The screen door slid open to the sunroom, built on a deck overlooking the backyard and swirling river. Gertie made her way out, wrapped in her own thick shawl. Once all the others had left, the house had turned soft and easy after bursting with so much energy.
Reaching up, I took the round mug from Gertie’s ring-lined fingers. I looked down into the cup, knowing that it was a perfectly steeped chamomile tea, made from fresh ingredients instead of the bags I carried along with me.
I could never get my tea just right when I made it without Gertie. Either too weak or too strong, but good enough. One day, I figured I’d be able to perfect it as much as Gertie managed without her looking over my shoulder or simply making a cup for the two of us.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“You’re welcome.”
I sighed, holding my cup up high near my chest so I could feel the comforting heat soak into my bones. “I love this house.”
“I know you do.” Gertie grunted with effort as she sat down beside me, curling her legs up like the two of us were twins. “You never did say how your meeting went at school,” Gertie said. “I figured after so many weeks of planning Samhain on campus for everyone, you’d let us know tonight.”
I shook my head. “It didn’t go great.”
“That’s a shame.”
I didn’t say anything else, holding in that it was a shame. It also wasn’t. I didn’t know anymore.
“Of course, we all know exactly why you decided to put your energy into something you doubted would be possible to begin with,” Gertie said, looking out toward the yard. “Unless I am wrong yet?”
My head lolled to the side, I was completely transparent. If to no one else, then to Gertie. “Maybe.”
“I’m not going to tell you to do anything. It wouldn’t be right of me,” said Gertie.
She herself had lived a more adventurous life than most—from the few stories she’d let slip to me over the past few years. Trouble and strange whimsy were never far behind. Her life was not simple—not like mine was—but still she managed to create some sort of magic out of it all.
A piece of perfect, even when life wasn’t.
It was hard to think that I would ever manage to be as strong as Gertie, let alone make something out of my life as much as she had. Not when it was plain as day that I could barely figure out a simple choice, such as a major. I was too afraid to decide at all these days, lest it be the wrong decision, sending me right back into a life I’d struggled to get through before I arrived at Barnett and found her and the rest of the coven.
If I could, I would stay right here forever.
I told Gertie so more than a few times, and it still held true. I was more productive at her house anyway. I baked and tended to the plants and lived.
Why couldn’t I just live? Why did it feel so hard?
“Don’t retreat.” Gertie reached over and squeezed my knee.
“I’m not.”
“You are. I can see you withering before my eyes, and I am not going to let it happen. So, you look at me,” she insisted, though her tone never rose harshly. Another way I wished I could be more like Gertie. “You can do anything you set your mind to. It’s a trait not all have, no matter how easy it is to say.”
“You’re just trying to make me feel better about myself.”
“Since when have I ever done that when it wasn’t due?”
I lifted a single shoulder.
“Oh, Lu.”
I snorted. Now, that was the more correct reaction I expected from her—exhausted with me.
Reaching over, she gave my leg a small smack. “Stop it. You really don’t see it yet, but you will. You care so much about everything. It’s another reason I can only ever imagine you taking over this place. When that time comes, of course.”
I blinked, turning my gaze away from the screened-in porch, and narrowed my eyes at Gertie. Gertie always joked that I was the one who appreciated her and the house the most out of everyone, but never like that.
“You find little pieces of magic in everyone, whether or not they see it in themselves quite yet. I like to think I do too—most of the time anyway, when they aren’t arguing with me,” she teased.
