The Unfortunate Side Effects of Heartbreak and Magic(13)

“What do you want, Jake? I can’t just let you back in,” she said finally, hating the note of brokenness that had weaseled its way in there without permission.

“I’m not asking you to. I just … needed to apologize.”

The ground grew warm beneath her feet, the heat snaking up her legs until it wrapped around her chest and squeezed her heart. It was fall. The air should have been crisp. Instead, the stillness she’d come home to earlier had turned even warmer, and she swore she could smell honeysuckle. Like her garden was trying to make her remember the summer she’d fallen in love with him. As if her brain needed the encouragement. Jake’s hand rested on the fence, his fingers curled over the top. He looked like a permanent fixture. Like he’d been wandering around in a fog and had finally found the lighthouse.

The thought of seeing Jake every day for the next decade made her blood jump. The ground was steaming now and rose in tendrils around her legs. He glanced down and jumped back.

“You should go,” she told him, proud of herself for sounding firm, even though her hands were trembling by her side. “I need time to think.”

“I understand,” he said softly, staring sadly into her eyes.

She remembered every amber fleck hidden in there, but forced herself to ignore them.

“I want to be friends,” he continued, although his voice came off pained. “Do you think we can, eventually?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, refusing to look at him. “I hope so. Maybe.”

She turned away before she could do something she’d regret, like forgiving him on the spot or screaming at him or giving in to the memories and the way her heart still ached for him. For the first year after he’d left, she wouldn’t let herself think about a reunion. It was a Revelare fact that daydreaming about the desires of your heart was the surefire way to make certain they never came true. The second year was harder. She imagined the obscenities she’d yell at him. The third year she dreamed of the ways she’d make him pay if he came back asking forgiveness. On his knees. She’d played the scenario out in her head so many times in so many different ways, it felt like a soap opera on repeat.

Most times she imagined yelling at him until she was hoarse. Other times she thought about refusing to even acknowledge him. But her favorite scenarios, the ones she rarely let herself think about because kindness was her kryptonite, were when he showed up unannounced while she was gardening, with a bouquet of flowers in his hands and an apology on his lips. And yes, it was a spoon instead of flowers, but it seemed her daydreams had some power after all. Only in her head these imaginary encounters ended up with a lot less clothing involved.

After a few moments, she heard the crunch of gravel as he walked away. When she turned around again, he was at the sidewalk. By the time he was out of sight, some of the feeling had come back into her legs. She exhaled an unstable breath. Maybe Raquel was right, and she was a glutton for punishment. But the little blue box felt heavy in her hand as she lifted the lid, and her fingertips grew warm as she ran them over the cool metal. Three inches in length, the handle had a background of white, red, and blue, with the outline of Texas and a horned bull laid over. She loved it. She didn’t want to tuck it away. Gigi had always let her use her grandfather’s spoons for fake potions and feeding her dolls because she said special things were meant to be used and treasured instead of simply stared at. She wanted to use this spoon to stir sugar into her coffee and reflect on the fact that Jake had been thinking about her while he was gone. She nestled the spoon carefully back in its home and slipped the box in her back pocket, where it felt like a sort of talisman.

She glanced in the direction of Rock Creek House just once before shaking herself. Memories wouldn’t get her anywhere. She had work to do.

Her knees sunk into the earth as she pulled weeds, dirt embedding itself under her fingernails since she refused to wear gloves. She pulled a clump of Queen Anne’s lace and shivered as she remembered the feel of Jake’s arms around her after so long.

Damn it damn it damn it.

She knew she was screwed.

Her weeding paused when she reached the smattering of pastel gladioli that towered like a stack of bonbons dusted with sugar. Remembrance.

The stalks swayed toward her in an enticing dance. Setting down her garden shears, she plucked a bell-shaped bloom and squeezed a drop of juice from the petals, the taste sweet on her tongue.

She had to remember. The pain. She couldn’t forget; there was far too much at risk. He wanted to be friends—and that’s exactly the same trap she’d found herself in before.

But as the fog rose up around her vision, it wasn’t Jake she saw, but a series of dark symbols at the bottom of a lukewarm, blue-patterned teacup.

As her eyes closed, a looming flutter of white appeared again from the forest.





Rum Soaked Peach Muffins with Streusel Topping

Careful with these. They incite euphoria and preserve only happy memories. Peaches are a symbol of youth and immortality. Walnuts symbolize the gathering of energy, especially in beginning new projects. Use this recipe sparingly or it’ll prove the worse for you. You’ve been warned. People who don’t listen to old folk’s wisdom are too stupid to pour piss out of a boot before they put it on.

Ingredients

For the muffins

? cup all-purpose flour