BRAMBLE:
I was too hasty; please forgive me.
I don’t want to think. I just want to forget.
But I don’t. It’s four a.m. and he’s asleep, after what I suspect was at least an hour of pretending to be. Even in the full darkness, I could sense that he was facing me rather than the back of the couch, and in my dizzy, floating state of sleep-deprivation, interpreted it as a sign of vulnerability. Forcing me to face him and all we have done to each other, bleeding hearts on sleeves, emotions drip drip dripping onto my floor. It is entirely out of order, that we’ve been apart for this long, that we’ve reconstructed our own adult identities with a chasm between us, and yet, a handful of days together is enough to wreck all of our load-bearing beams. Or maybe I stuffed too much lavender into my dream pillow and it’s making my head wonky.
Ah, the age-old question: Is it a breakthrough of clarity, or an incorrectly measured witchcraft recipe?
I end up in my garden, observing patches of starry sky between treetops that swish like black clouds, my senses settled all the way down into the pit of me, in an eerie calm as I replay the past from a new perspective, with new information. I wantto think it would have changed nothing, to have better known Alex’s side of our catastrophe. I badly need to believe that.
I recall Alex’s face, every pixel in clear high definition when I suggested without preamble,“What if we get married?”His shock, pause, as he sized up whether I was serious. I couldn’t be serious, could I?
But as though a different memory has been stuck to the back of that one and forgotten, the page flips to one July night at the Moonville Fair, sparkling grit of sweat on his cheekbones, our lips tasting of soft pretzels and a shared Coke, Alex’s curls sticking to his temples. I was in a silky green halter dress, perfect for a summer date. A full Thunder Moon loomed close enough to distinguish every crater; the town was so warm that heat scattered off Vallis Boulevard, smoking upward, buildings wavering like mirages. Nothing felt real except for him, hands sure on my hips, treasuring me close as the evening cooled to night, until goosebumps prickled on my arms. He watched me like he’d never grow tired of it, like he was the luckiest boy to have ever lived.
“We’re going to dance to this song at our wedding,” he’d said in my ear. While he worked to keep his emotions level, his hand on my waist tightened, and I felt it, all of it, everything he tried to keep hidden below because he feltso much. So much that it stunned me, made my shoes fuse to pavement.
How had I forgotten the hitch in his voice, how deep it slid, when he threw out that casual remark? Why had I not takenthatinto account when I decided not to marry him after all? All I could think about at the time was his initial shock—understandable!—and Kristin’s marriage statistics, how we were too young, hadn’t seen the world yet. How she likely thought I was trying to trap him, and I loved her dearly, almost as much as I loved Alex. Iwanted to prove to her that my intentions were good, that I was worthy of him.
I still haven’t seen most of the world that he and I broke up for. I visit the Netherlands via Google Earth because I don’t have travel-the-world money, but I flew to visit Zelda once when she was in Roanoke evacuating a hurricane. We holed up in a hotel room for three days, watchingHart of Dixie. I adopted five baby chicks. I can recite twenty uses for a quill of cinnamon bark. I can fix a mean tea that helps with both the common cold and the heartache that follows crushing mildly on a handsome man who walks by your store every afternoon, then one day vanishes, never to be seen again. I have yet to meet a ghost, but Ihavecaught orbs on camera. I’ve earned a degree and found magic. I’ve been a mother. Romina Tempest has lived.
I must have met hundreds of men along the way. None of them made me feel the way Alex did. Too bad I messed it up, then made sure I couldn’t fix it by trying to teach him a lesson.
My face burns with shame, regret. I know only one thing for sure anymore—this stupid stunt with Trevor is going to the grave with me. Alex mustneverfind out I’ve been lying again.
Luna, Trevor, and I fret all morning at work over our diminishing time available to secure a loan from Mr. Yoon.
“We should wait to ask him about it on the wedding day,” Trevor suggests. “He’ll be in a great mood, and more likely to say yes.”
“We can’t ask him for favors on his wedding day!” I exclaim.
“Ro, my love.” He settles a hand on top of my head. “Youneed to get a whole lot sneakier if you’re going to survive in this cutthroat world.”
“I feel plenty sneaky already.”
I think Trevor and Luna hear my guilt, because they exchange a concerned glance before advancing on me. Before they can dig in, however, our prayers are answered. Or perhaps, our bad news is expediated. Depends on which way this thing rolls.
Mr. Yoon stands in the doorway of our shop, face impassive, flanked by Kristin and Alex. “Dad?” Trevor jumps to attention. “I wasn’t expecting you to come by today.”
Mr. Yoon’s lips press together. Alex’s eyes flash to mine, and I read his thoughts easily. This was Kristin’s idea, and Mr. Yoon wasn’t thrilled to be dragged here.
My stomach drops but is swiftly caught by an unexpected net: Alex went out on a limb for me, and for Trevor by extension, coaxing Mr. Yoon to do this. He wanted to help.
“I’m Morgan.” Morgan sticks out his hand. “You look like a sensible man. The Magick Happens is an amazing business opportunity you’d have to be stupid to pass up.”
We all throw him evil looks.
“Don’t listen to him,” I cut in quickly. Morgan frowns at me, like,I’m trying to help!
“Does he work here?” Mr. Yoon asks, unimpressed.
“No,” we all hurry to say. Except for Morgan, who replies: “I’m a volunteer.”
As Luna launches into the specifics of the store, beginning with her candle-making process, I sneak a look at Alex, who’s watching me. We quickly avert our gazes.
“Here’s where you can find lighters, matches, natural oils to dress your candle, and votive holders,” Luna tells them,showing off her favorites. “I create batches of my love oil on the Friday before a full moon.”
“Oooh. Any particular reason?” Kristin wants to know.
