Holy shit. This is… whacked. Sure as hell not what I was expecting when they invited me over.
What does this mean for me? I’m not really family. But this girl is.
Then I’m ashamed of my selfish reaction. My place in this family has always been a bit of a chip on my shoulder. Not because of Joe or Cassie—they’ve been nothing but welcoming even when I was an asshole. Not even because of Felise or Magan. They’re like my pesky little sisters who could annoy the hell out of me, but they’ve never once made me feel like I don’t belong.
It’s all in my head. The feeling that I owe them. That I don’t deserve to be part of this family after what I did. That I have to prove myself worthy of being one of them. The fear of failing at that and losing them.
Cassie presses her hands to her cheeks. “Well. This has all been unsettling. Is anyone hungry?”
I grimace. I forgot all about the promised dinner and have sort of lost my appetite.
“I’ll make pizza!” She jumps up and whisks away into the kitchen.
“Is she okay?” I ask Joe in a low voice.
He nods. “She’s amazing.”
Whew.
He stands too and follows Cassie to the kitchen.
“How about you two?” I look over at the twins.
“I’m good,” Felise says. “I’m kind of excited, actually.”
Magan’s not so cheery. “I’m freaked out,” she admits. “This is bizarre.”
“What about…” I pause. “She’s half Rucker.”
Magan nods, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. “Yeah. Does she even know she’s a witch?”
“I don’t know.” Felise tilts her head. “I guess we’ll find out.”
This could be a disaster.
“Pizza’s ready!” Cassie calls.
“That was some quick conjuring,” Felise mutters as she pushes herself up out of the chair.
I grin and follow the girls to the kitchen. Now the air is scented with Italian spice and garlic and three large pies sit on the big island. Cassie sets a stack of plates beside them.
“Help yourselves!” she urges us.
Recognizing the determined cheer in her voice, I walk up to her and put my arms around her.
She leans into me for a moment, hugging me back. “You’re a good boy, Trace.”
Shaking my head, I move back. “A boy? Come on.”
She laughs and hands me a plate.
We fill our plates with pizza and Caesar salad and sit at the big dining table.
“I need a beer,” Joe says. “Who else?”
“I’d love a big glass of wine,” Cassie says. “Really big. Huge.”
He grins. “Trace? Beer?”
“Why are you asking him before us?” Felise demands.
“You live here. Get your own drink,” Joe replies.
She makes an outraged noise, and I laugh.
“I’m kidding. What do you want? Red? White?”
“Rosé.”
“Jesus,” Joe mutters. “Do we even have that?”
“We do because I bought a bottle the other day,” Felise replies. “Never mind.” She twirls her finger, and a glass of pink wine appears in front of her.
Magan shrugs and does the same.
“What’s new at the Charming Chalice?” I ask Felise and Magan.
They own a small shop in Uptown that sells crystals, spell oils, incense, poppets, herbal ingredients, candles, and a bunch more stuff.
“We’ve started selling spell kits,” Magan says. “For those who can’t or don’t want to write their own spells.”
“Huh.”
“The kits have everything you need,” Felise adds. “They’re really popular.”
“That’s great.”
I’m proud of the success they’ve had with their business, although there were struggles at first. Having magical powers is not a guarantee of success.
Joe delivers our drinks, and I gratefully take a long pull of the beer. Something stronger would be even better right about now.
“Someone suggested we should do workshops,” Felise added. “I think it’s a great idea.”
“I don’t think we have time for that,” Magan says. “We’re busy enough.”
“Maybe one day,” I say.
“She’s always full of ideas,” Magan says with a teasing eye roll. “I have to be the practical one and say no.”
“You’re killing my creativity,” Felise snipes.
Joe and Cassie watch their daughters with fond smiles. And I feel that way too. This isn’t my blood family, but I care about them. Joe’s newfound daughter is blood, however.
And that could change everything.
5
Romy
My hands are sweating, my belly is a swarm of hummingbirds, and my jaw aches. I walk into Rooster Coffee Roasters and sweep the place with my nervous gaze. A man sits near the fireplace, alone. Is that him?
He looks up at me.
It’s him.
He smiles as he stands, but his eyes are shadowed with apprehension. This is nerve-racking for him too.
I move toward him. I have no idea how to address him.
“Romy?” he asks.
I nod.
“I thought so. You look like your mom.”
“I’ve been told that.” I attempt a smile, but my lips are stiff. I extend a hand to shake even though that’s weird.
He takes my hand in both of his, studying my face. “You’re even more beautiful.”
“Th-thank you.”
“Have a seat. I’ll get you a coffee. What would you like?”
“Um. I’ll have a cold-brewed coffee, please.”
“You bet.”
I set down my purse and covertly watch him as he approaches the counter to order. He’s a good-looking man—I’d say about six feet tall, and fit, with a short beard that’s silvery, his mustache still dark. His brown hair is silver at the temples, and his eyes are creased attractively at the outer corners.
He returns moments later and sets our drinks on the small table. He also bought two scones—my favorite kind, vanilla bean. “I don’t know if you’re hungry.” He takes his seat. “But I can’t resist these scones when I come here.”
