Page 18 of The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

On Sundays, Talula and Sara had a tradition that Talula called “witch church.” Sometimes, witch church was a guided meditation session by a placid lake. Sometimes, it was spring-cleaning the house top to bottom while blasting music from every era. Sometimes, it was Sara opening a bottle of enchanted wine and gossiping with Talula about scandals from a thousand years ago until Talula laughed so hard she fell out of her chair.

Witch church was a lot of different things. But it was always time together.

The morning before Sara went on her world-saving trip, witch church was Sara tugging on her windbreaker while Talula packed a breakfast picnic. They laced up their walking shoes and headed out to the nearby forest trails.

“Where should we go, my heart?” Sara asked as they walked.

“West Ridge Trail.” It was arguably the best one, leading through green tangles of oaks and trickling creeks, then heading up to a gorgeous view. It was also the one she knew Kristen liked to jog on. Thankfully, it was early enough so Talula knew her ex would be doing her best seraphim impression at Pine Hollow Presbyterian’s morning service.

“Sounds beatific. Will we run into that former paramour of yours?”

Talula scowled at her mother. Sometimes, having an omniscient pseudo-celestial being for a mom could be a bit irritating. “No.”

“Good. You deserve a peaceful moment to just be amongst the green.” Sara took a sip of tea from the thermos Talula had packed. “Though, I haven’t heard you mention seeking out sexual fulfillment lately.”

“Yikes, Mom.” Suddenly, Talula’s mind conjured Dahlia’s face looking up at Talula from the café floor. Blushing, Talula kept her gaze on the trail. “I just…I want to focus on my magic. For now.”

“I’m so glad to hear that, my love. But you know, if you nourish one part of yourself, sometimes other aspects of your life feel rejuvenated as well.” Sara clasped a hand to her chest with a nostalgic sigh. “For instance, I was at an orgy festival in the BCEs—”

“Mom…”

“—and I had such a psychically and physically profound orgasm that I saw into the future—”

“Oh my god—”

“—I was able to prevent the extinction of an entire species of ectoplasmic jellyfish!” Sara finished proudly, oblivious to Talula’s distress.

Talula shook her head, exasperated but mildly entertained. “I didn’t need to know that!”

“But I saved the jellyfish!” Sara cried.

“I’m sure they were grateful.” Talula barely managed a straight face. “But I would be grateful for a subject change.”

Sara crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know why you never want to hear about your mother’s orgies.”

“I know, Mom.” Talula shook her head with an exasperated laugh.

Sara pouted. “I would let you talk about your orgies.”

“If I ever wind up in one, you’ll be the first to know.”

“I’d be honored.”

For a moment, Talula considered telling her mother about Dahlia. That she was becoming a friend. Or that Talula had been nursing a giant crush on the human since she first walked in the door. But when it came to romance, Talula was cautious around her mother.

As Talula knew far too well, Sara had enjoyed countless trysts with lovers of every gender and every inclination. Talula had even joked that her mother had invented sex (“Just the one move!” Sara had clarified with a hint of pride. “You know, the one where you—” Talula, fourteen at the time, had run from the room screaming).

To Sara, sex was a kind of conversation. But romantic love? That was another story.

Talula knew her mother had had paramours during her childhood. Notably, they weren’t boyfriends or girlfriends or even significant others. They were just people Sara was “spending time with” (to be clear, Sara was very open about how she was spending time with these people, but after much too much exposition, Talula had demanded the euphemism). Sara’s lovers never came to the house or the café. They never attended birthday parties or holiday gatherings. Most of the time, Talula wouldn’t even learn their names.

One day, after her sixth-grade teacher had come to school with a shiny new ring that had made all the other girls squeal, Talula had asked, “Mom, will you ever get married?”

Sara had laughed and laughed and laughed.

When she finally saw that Talula didn’t get the joke, she had swallowed her giggles. They had been sitting on the front porch swing for a morning of witch church, drinking tea and watching hummingbirds flit around the feeders. Sara cleared her throat of her last giggle, then explained. “I’m not the marrying type.”

“Why?”