“Hey, Handywoman Song!” Ennis called, waving at her from their spot on the couch.
Eunny wandered over. “Handywoman?”
“It’s what you are, isn’t it?” The kid shrugged. “If you studied body magic when you were here, how’d you get so good at repair work?”
“I love the repair café!” exclaimed a red-haired girl sitting next to Ennis who Eunny vaguely recognized from being around the Grove. “Will it open again soon? The Stitchery were teaching us decorative mending.”
“I’m not sure. There was a lot of damage,” Eunny said, feeling monstrous as the girl visibly wilted at the news. “You like it that much?”
“Yes! I didn’t know how to do any of my own repairs before,” the girl said.
Somehow, Eunny ended up seated on the couch, listening to the life story of the girl—the aforementioned Soph of the tragic cookies—and how she’d come to Sylveren after growing up in North District, Graelynd. It was strangely pleasant, hearing her exuberance for the repair café; Eunny had grown too used to Gransen’s brand of obsession disguised as passion. She found herself sharing her tale of summers spent at the teashop and finally deciding to make the move permanent when life in Central no longer held any appeal. It was a truncated, glossed-over version of events, but the mixed emotions of fear and excitement at starting over were true enough.
Do you ever miss it? Your life there? No, no she didn’t. But the life she’d hemmed herself into, a repair café and a profession devoid of magic—it was getting harder to remain content with that life, too. Harder not to be tempted to give other things a chance.
When Eunny finally left to meander back upstairs, a flicker of the regret she saw in Ennis and Soph’s faces at the night coming to a close resonated with her own.
Chapter Ten
A few more days passed, and though Gransen never broached the topic again, their conversation lingered at the back of Eunny’s mind.
“Give him a chance.”
“A chance to what?”
“Are you going to make me say it?”
Yet every time Eunny was around Ollas—schlepping his bags, dragging crates around, assisting with the watering—though conversation flowed easily between them, inertia kept the words inane.
Everything was so good right now. Uncomplicated. Ollas would get excited about some garden thing, and even though Eunny couldn’t understand half of it, just listening to him had that satisfied warmth filling her brain. Eunny didn’t think she’d been unhappy before, but there was something nice about laughing in the morning over breakfast, getting her hands dirty in the greenhouse most afternoons, hanging out in the Heartwood or even just in the apartment’s main room each evening. Slapping the papers out of Gransen’s hands whenever she got the chance. Joking with Ollas. Making him blush.
It had her thinking—not seriously, but just for fun, during her off hours—about what it could mean for her, accepting the notion of Ollas’s forgiveness. Giving him a chance, as Gransen had said. But the old guilt rose up every time, and as she tidied up the living area one afternoon, she realized that Ollas’s bottle of healing salve hadn’t been used in a few days. Most of the bandages remained in a neat, untouched pile by his couch bed. They were nearing the month mark of her “assisting” him. No point in risking the good times they were having when soon she wouldn’t be there at all.
But not quite yet.
Taking advantage of a rare break in the weather, Eunny went into town. She hurried past the repair café, where, barely visible in her periphery, boards and water-repellant fabric shades temporarily replaced the busted windows.
Stepping inside the Mighty Leaf, Eunny flashed the note she’d received from Yerina earlier that morning to her Uncle Dex. He gave her a gruff nod and jerked his head to indicate her favorite booth at the back. Considering gruffness was his resting state, Eunny almost wouldn’t have read anything into it, but coupled with her aunt’s note being devoid of her usual cheeriness, it had a sense of trepidation growing within Eunny as she made her way through the tearoom.
She saw her aunt first and waved to get Yerina’s attention as she walked forward. Yerina quickly stood up, a nervous smile on her face.
“Eunny, thank you for coming. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know sooner,” Yerina said, coming toward her.
“It’s no trouble. What’s up, Auntie? You don’t usually…” Eunny trailed off, her gaze going over her aunt’s shoulder as she noticed the booth was still occupied. She’d know that immaculately twisted updo anywhere.
“Aunt Yerina…” Eunny whispered, exasperation in her tone.
“She wanted to meet with you, but she didn’t think you’d come if she asked you herself,” Yerina said, as if it was a reasonable explanation.
“Well, maybe Mother does know best sometimes, because she’d be right.”
“Eunny,” Yerina said softly, laying a hand on her arm. “She’s come a long way.”
Two visits in as many months—unheard of for Bioon after six years of nothing. Eunny would’ve been happy to maintain their distance. But Yerina’s round face was full of silent pleading, of hope and heartbreak for this sad excuse for a family reunion. Eunny could return her mother’s snubs with vicious pleasure, but disappointing her auntie?
Ensuring that her sigh was audible, Eunny gave her aunt a brief hug before dragging herself the few steps to the booth. She plopped onto the cushioned bench and reached for the teapot in the middle of the table, eyes following Yerina’s retreat to the front of the tearoom.
“Eunji, so kind of you to join me,” Bioon said.
