by Kat Quinn
“Love,” Lin interjects before I get too deep into replaying scenes of Aria crawling up somebody’s pant leg and biting them on their kneecap. “You were muttering about metals. You’d asked them what kind of teas they liked and then wandered off into la-la-land.” He smoothes out the sides of his already perfectly smoothed-out hair. “Perhaps it’s time for a bit of a break? Ask Emmaline to pop on over for a smidge and help sniff out the good ones, would you, dear? Clever girl’s got a good nose for folks and we should use that to our advantage.”
I shrug. It’s all the same to me, anyway. Like peas and beans all mixed in a bowl, but there’s supposedly a super secret shiny one buried somewhere in the pile. I know about as much about bowl-bean-picking as I do interviewing, so break time sounds great!
My shoulders pop as I stand and stretch, the slight twinge just a reminder I’m still alive and not an entirely unwelcome discomfort. Since we were already in the cafe area, it only takes a couple of steps before I sidle up next to a woman skillfully assembling orders behind the tea counter. The heels of her well-worn cowboy boots make light tapping sounds as she smoothly shifts from one station to the next.
“How can I help you, doll?” Emmaline asks, a slight country accent twanging the edges of her words like a banjo being tuned in the distance. She tucks a renegade strand of blonde hair behind her ear, rebelling against the loosely-formed tyranny of a messy bun; warm eyes giving me her full attention.
“Wanna help with the interviews?” I ask, both hands clasped behind my back as I bounce on the balls of my feet and eagerly hope she agrees.
“Y’all sure about that? I ain’t really been here long enough to know what y’all are lookin’ for.”
“Pfft,” I blow a raspberry of total confidence in her abilities as response. “If you can sit through a bunch of brown-nosers tryin’ to shove their noses up your brown while pretending like they know what they’re talking about, you’re already better at it than me. I usually just stop paying attention when it gets boring, and it gets boring real fast.”
She politely tries to hide a small giggle behind her hand, but I catch it like a fly ball in midfield. That’s a thing, right? Sports!
“Alright then, darlin’, I’ll scoot on over there. Need me to grab someone to help at the counter?”
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks, though!”
Ever since I nearly busted my head open from climbing on the counters to reach some of the higher-up stuff, Zeke rearranged the layout so everything’s within easy reach. Mixing teas was already pretty instinctual for me before, but now it’s something I can do without even having to look or really reach hard for the ingredients.
The heels of Emmaline’s boots tap themselves away as she throws a friendly wave over her shoulder and joins the interview crew. A pair of what looks like possible twins sit down for their turn at 20 million questions.
Obviously, she got the less fun end of the deal and I don’t feel bad about it at all. Paid my dues already, thank you very much!
An hour or two pass, and I don’t really try to snatch them up; just let them roll on by. People come and ask for tea, I give them tea; it’s not exactly a complex transaction if you ask me. Easily, my mind wanders as my body takes over, automatically snatching up herbs and leaves and mixing them through strainers with hot water. Every now and then, someone gets totally fancy and orders a snack to go along with their drink. That’s about as thrilling as things get back here, but still better than listening to strangers give the same internet-recommended responses to our list of internet-recommended questions.
“Would you care for some company, miss?” Garrett’s polite and professional voice just barely breaks through the haze of automation. In appearance, he gives Lin a run for his money in the smooth and put-together category, but has just a bit more approachability and warmth to him. Like the difference between a con man dressing up like a magician to get you to trust them while they intend to smile and swindle you, versus someone who works as a docile receptionist for that same scoundrel of a con artist. Who maybe also moonlights as a college professor. Or librarian. Or tech support dude. If that even makes sense.
Look, he’s still sharp, but his are rounded edges.
“Sure, but there’s not really much going on right now. Breakfast is long since over and we don’t really get another rush until later on,” I shrug.
“That’s fine, I’m interested in learning more about the potential capabilities of these blends, if you’re willing to take me on as a student?”
