Imani’s blue-and-silver ponytail sways on the back of her matching dress. Her gold hoop earrings and bracelets jingle as she sprinkles herbs into a bubbling pot on the old black stove. I breathe in the delicious smell of gumbo. We smile at each other. It feels so wonderful to be home.
The sight of my mother, Malcolm’s ma, and our grandmothers sitting at the table, laughing and chatting like old friends, brings tears to my eyes. All of us coming home to 1922 New Orleans and spending time together is like a healing magic I never thought I’d experience. The air around them is filled with cinnamon, nutmeg, and other seasoning containers floating out of cabinets and sprinkling dishes on the counter and pots on the stove by their magical command. I watch them until it’s time for dinner.
The sapphire flames of the gold chandeliers cast an azure glow over the dining room as we all sit at the mahogany table. The ceiling is an inky sky with blinking stars. My heart floods with warmth as I hold Malcolm’s hand and watch our family members chatting.
“Here’s to Emma and Malcolm,” Papa says proudly, standing in a black and white double-breasted suit and raising his glass high.
Malcolm’s brother Charles raises his glass. His dark suit is sharp, and he beams with pride.
I nervously fiddle with the cream napkin resting by the china-blue and ivory plates before me, looking on as Papa’s salt-and-pepper curls shine in the light.
“To new beginnings.” Big-Mama’s voice is rich and smooth as she joins the toast. “To family. Freedom. And the unity that makes us stronger.”
We clink our glasses together with a chime of celebration. Big-Mama sits in her tan dress, casting a loving glance at Pop-Pop, who grips her hand, smiling.
The sapphire flames make shadows along the walls as Imani, Malcolm’s little sister, watches with an amused smile. Her blue-and-silver ponytail rests on the shoulder of her matching dress. Imani whispers to Malcolm, “I saw rivers of blood. A million possibilities of one or both of you dying. But this”—she gestures toward our clasped hands—“this is why I helped you guys. This is the future I always hoped for—the one where love wins. Thank you, Malcolm.” Her eyes sparkle with pride. “Thank you too, Emma,” Imani says.
“For living?” I giggle.
She laughs. “That and giving me back my brother.” Imani scoops macaroni and cheese into her mouth.
“My pleasure,” I reply.
Malcolm leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. “When are you gonna stop stealing, Emma?”
“What?” I raise a brow, tilting my head in confusion.
“Every time I see you, my heart skips a beat.” His grin spreads wide, teasing but sincere. “Don’t know how I ever lived without you.”
His words sink into me, warmth blooming in my chest.
“If you really wanna bond with my sisters and actually become part of this family,” Malcolm says, his tone playful but meaningful, “start with music. Jayla worships Lauryn Hill. As she should.”
“Who?” I ask, the question earning a scandalized look.
“You don’t know Lauryn Hill?” He clutches his chest as if I’ve mortally wounded him. “That’s a sin. A flaw we must correct.”
With a sly smile, he waves his hand toward Imani, who flicks her fingers with a subtle glimmer of magic. A soulful voice fills the room, rich and warm, as “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You” plays. Malcolm’s face lights up as the melody swells, pulling the room into its orbit.
“I see why Jayla loves her,” I murmur, tapping my foot to the rhythm as I watch Charles show off some fancy footwork in the corner of the room. The song’s smooth rhythm and timeless melody make me smile.
Malcolm rises from his chair and offers me his hand. “You’re gonna love this part,” he says, his eyes warm and inviting.
I let him pull me up, his touch steady and sure. We sway beside the table, our movements falling into sync like we’ve danced together a thousand times before. The soft glow of the chandelier reflects in his eyes as he twirls me, and for a moment, it’s like the world outside this room doesn’t exist.
Jayla claps along, her head nodding to the rhythm, and Demetri joins her, laughing as he pulls Imani into a spin. The energy spreads, everyone caught in the magic of the music. Laughter bounces off the walls, blending with the song in perfect harmony.
I glance up at Malcolm, and the way he looks at me—like I’m the only person in the world—makes my breath catch. I love how the singer’s voice fills the room, velvety and smooth, lifting my spirit like a bird in flight. Malcolm winks at me as he mouths a line about needing someone, his grin so wide it’s impossible not to smile back.
“We have to time-travel,” I say, laughing softly. “I want to hear this song live. In concert.”
He kisses my forehead, his lips lingering for just a moment. “Anything for you,” he says quietly.
My heart feels like it’s about to explode with joy.
We return to our seats, the air still buzzing with happiness and conversation. As I glance around the room, I feel it—this is what love and family are supposed to feel like.
Our glasses refill themselves, the bubbly liquid inside changing from pink to gold when we lift our cups. I think about what we have overcome:the witch, the Tether, and years of hate and division. And I happily raise my glass and drink.
