“I want something like that, but it’s something I never had. I thought I did and I was wrong. What’s wrong with me that I can’t let go? Why can’t I accept the loss of something that was never mine in the first place?”
My eyes squeeze shut to keep in the tears the wine has loosened, but I hear Rafe rise and then feel the dip of the couch when he sits next to me. He’s close enough that I can sense his presence. “What did you want?” He sounds severe, but when he reaches out to lay a hand on mine, it’s gentle.
I can’t stop, because deep down, I desperately want to tell someone. “I want my power. My moli power.”
“What do you mean?” Rafe sounds a little staggered, as if he hadn’t expected this. Which—fair.
When I don’t answer, he examines me, his bottom lip caught between his teeth before he speaks again. “Lucy. Are you telling me that you don’t…that something happened to your moli? I thought you were taking time for yourself before you joined your mother. That’s what we were told.”
I still don’t say anything.
“I promise I won’t say a word to anyone, including Mom.” Then he adds, “Swear on Stevie.”
I had forgotten about Stevie. It was the name we gave a little harbor seal who liked to swim around the beach rocks when we were exploring, recognizable by a perfectly round dark patch between the eyes. Swearing on Stevie had become our inviolable code for promise-keeping and truth-telling.
“That was a lie, about me taking time.” I force it out. “I don’t have my moli. I never did. Mom came up with that story to cover it up.”
“What happened?”
I spread my hands in my lap. “No one knows. The power might have skipped me. I might not be doing it correctly. There might be some other reason we haven’t thought of.”
Rafe’s face is intent. “How can you tell?”
“Well, nothing changed for my first client. So that was a big indicator. But there’s a feeling. My mother asked if I was sure I felt it, and I thought I did. It’s a little tug. Every woman in the family felt the same thing.”
“You didn’t?”
“No, but I thought I did.” I curl deeper into the couch. “When I was younger, I expected the power to work for me like it did for everyone else.”
“Like the sun coming up in the morning?”
“Exactly. It never crossed my mind that it wouldn’t. Then it didn’t, and I couldn’t bring myself to try again.”
“Why not?” The words are gentle.
I lie on the couch and talk to the ceiling. “Because this way I still had hope. Deep down, I could tell myself maybe that initial failure had been a fluke. That if I tried again, it might work. The possibility kept the hope alive.”
“I assume you tried again.”
I sigh. “Yeah, a while ago. I don’t have it. I never did.” My eyes drift down to the discarded remains of our meal. “You know what’s at stake. Mom was depending on me to rebuild the family fortune. The moli fragrances are the moneymakers.”
“People pay a lot for love.” He leans back. “I realize I don’t know how this even works. I never asked. How did you find out your family could do this in the first place?”
It feels a little strange to share my family’s history. “The original Hua woman—her name was Aiai—gave some incense to a maid, who fell in love after she burned it. Aiai’s mother realized her gift was to call someone’s true love, to make their hearts whole.”
“Can you test it on yourself?”
“It doesn’t work on us. Mom can make people happier, but have you met a more miserable woman?”
“That’s not fair,” he reprimands me gently.
I press my lips together, embarrassed and resentful that he’s called me out, and Rafe looks over at one of my candles. “It’s perfume, though. Wouldn’t everyone who smelled it be falling in love or feeling happier?”
Somehow, it relaxes me to chat about the logistic side of what we do. “Some moli are more inward and only affect the wearer. For instance, Mom’s does that. It wouldn’t make all the people who smell it happier as well. Some are more outward, and they cause changes in others.”
Rafe looks fascinated. “Like what?”
“Like my great-grandmother seven or eight back, who could make the wearer look more attractive to others. The moli’s impact was onthose who came in contact with the one who wore the perfume but didn’t change the wearer’s mood or perception at all.” I consider this. “Although I guess they’d be happy everyone thought they were hot. So it had a secondary impact.”