Blinking, “You want ME to teach YOU?” I shake my head in disbelief, “Like, you actually want my advice on something?!?” The man is way more put-together and professional than I am. Probably even knows how to teach people stuff. Me? I just do things and hope for the best-usually not thinking them through in the slightest.
“Of course I do.” Garrett pauses, “Or is that not okay? Apologies if I’ve offended you, miss. I wish only to be of greater use.”
I cock my head at him, curious. “How could that possibly be offensive, dude?”
“Some mages seem put-off when those of us without magic dip our toes into what bits of it we can. I’d hate to bring down the reputation of this establishment by sullying your restorative beverages with my unworthy hands.” He says that last bit with the casual defeat of a phrase he’s been taught to believe, and no longer fights back against.
“First of all, if anyone tells you you’re unworthy, just kick ‘em in the shins and call them a ripoff artist; that shit’s rude as hell. And second of all, I asked you why you’d want me to teach you only because I’m not exactly skilled in teaching stuff. I’m not even sure if I actually know what I’m doing half the time, so my methods might not be useful to someone who didn’t spend years on end talking to plants. It’s a thing, honest. Plant-talking.” Playfully, I jostle my shoulder against his arm, “But if you’ll have me as a teacher I’ll gladly have you as a student. You’se a dope ass dude, Garrett, and I’m totally about having you here to help out.”
This time, the hour or two that pass by as we work together get caught in my net and I savor them. Any time someone places an order, I try to pay attention to what I’m doing to better instruct our newly-appointed assistant store manager. He takes fastidious notes in a small book, tucking it back into his pocket with care between tasks.
Tasks like re-labelling some of the containers on our counter with crisp, swirling, calligraphic handwriting. Garrett even rearranged some of the setup, totally managing to streamline things, such as no longer forcing me to walk the length of the bar to grab a spoon when spoons are pretty much always needed on the opposite end. Genuinely, just a small amount of time and Garrett already found a bunch of small ways to improve the whole setup.
And he was worried he’d somehow offend.
7. Dizzy
“Well hey there, Sugarsnap, how do you feel about me and Grams whisking you away from all this testosterone for a bit of lunch?” I look up to see an angel, the woman who’s always known the way to my heart is through a free slice of chocolate cake: Lilly.
“Wife! Yes!” My delight at her perfectly-timed rescue from impending tummy-rumbles is genuine. “Oooh, and the infamous Miss Fern, I presume?” I look from the tall, slender, youthful woman with long, silver hair to her companion; a short, round woman with chunky jewelry and that same silver hair coiled into an elaborate up-do. Decades span between them, but their matching teal eyes, dark skin, and trademarked shimmering, moonlight hair make their relation unmistakable. Miss Fern gives me a broad, honest smile. Her long, manicured nails tap lightly on the yellow globe topping an ash-colored cane.
“Mm-hmm, The Girls have told me quite a lot about you, Ms. Jones. Figured it’s about time we meet you in person. Plus, this one keeps gabbin’ my ear off, too, so I’m getting it here, then, and everywhen. Might as well make our acquaintance all official-like!” The older woman thrusts out her hand, stacks of colorful bracelets clacking together with the movement. Her grip is surp
risingly strong given the whole “I’m totally frail and would definitely break if you puffed the tiniest breath at me so I’m completely harmless, look the other way why don’t you” vibes she’s giving off. Having gotten into multiple losing battles with innocent-looking things, like blankets, I know a thing or two about deception. Blankets are way more tricky than we give them credit for.
“Well, uh, I hope what The Girls have to say about me is all… nice?” I question.
“Oh, don’t you worry your little head off, Duckie, they’re big fans,” Miss Fern replies.
“Ugh. Grams, I’ve told you. Not everyone gets what The Girls are all about. It’s even harder when you throw in all those crazy tenses and make things wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey.”
