The Unfortunate Side Effects of Heartbreak and Magic(69)

On numb feet, Sadie walked to the back patio, the creaking door echoing in her bones. The scent of Gigi’s last cigarette clung in the air as she sat on the top step, hunched over her knees and trying to draw a breath through her chest, even though it was encased in iron.

It was then that everything crashed into her. Every small gesture, each word, story, gift, birthday card, phone call, and memory that she would never have again.

Her shoulders began to tremble until they quaked, and sobs wracked her body, so violent she had to grit her teeth to keep from biting her tongue. And then there were arms wrapping around her from behind, holding her together. She smelled Seth’s clean soap scent and cried harder. He held onto her until the tears stopped. It was short and violent and left her feeling no better than she had before.

“What do we do now?” she asked him.

“I don’t know,” he answered, sitting beside her, his shoulder leaning into hers.

As they sat in silence, a hummingbird darted in their line of sight, hovering a foot from their faces. Sadie knew it was the same one that had appeared when Gigi had taken her last breath. Its wings beat so fast they were a whir of iridescence, its bottle-green plumage shining with an ethereal light. It vanished after a few seconds.

Seth demanded that Sadie stay outside when the coroner came to take Gigi’s body. He didn’t want Sadie’s last image of her to be her lifeless body covered under a white sheet. He and Aunt Anne took care of everything.

The light was turning amber, the golden hour, and the air was filled with the scent of lavender and sorrow.

She wanted to get under her covers and sleep through winter and wake with the fresh shoots of spring, when breathing didn’t feel like dying. Gigi had sacrificed her whole life for her family. She’d lost a daughter in the process. And the darkness she’d tied to herself to ensure the twins’ safety—that protection was gone. One of them would soon have the power of a conduit running through them. They needed a sacrifice. And yet, there was less than a month left until the first full moon.

The smell of coffee and breakfast drew her into the kitchen. It was after midnight, but Uncle Brian was flipping bacon at the stove.

“She’d want us to eat,” he shrugged, his eyes red rimmed.

Aunt Suzy was pouring coffee.

Tava was making scrambled eggs.

Seth sat at the table, silent, his gaze faraway.

Anne, inexplicably, was making maple butterscotch walnut fudge.

“Mom always used to make it for us when we needed”—she stopped, cleared her throat, and swiped at her eyes—“when we were scared. She said it would make us strong.”

Sadie didn’t know what to do.

What were you supposed to do after the matriarch died?

“Here,” Seth pushed a cup of coffee in her hands and shoved a bear claw in her face, forcing her to take a bite. “I know you haven’t eaten. And Gigi stockpiled enough of these for the zombie apocalypse.”

Sadie wanted to laugh but couldn’t find her voice. Bear claws were one of the staples their grandmother always had on hand—along with cheese crackers, cheese Danishes, sourdough bread, and a drawer filled with whatever candy the discount store had on hand.

“When we were kids, she wouldn’t let us leave the breakfast table until we’d eaten everything on our plates,” Anne said. “Even if we said we weren’t hungry.”

“Especially if we said we weren’t hungry.” Kay was half laughing and half crying.

When the sun finally filtered in through the windows, Sadie and Seth were the only two still awake.

Sadie, her voice soft but brittle as she hunkered under Gigi’s blanket on the couch, told Seth, “I had to memorize a poem in high school. Pablo Neruda. It was a death poem. All I can remember is the line ‘Falling out of the skin and into the soul.’ That’s what I feel like.”

“‘Death is the enemy. The first and the last. And the enemy always wins. But we still have to fight him.’ Or something like that. Pretty sure that was Beric Dondarrion from Game of Thrones.”

And despite herself, she smiled, even though it broke her heart.




The first few days after Gigi passed were a fugue best left forgotten.

They all mourned differently.

Kay with wails and tears. Anne with action. Uncle Brian with a soft kind of sorrow that threatened to overcome him anytime he tried to speak. Tava with words and stories. Seth and Sadie with silence.

Sadie had never been depressed. Sad and worried? Yes. But this, this grief felt different. Thicker. Like a shroud she was suffocating under. She wondered if this was what Seth felt all the time. The weight of failure made her empty. Everything lacked purpose. Her words, when she spoke, came out slow, and her whole body ached. Life seemed vacant. She was vacant. Not a normal person. She wasn’t a patient lying in a hospital bed, but she was sick, nonetheless. Just an empty human.

And every hour, more people stopped by with flowers and food and words that were meant to bring comfort but usually didn’t, because comfort is an impossible task in the face of fresh grief. The real consolation was seeing their own grief reflected in the eyes and tears of friends and neighbors and café patrons because it meant they were unified in their sorrow and love for a woman who had touched so many lives.

Cindy McGillicuddy organized casseroles in the fridge.

Bill brought more sunflowers.