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“What?” I shake my head, annoyed. Okay. She isn’t worried about me, she’s worried about bird migration. “I don’t know, Mom. I’m just going to bed.”
“No, we need to talk about you staying out until all hours of the night,” she says. “We need to talk about this contract you signed.”
“Not tonight. Please.”
But she doesn’t listen; she wraps an arm over my shoulder and pulls me toward the kitchen.
The house has the familiar smell of cinnamon and sage and the kettle is on the stovetop. I see she has a teacup next to an open book on the kitchen table. She looks me over, assessing me the way only a mother can do. “You need a tea reading.”
I snort. “I need something stronger than that.”
That surprises her, and she turns to me, smiling. “Well, what has gotten into you, Lark?”
“Do you have any liquor?” I ask.
Mom purses her lips. “Where’s this going?” “You’re the witch, you tell me.”
She narrows her eyes but moves to the cabinet and pulls out a bottle of scotch.
“It’s not how magic works, Lark.”
Not wanting to argue, I sit down at the table and watch as she
pours me a glass. Then she adds some to her teacup. My lips twitch; Mom rarely drinks.
“So, tell, me, little bird, why did you disobey me?”
“How about we don’t make this about you tonight. Maybe it can be about me. Celebrating my accomplishment.”
“You know how much I hate it when you perform, Lark. When you were younger, I allowed it because I never imagined it would become this.” She presses a hand to her mouth, as if holding back a sob. “Now look at you, your face will be on billboards.”
I feel like a prisoner. And while I love her so much, she is making me miserable. “What are you trying to hide me from?”
She refuses to answer, and so I begin to drink. The scotch is warm and burns my throat and instantly acts like a truth serum. I set the glass down and tell it like it is; no use hiding from her.
“I’m done with your rules Mom. With your nightly rituals, casting protective spells over me and the house. With you treating me like a bird in a cage. I have a gift; a talent. I can move on that stage and make people believe in the impossible. Can’t you just be happy for me?”
Mom doesn’t say anything. She just sits there watching me, as if something is on her mind. But she isn’t the sort of person you can force a conversation with. She gives you information on a need-to-know basis. Not just with me but with the clients that come to our house for tarot readings too.
I finish the scotch and reach for the bottle. My mom’s eyes are trained on my hand and I half expect her to stop me. But she doesn’t, and I pour a shot, drinking it fast.
“You know they gave me a cast already? Five men.” I exhale. “The crazy thing is, they can do the act better than me. They don’t just soar for a moment, Mom. You watch them.” I swallow, shaking my head. “You watch them and it’s like they are truly flying.”
“Are they?”
I purse my lips, confused.
“Of course not. They’re human.” “Yet you can.”
“What are you getting at?”
“I need you to be careful. You can’t trust them, Lark.”
“Why? Are they out to get me too? Just like everyone else I’ve ever met? Don’t go to public school, Lark, you can’t be out of my sight. Don’t make friends Lark, you never know people’s intentions. Don’t have a boyfriend Lark, he’s only going to trap you. But you know what? Tonight, I kissed one of the cast mates, and guess what? I’m not his prisoner. “
“You kissed him? And you signed the contract. And you stayed out late. You broke our rules, Lark.”
I shake my head. “Not our rules. Your rules. I told you, I’m through with them. You’re just a crazy witch.”
Her eyes don’t harden like I expect them to, though. Her face softens as she looks at me. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Is that what happened to you? Did you get hurt and that’s why you made all these rules?”
Mom shakes her head. “I was hurt, but not in the way you might think.”
I look at her–this woman I have confided in, been so close to my entire life–and suddenly it feels like there might be a whole side of her I never knew about.
Tears prick my eyes and I don’t know why, but then she’s up again, looking out the kitchen window. “The hawks are still there, watching, Lark.”
“I don’t know why that is relevant.”
Our eyes meet, and I silently beg her to tell me more.
Mom leans back, lifting her teacup to her mouth and drawing a long steady breath.
