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“Well, the boys are fine. Asher is building his own cottage right behind ours. We’ll send pictures later. And Alex is off doing God knows what.”
“Or who,” Dad mumbled, earning a slap on his arm, but Mom still smiled.
“I think he’s met someone, honey. He’s been disappearing for hours every day for the past two weeks,” she said in a whisper.
“Or a few someones,” Dad went again, earning another slap.
“No! This time, it’s serious. I can feel it. Moms feel these things,” she said.
“You said that at least five times already,” I reminded her. Alex didn’t do serious. He said it himself—he was not going to get married until at least his one hundredth birthday. He liked being single and he owned it. I admired him for it.
“But this time, it’s the real deal,” Mom insisted. Behind her, Dad rolled his eyes.
I laughed. “If you say so.”
“And what about you, little miss monster slayer?” Dad said with a grin. “Anybody special in your life?”
Ugh. “Nope. Work keeps me so busy. I don’t really have time to date right now.” Six. “I’m just focusing on my career.”
“That’s okay—you’re only twenty-three,” Mom said. “And soon, the city life is going to bore you, and then when you come back home, everything will fall into place.”
My stomach twisted. My mom had never truly accepted that I had moved away from home, that I didn’t want to live my life the way pixies do. She still thought it was a fluke—the spirit of adventure she blamed my dad for passing on to me, and she hoped that I’d get tired and want to go back home soon, find a man, get married, and have a bunch of kids for her to spoil.
“Yeah,” I breathed, not having the heart to tell her that that was never going to happen. It had been hell to bring myself to the point of leaving my home behind. Even though I often thought about it—especially lately—I knew I would never actually do it. I liked the life I lived here. That I wasn’t getting anywhere with my job was a different story. Everything else I enjoyed fully.
We talked some more, and Mom and Dad told me all about what they’d done last week, all the plants they’d grown, everything Mom had prepared for the package she sent me at the beginning of every month. Spices, herbs, all kinds of small magics supposed to make my life easier. And I appreciated it more than she knew.
“Have you thought about what I told you, honey?” Mom asked before we hung up.
I flinched. “Mom, no.” We’d talked about this a thousand times, but she apparently still wouldn’t let it go.
“Think about it, Teddybear. It’s the perfect plan! If you can’t afford it, we can pay for it, just—”
“I can afford it, Mom. I just don’t want to do it!” I said, way too loudly.
“Teddy, don’t raise your voice at your mother,” Dad reproached, and I swallowed hard.
“Sorry, Mom. But I told you before—I am not going to rent the rooftop deck and make a garden in it. I can’t grow anything.” It beat me why she made me say it every single time we spoke. Had she no idea how worthless it made me feel? I was a pixie, and I couldn’t grow a simple flower, yet she insisted I make a garden.
“But it’s such a good idea!” she cried. “And who knows? Eventually, when you learn the ropes, you can open a flower shop. You can be close to your roots in a different way until the city life bores you. You can strengthen your magic, too!”
Closing my eyes, I took in a deep breath. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll think about it.” Lie number seven.
Not that what she suggested didn’t sound good—it did. If I could grow flowers, I could take from them, too. My magic would be fully loaded, and everything I did would come easier to me. But I couldn’t do it. I’d tried it—I just couldn’t. And I didn’t want to open a flower shop—I wanted to be an ODP agent.
“You do that,” Mom said, smelling my bullshit through the camera.
By the time we said our goodbyes, I was exhausted. I didn’t even have the energy to pick up a chocolate bar from the kitchen cupboard, even though chocolate always made everything better. The tears came—I couldn’t stop them if I tried. I hated lying to my family. It suffocated me that I couldn’t be the woman I always thought I’d be by now. But that didn’t mean I was going to stop trying. Eventually, I’d catch my break. Eventually, I’d get the chance to prove to myself—and the world—that I was worth something.
And those thoughts kept me company before I fell asleep right there on the couch, the phone still clutched to my chest.
