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“Yeah. She wouldn’t stop talking about history, which I think is why my brain keeps thinking about it.”
“Wait,” I say. “What was her name?”
“Elia? Elara?”
“That’s Dr. Lothiel, one of my bosses,” I say with a laugh, trying not to think of my other boss. “Her hair is twelve feet long?”
“Something like that. How did you not know?”
“She’s never worn it down,” Alitha shares. “Ever. It’s always in a bun. We knew it was long, but not that long.” She takes another bite of her cheeseless pasta.
“Honestly, I kind of just assumed her hair was really thick, that’s so funny.” I crinkle my nose. “I wonder if she’ll wear it down now that it’s all fancy.”
“We’ll see at the Christmas party,” Alitha says.
* * *
Sitting at my desk in my little house, I hover my mouse over the submit button on my application. I had gotten an email from Augury University suggesting anyone can apply, but that they’ll be looking at applicants from outside the organization as well. I know what’s going to happen. I’m going to get my hopes up, they’ll hire some potions professor with years of experience from somewhere else, and they’ll probably even give them relocation assistance.
Why would they hire me? I’m an adjunct with no formal potions training. I majored in charms and minored in history, much to my own dismay. If I could go back in time, I would. I’d be a potions professor working alongside Alitha, and I’d be dating Vega. Everything in my life would be perfect.
But it’s not. So here I am, paloma in hand, crying and drinking my feelings. Simone told me I have to stop using sugar and alcohol to make me feel better, and although I agree, I can’t heed that advice tonight. I’ve been thinking about this for days—ever since Alitha told me. Dahlia has been hounding me to put in my application before it’s too late, so screw it. Here goes nothing.
Click.
I want to feel relieved, but all I feel is nervous. What if they interview me? What if I’m actually given a chance, will I fuck it up?
* * *
The Christmas party is just a week away. I load up my car with all the projects I’ve been working on. I’ve got fake present boxes, strings of snowflakes, and even giant paper poinsettias. Iris would always find new hobbies she wanted to try; every year it was something new. One year, it was arts-and-crafts, and she decided she wanted me to try it with her. We made a whole scene, a room of decorations. There were houses and flowers and all sorts of things. I don’t know if she does arts-and-crafts anymore, but it’s something I’ll always be fond of.
Getting into the car, Momiji in tow, I head towards the Illusionary Jungle. This is going to be a party to remember.
eighteen
VEGA
I do laundry once a week.From my bedsheets to my winter jackets, I wash everything. I think it’s one of the things she liked about me—she liked how clean my apartment was.
The first week, I could still smell the remnants of her. It was faint, barely there, but my orc nose allowed me to notice.
The second week, it was barely a note. Maybe I once had my arms around a woman, and this was that smell–but maybe not.
Now, the scent is gone entirely. As is the sound of her laugh, and the look in her eyes. It’s pathetic how much I miss her. She wasn’t a craving I could manage; she was my every desire wrapped up in a neat little bow, just in time for Jul and Christmas.
After I left Indigo’s house, I spent an hour sifting through our employment contracts for the third time, just to be sure. Nope. Still not allowed, not unless one of us switched departments.
I spent the following few weeks working out, drinking protein shakes, and meditating. I ignored the lack of texts from my father, ignored work emails, and ignored Freja’s whining for me to practice my magic.
I gave myself time to mourn and mope, but now I’ve got to pull myself back up onto my feet and be the strong independent orc that I am. Opening my laptop, I check my emails.
Spam. Spam. Last minute holiday sales. More spam.
An open position. This email is from the dean.
Once I finish reading the email in its entirety, I jump out of my chair, throw on a vest and a pair of pants, and haul ass towards my car. Freja follows, trying to keep up with me.
“Freja, I’ve fucking figured it out. I know exactly what I need to do so that Indigo and I can be together.” I just hope it’s not too late. He sent that email days ago.
