Jester, faithful food hound, sat politely to the side in case particles of breakfast fell on the floor.
“Oh, good,” I said. “You’re up.”
“Of course I’m up. Breakfast doesn’t make itself.” She stepped back from the stove and gestured to the pots and pans. “Cheese grits, cheese omelets”—she put on one of my silicone oven mitts and pulled a pan out of the oven—“and cheesy sausage biscuits.”
“We’re getting our calcium today, I see.”
“Sit, sit, sit,” she said, waving the oven mitt toward the little table. “I’ll make you a plate.”
I sat. In my family, food deserved full attention.
Jester agreed. He trotted over to the table and sat, fully alert.
My mother busily clanked plates on the counter and spooned up grits and eggs, following those up with two breakfast biscuits each.
“Mom, I don’t know if I can eat all that—”
“Nonsense. You need your strength. And it’s the least I can do after giving you such a fright last night.”
“About that—”
“Hush, now. Let’s eat.”
Far be it from me to disobey the woman who birthed me, and, more importantly, just handed me a hot breakfast. I dug in, piling grits, eggs, and biscuit into every bite.
Mom wielded her knife and fork with grace and economy, followed by delicately patting her mouth. When we finished, she swept the plates away and began to clean up the rest.
“Let me get that,” I said.
“I got it,” she insisted, scooping leftover grits into a bowl.
I didn’t bother to argue. I just pitched in, wrapping up the biscuits and scraping the pans before depositing them in the sink to soak. “We need to go see Poppy,” I said, tossing a few bits of egg to Jester.
“Oh?”
“There’s no need to hide your new magic from her, and she might be able to help teach you how to use it properly.”
Mom shook her head and folded a dishtowel. “I don’t need her to teach me—I need her to take itaway.”
“Take it away? Why would you want to do that?”
“I’m too old for this sort of thing, Zelda. I don’t want to be dealing with”—she paused, then waved her hand through the air—“all this.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Iamserious. It’s all well and good for you. You’re young.”
“I’m notthatyoung.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t. I mean, this is agift. I didn’t know that I wanted to use my magic until I actually started using it. You haven’t even tried to live with it yet.”
Mom looked away.
“You’re here, anyway,” I said. “We’ll do it together.” I put my arm around her. “Who knows? It might be fun!”
“That’s what people say right before everything goes to hell.”