“I love these scones.” Our eyes meet, and a smile tugs at my mouth. “Something we have in common.”
“Yeah.” He smiles too. “So. This is… strange.”
“No kidding.” I pick up my cup and take a sip. It’s strong and delicious. “I don’t really know how to do this.”
“Me neither.” His smile pushes up those eye wrinkles. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Yes.”
He gives off an air of assurance, of calm refuge. It settles me.
“Where do we start?” he says. “Should I tell you about your mom and me?”
“Okay.”
He tells me the story of how they met and fell in love. He tells me that he loved my mom’s kindness, how steady and trustworthy she was.
I nod, my straw between my thumb and forefinger. “Steady. Yes, she was definitely a rock.”
“She had to be, to raise you as a single mother.” He pauses. “I never knew about you, Romy. I swear.”
I believe him. I bob my head.
“She made her decision not to tell me, and I can only guess at her reasons.” He eyes me. “Did she talk to you about that?”
“No.” I suck on my bottom lip. “Talking about you was very clearly off-limits. She didn’t say that outright, but anytime I asked questions, she’d give me the barest info and shut things down.”
His mouth firms and he drops his gaze. For a moment he says nothing. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“No, I mean I’m sorry that’s how it went for you. For a child who wanted to know her father.”
“I guess I’m sorry too then… for a father who never knew he had a daughter.”
Our eyes meet in shared understanding. My lips quiver into a smile.
“Tell me more about you,” he says.
I tell him about college, my career as a software designer, my friends, and my uncharacteristic decision to take the DNA test.
“Your half sister still hasn’t given us a good explanation of why she took the test.” He frowns. “But I guess I’m glad she did.”
We smile at each other again.
Then I talk about Mom and her ovarian cancer. How she fought so hard but in the end couldn’t win. I talk about our life as I grew up, Mom’s determination to be a good mom, all the things she did for me.
“She never married?”
“No.” I tilt my head. “She occasionally dated. It never turned into anything more. I rarely even met the guys.”
His expression turns sad as he nods.
He tells me more about his family, his wife Cassie, his twin daughters Felise and Magan, the family business he’s worked in his whole life, along with his two brothers. “My dad… your grandfather… started the company, and he still likes to think he runs things.” His smile turns wry. “We make sure he’s still involved in some decisions.”
“That’s good.”
I’ve long finished my scone and iced coffee, and over an hour has passed by the time I think to look at my phone.
“Would you like to meet the rest of the family?” Joe asks.
I lift my head up and down in slow assent. “If they’d like to meet me.”
“They’ve already said they do. Let’s arrange a time for you to come for dinner. Saturday?”
“I can do that.”
He gives me his address. We already have each other’s phone numbers. We stand and leave the coffee shop. On the sunny sidewalk, he faces me. “I’m so glad to have this chance to meet you and get to know you,” he says quietly.
I suck in a shaky breath. “Me too.”
He leans down to give me a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you Saturday.”
We head in opposite directions, my car parked around the corner. My head is buzzing, and I start to walk through a red light I’m so distracted.
This is amazing. That guy is my father. He doesn’t look like an axe murderer or a rapist. He seems kind, with an impression of strength, security, and wisdom. I still don’t know exactly what happened between him and my mom, but the fact that she never fell in love with anyone else leads me to believe she loved Joe a lot. He talked about her as if he loved her too. Why didn’t things work out with them? It sounds like they were young. I may never know. But at least I’ve found my family.
* * *
TRACE
* * *
It’s Friday night, and my buddies are going to the Hearty Cow Bottles & Bites to watch the Cubs play in Pittsburgh. I walk into the bar, and a wall of noise smacks me in the chest. The place is packed, baseball on every TV. I spot Garrett in the middle of the bar and head toward him. Also here are Lincoln, Miles, and Wes.
We all greet each other with bro shakes and back slaps, and I take the empty stool at the high-top table. They’ve already ordered beers and nachos. Garrett signals a waitress, and she speeds over with a big smile.
“I’ll have a Blond Witch.” It’s sort of a joke with my friends, but it’s a nice, light ale.
She nods and looks around. “Anyone else need another?”
They’re all good, so she zips away.
I’ve known these guys since we attended the Academy, so since we were sixteen.
“How come you’re late?” Garrett asks.
“I’m not that late.” I help myself to a nacho piled with beef and cheese. “I had to go home and let Cheddar out.” Cheddar’s my dog, and it’s true. What I don’t say is that I also got lost in an old grimoire with some interesting resurrection spells I’ve never seen before.
Garrett shoots me a skeptical glance.
“Business good?” Lincoln asks, forestalling any questions from Garrett.
“Yeah. Great.” I chomp down the nacho.
“I don’t know how you work for family,” Lincoln says. “If I had to work with my dad, one of us would kill the other the first day.”
“Joe’s not my dad,” I remind him.
He rolls his eyes. “Might as well be.”
