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My grandmother sighed and shook her head.
“This man is no good for you,” she said.
“He’s not my man,” I pointed out. I didn’t date. Mémère knew that. A lot of things kept me from relationships and one of the biggest reasons was that I didn’t want to date a magic user. It wasn’t my thing. I couldn’t use magic. I had never been able to get even the simplest spell to work. My grandmother did her best to train me in the ways of her people, but somehow, I’d just never managed to pick things up.
If it bothered her, she was kind enough not to tell me.
Still, I didn’t want to date someone who could use magic. Part of it was a safety thing. Self-preservation was important and I didn’t want to be in a relationship with someone who might do a love spell on me. I just hated the idea of not knowing what was going on.
I hated the idea that someone might take advantage of me.
“He’s still cruel,” Mémère said. She shook her head. She was disappointed. In me? In the situation? I wasn’t sure, but I nodded in agreement and moved past her and into the house. I dropped my bag on the living room sofa and walked into the attached kitchen. The book with Mémère’s spells, as always, was spread out in the center of the table. Gram had been working on spells this afternoon. Herbs and pots and potions and bottles were on every flat surface in the room.
“What were you working on?” I asked her, but she only shook her head gently. Grams never liked to talk about the spells she was doing. I didn’t really understand why it had to be a secret. She wanted me to trust her, but there were so many things she wouldn’t reveal to me.
“Are you hungry?” Mémère asked, and I knew there was to be no discussion on what she was trying to do with her spellbook. It didn’t make sense to me. Sometimes it seemed like she had just as many secrets as Mom and Dad.
“I ate at work,” I lied. She looked at me carefully. Was she trying to see if I was lying? I totally was, but this time, there was no way for her to tell. Not unless she used some sort of truth serum on me. I wouldn’t put it past her, but this wasn’t something I was ready to talk about today. Not with Grams.
“If you change your mind...” Her voice trailed off and I nodded.
“Don’t worry. I’m 19, Grams. I’m old enough to make myself something to eat.”
I kissed her softly on the cheek and turned to the little staircase that led upstairs. Our home was very cozy, but it was also very small. The second floor of the cabin had only two little bedrooms and a tiny bathroom with a sink, a toilet, and a shower. I went up the stairs and sat at the very top for a minute. I listened to see if I could figure out what Gram was up to.
I heard her bustling around in the kitchen for awhile, touching things and whispering, but she was so quiet that I couldn’t make out the words. When Boo came up the narrow staircase and rubbed against my legs, I reached for him and pet him softly. Instantly, he started to purr.
“At least I have you,” I whispered, and I pulled him into my lap. I held Boo for a long time. Then I stood up and carried him into my bedroom and shut the door behind me. I locked the door. It didn’t matter. If Gram needed to come in, she could cast a spell and be in my space in like, two seconds.
But the lock made me feel like I was tucking myself away from everything: my bos
s, my job, my lack of friends. I used it because it gave me a little bit of security I wouldn’t otherwise have. I lay on my bed and looked at the ceiling.
“What am I going to do, Boo?”
He purred and plopped his fat body onto my tummy. I pet him as I looked up at the white popcorn finish on the ceiling.I imagined that I was back home – at my real home – with my mom and dad. They’d been gone for years. Sometimes it felt like forever. I missed them still.
People always said that life got better. They said things like “time heals all wounds” and “one day, it won’t hurt so bad,” but that wasn’t true, was it? Things still hurt. I still missed the way my mom sang songs while she cooked spaghetti and the way my dad laughed as he danced in the kitchen with her. I missed the way they read me bedtime stories and how they used to count the stars with me. I missed everything about them.
Mémère was a wonderful person. She was kind and brave and I was so incredibly lucky to have her, but...
But she wasn’t my mom.
And sometimes I just wanted my mom.
Finally, I got up and started getting ready for bed. I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth and my hair. Then I came back, brushed Boo, and picked out my outfit for the next day. I double checked my work schedule and figured out what time I needed to get up in order to make it in for my shift. Then I closed my eyes.
I tried to fall asleep, but I laid in bed thinking for what seemed like hours.
I heard a crash, and Mémère let out a string of swear words. She would be working late into the night, I guessed, and I had no idea what she was doing down there.
What was so important that she couldn’t tell me about it?
And why did I have the feeling it wasn’t anything good?
