond munching lettuce and making slime trails. That's retirement goals right there."
Jake snorts, nearly choking on his coffee. "He does have the best housing situation out of all of us. Glass walls with a view, daily maid service, meals prepared and delivered."
"Room service with a side of existential crisis," Marco adds, surprising me with his venture into humor. His usually serious face cracks into a smile as he adjusts his glasses. "Though I wonder about the psychological impact of living in a fishbowl, so to speak. The constant observation."
Ben perks up, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. "What if he writes 'Help me' in slime one morning? Imagine waking up to that."
I glance nervously at the terrarium, half-expecting to see glistening letters forming on the glass. Alex continues his methodical exploration of a cucumber slice, antennae swiveling with what I've come to interpret as gastropod enthusiasm.
"Don't give him ideas," Luca warns, winking at me. "Next thing you know, he'll be spelling out 'I know what you did last summer' across the glass."
The image is so ridiculous that I find myself laughing despite my unease. "He'd run out of slime before getting through the first three words."
"He could abbreviate," Marco suggests with scholarly precision. "IKWYDLS. Much more efficient for gastropod communication."
Jake reaches over to tap gently on the terrarium glass. "Are you taking notes in there, buddy? Learning all our secrets?"
"What if he's been watching everything and is judging ourlife choices?" Marco muses, studying Alex through narrowed eyes. "Imagine the doctoral thesis he could write on human mating behaviors in stressful situations."
My laughter catches in my throat, suddenly less amused as I recall exactly what Alex might have witnessed over the past few weeks. The kiss with Luca in the pool. Stargazing with Marco. The midnight kitchen encounter with Ben….
As if reading my thoughts, Ben's gaze slides to me over his espresso cup, his lips curving into a knowing smirk. "Especially yours, Emma," he says, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial stage whisper.
Coffee burns my throat as I inhale sharply, coughing and sputtering while heat races up my neck to flood my cheeks.
Marco's eyebrows rise above his glasses, but he says nothing, just takes another measured sip of his coffee.
"Hey, no judgment here," Ben says, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Just pointing out that if Alex still has human consciousness, he's getting quite the education on adult relationships."
Jake clears his throat. "Maybe we should change the subject."
"Why?" Luca asks with a grin. "This is the most interesting breakfast conversation we've had yet. Besides, we all acknowledged the situation last night. No secrets anymore, right?"
I force a laugh. "Right. No secrets." My fingers find a fresh pastry, tearing into it without any real appetite. "Totally normal breakfast conversation."
"If it helps," Marco offers with academic detachment that doesn't quite mask his discomfort, "gastropods have very limited visual acuity. He likely perceives only general shapes and movement, not... details."
"Great," I mutter. "So he just sees the outline of me making potentially terrible decisions. Much better."
Ben chuckles. "Don't be so hard on yourself. We're allmaking questionable choices here. Alex is probably taking notes for his memoirs: 'Fifty Shades of Blue: A Snail's Perspective.'"
Luca nearly spits out his coffee.
"Chapter One: 'The Slow and the Curious,'" Jake adds unexpectedly, making everyone turn to him in surprise before erupting into laughter.
I try to join in, to show I'm a good sport, that I can take a joke even when it's at my expense. My smile feels plastic, stretched too thin across my face. The pastry in my hands crumbles as my fingers tighten involuntarily, flaky shards raining down onto my plate and lap.
"Chapter Two: 'Shell-Shocked: When Your Ex Takes Her Friends on an Italian Vacation,'" Ben continues, clearly warming to the theme.
"Chapter Three: 'The Real Reason I'm Blue,'" Luca chimes in.
Each joke lands like a tiny barb, piercing the fragile bubble of composure I've managed to maintain. I keep smiling, keep nodding, keep pretending this is all hilarious while something inside me begins to crack. My vision blurs slightly, and I blink rapidly, determined not to cry over stupid snail jokes at the breakfast table.
"What about 'Escargot My Way: How I Ruined My Ex's Life While Touring Europe'?" Ben suggests, laughing.
