Hesper and I, somehow, without speaking, had agreed to set aside our mutual differences for the night and opted to entertain Angus in an undivided household. I didn’t quip at her; she didn’t accuse me of magic.
’Twas nice—until the peace broke.
The fire cast the room in a syrupy glow, and the newly dusted armchairs gave each of us ample room to cuddle in deep as we talked of everything and nothing. We laughed until I’d surely wheezed myself into some health issue.
As the night came to a close, a comfortable silence settled into the room.
“What’s it like to have garden magic?” Angus asked, taking a swig of mead.
My blushing cheeks went sallow. Hesper paused just as she brought her glass up to her mouth.
“It’s—uh—it’s…”He saw you have an all-out meltdown only a few days ago. The truth can’t be worse than that.“I don’t really have any.”
I shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. “Well, I did. Back in Moss. Magic was there, but I struggled with it always.” I hiccupped, as did Angus. We were all entirely spent, but my head was clear enough to say the rest. “Then it goes poof when I leave. It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
I looked to Hesper for agreement.
“Not even close.” She finished off her bottle and began a new one.
“Oh, don’t listen to her.” I shooed her words away with my mead-free hand. “She thinks I have special magic. It’s sospecial that I can’t use it, nor find it, and my parents hated me as a child because I didn’t have it.” I laughed like only someone who has one too many drinks running through their veins can. Or, more aptly, as someone who finally started letting others peer behind the veils of her heart.
Mabel’s words had stuck with me, even through the heady mead:It is a hard, odd, wonderful thing to be alive.
It was only natural that a little girl who’d grown up the way I did would keep the ones she loved the most shut out of her heart. That was what she knew to be safe, to be true. But I supposed somewhere along this odd, wonderful quest, I was learning different things about what hearts could do when love was let in.
“Huh” was all Angus said. He’d forget it in the morning, I was sure.
But the mead made me loose tongued, the comfort I felt with Hesper and Angus opened up my heart, and the words kept tumbling.
“There is this feeling I get, though.” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “It’s happened just a few times—like there’s this tiny ball of light in my chest, and it seems like magic. But I can’t grasp hold of it. Flowers pop up here and there, and I think that maybe it was… me. Then I feel so foolish because I know better than that, right? I know better.” I chuckled to myself, taking another swig. “Then maybe I think that I don’t know much at all.”
“Who does?” Angus raised his glass for a cheers. Hesper and I raised ours. “To not knowing everything!”
“Now, shall I tell you a secret?” He hiccupped.
“It’s only fair.” My words slurred together.
He leaned back in his armchair and let out a great sigh. “I am in love with Giddy Gertrude, the pastry shoppe owner.”
“You are?” I asked excitedly.
“Yes!”
“Are you two together?”
“Not at all!”
“But why?”
“I’m too scared.” He smiled sadly, taking a swig. “You see, I have loved her ever since I met her. And she’s so busy with her shoppe, and she has the loveliest hazel eyes. She smells like cardamom seeds, and—well—Clara, she’s just too good for me, you see. If you love someone, Clara, don’t do what I do. Don’t be scared.”
Just then, Warty fell off the armchair and rolled dangerously close to the fire. Angus had been slipping him sips without my noticing. The conversation devolved into all things hedgehog care and town gossip.
Angus did not, in fact, remember our conversation the next day. Or at least, he didn’t bring it up. But I remembered.
And Hesper certainly remembered.
“Tell me about this kernel,” she inquired as she painted the cottage honey yellow, and I dug a fifth garden bed.