I shrug. “Sometimes it’s frustrating. Like, when I want to make changes and he doesn’t. If he was really my dad, I’d fight it out. But most of the time he lets me run the reno side of the business without interfering, so that’s good.”
“Yeah, it’s good if you can make your own decisions,” Garrett says.
“I’ve learned a lot from him,” I add. “Stuff they don’t teach you in college. And I like doing renovations. Selling real estate would definitely not be my thing.”
“I could sell real estate,” Miles muses.
We all scoff. Except, he probably could. Miles is so smart he could do anything. He works as a master marijuana extractor. It sounds like a joke, but he’s a highly skilled scientist. We call him a mad scientist even though he looks more like a football player.
“How was your date the other night?” Garrett asks.
Oh yeah. I swallow. “I should be so pissed at you.”
He blinks. “What? Why?”
“Amy stood me up.”
“Oh shit. Really?”
“You didn’t know? She didn’t talk to Julie?”
“No. That’s really weird. Julie doesn’t know her that well though.”
“Maybe she’s dead.”
Garrett chokes. “That’s morbid.”
“I mean, I hope she’s okay.”
“So how long did you sit there by yourself before you left?” Miles asks with a smirk.
“I was there for almost half an hour.” I pause. “And then this really cute chick walked in. I thought she was Amy. She sort of looked like how you described her, so I waved at her, and she came and sat with me.”
“Fuck me,” Lincoln complains, shoving a hand through his straight black hair. “You get stood up by your blind date, but a strange, hot girl drops in and picks you up.”
I laugh. “I don’t know who was picking up whom, but basically, yeah. We had fun.”
They’re all shaking their heads as the waitress sets my beer in front of me.
“Would you like to order some food?” Her smile is flirty.
“Uh…” I look at the guys. “We ordering dinner?”
“Give us a few,” Lincoln says to the waitress.
“You bet!” she chirps.
“You get some giggity giggity?” Miles asks.
“What the fuck?” We all stare at him.
“You know what I mean.” He chows down on a chip.
“No,” I say. “No giggity giggity. We went for ice cream.”
“Huh. I’m disappointed in you,” Lincoln says. “Usually you smash and dash.”
I roll my eyes even though that’s basically true. “No smashing either.”
“You want to see her again?” Garrett asks, a hint of incredulity raising his voice.
I don’t want to admit that to my friends. For one thing, I don’t very often see women more than once. They’ll be all over that like stink on a skunk. Also, there’s the issue of not knowing if she’s a witch. Amy’s a witch, and I assumed Romy was too while I still thought she was Julie’s friend. But thinking back over the evening… I don’t think she is. I’m usually pretty good at sensing that. Not that I care that much about rules. The coven’s done nothing for me. For years they’ve resisted helping me achieve my most important goal. So I occasionally date Rucker women. Whatever.
And I don’t want to see Romy again. I will see her again. I don’t know how, exactly. Showing up at her door is kind of stalkerish. But she and I aren’t done.
6
Romy
Saturday night arrives quickly. Joe called and offered to pick me up—how quaint! Since it’s not far from where he lives, I agreed.
I’ve rejected numerous outfits, trying to strike the right balance between casual and dressy, wanting to look like I care but I’m n
ot trying too hard. A first impression can be a lasting impression. I end up in a dress I wore to a wedding last summer, but with a pair of flip-flops instead of heels, it’s more casual. The halter neckline shows off my shoulders, and the skirt is loose and flippy around my knees, the floral print summery.
Joe arrives just when he said he would. I let him into my condo, and he glances around, sizing the place up. “You own this?” he says.
“Me and the bank,” I quip. “But yes.”
“Good for you.”
When he pulls into the driveway of the massive house in Sheridan Park, I blink. It’s gorgeous. I guess the Candler business does well. With my purse over my shoulder, carrying the bottle of wine and bouquet of flowers I brought, I follow Joe along the curved stone sidewalk. The front yard has huge trees with lush landscaping, tons of hostas and daylilies. We climb the stone steps to the front door, which is flanked by two stone urns overflowing with impatiens and coleus, and Joe opens the door and steps into the house. I swear my knees are knocking together loud enough for them to hear it inside.
He steps aside and I walk into a foyer with gleaming dark hardwood floors and a wide staircase on the right.
“Come this way,” he says. “Everyone’s out in the sunroom. We tend to use that room a lot at this time of year.”
My eyes are probably bugging out of my head as I follow him down a hall and into an enormous kitchen, all white and stainless steel. A woman stands at the island, tall, slender, with long auburn hair. She moves around it to greet me.
“Romy, this is my wife, Cassandra. Cass, this is Romy.”
She smiles warmly at me and opens her arms for a hug. Taken aback, I thrust the flowers and wine at her. “Th-these are for you,” I stammer.
“Oh, thank you!” She hands the wine to Joe, who moves to a wine fridge, and sets the flowers on the island. “I’ll get those in water right away.” Then she turns back for that hug.
My mom and I weren’t huggers, but some of my friends are, so I’m learning to go with it. I don’t even know this woman, but I should be happy, I suppose, that she’s so welcoming.
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