“Hush now, Lilly, you know as well as I do Ms. Jones here will have been a great ally for us all. Just because you and The Girls don’t have the same relationship I do with the collective us, doesn’t mean we’ve all got to cover up for the comfort of others. I am who I am, dear, too late to go changing now.”
“So about this lunch?” I interject quickly, having heard legend from both the guys and Lilly herself about how bickering between the two can escalate into full-on war in an instant. “I’m hungry! Are you hungry?” My eyes ping-pong between the two women, “Anybody else hungry?” As evidenced by my spectacular failure this morning, conflict is not exactly a strong suit, so I’d much rather go for distraction. “Garrett!” I shout, even though he’s only a couple of feet away from me, “Are you hungry? We’re gonna go get lunch. You want lunch? Tell me what you want for lunch. Lunch is good. Lunch.” Smoooooooooooth.
Garrett’s eyes bug out a bit at me but I don’t care, as long as they’re not centipedes his eyes can bug out all they want. I shudder at the thought of someone’s eyes widening so much that they fall out and centipedes crawl from the sockets and the person’s skin crumples into a heap on the ground as all the centipedes are set free from their fleshy prison and finally allowed to reign supreme. Yuck. Garrett’s eyes stop bugging out, unaware of the terrifying fantasy I’d had about them. “Um, sure, Miss. I could do with some lunch. May I ask what you’re planning? Do you require me to escort?”
“Don’t you worry about that now dear, just let us gals take care of things. Much as I’m sure you’d love joining us at Maeve’s, it’s a good thing you sat this one out.” Miss Fern winks at the man as he conspicuously tries to make his features as inconspicuous as possible.
“Yes, Maeve With Love is a regular stop of mine. If it’s not too much trouble, I’m a bit partial to her tuna fish salad on Helpful Challah.” He starts to tuna fish around in his pockets, “And I’m happy to pay.”
“Now boy, didn’t I tell you to let us gals take care of things? I know you weren’t just about to pull out your wallet and contradict me.” Miss Fern cocks an eyebrow in challenge.
Garrett freezes, stuck between a rock solid sense of chivalry and a hard, stubborn, short-old-woman place. His brain processes the information and doesn’t seem to comfortably compute what the best course of action to take is. Slowly, the pocketed hand slides out of its trouser prison and reveals itself to be empty. Miss Fern nods in appreciation of the choice. “Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate your kindness.”
She laughs, big and open in a knee-slapping way without any actual knee-slapping, “Oh, I know you do dear. And I expect some day you’ll make it up to me. Always did like those tiny sandwiches.” Miss Fern’s eyes glaze over for a second and she zones out, smile less broad when she slips back in. Almost imperceptibly, she nods, blinking at the same time.
“Dizzy, why don’t you go around and talk to those boyfriends of yours so we can figure out what all to bring back for them? If Gram’s didn’t make it clear enough, looks like it’s our treat today.”
“Aye-aye, captain!” I give Lilly a salute and prance out from behind the counter, in search of the targets of my mission. Aria spots me from the shelf she was perched on and flies to my shoulder once I’m outside the food service space.
From what everyone’s said so far, “The Girls” are the collective consciousness that Miss Fern shares with basically every woman in her bloodline through space and time, and also probability. Which seems pretty impossible, but weirder things have surely happened. I’ve got a feeling The Girls sent her a message in that moment, and that feeling isn’t a warm and fuzzy one.
8. Monty
Maeve With Love is just a few blocks away from our own shop, but it’s still further than Dizzy and I can be apart most times. The distance our bond allows us seems random and inconsistent, being anywhere from just a few feet at its shortest to just over a block and a half at its longest. Nonetheless, that means I’m crashing this ladies’ luncheon, with or without my permission. And I’d much rather have it be with my permission this time.
The tags on Colonel Stubb’s collar jingle as the little white Frenchie happily prances ahead of me, leash in hand. I try to be polite and not eavesdrop on the women’s conversation, applying my focus to the cheerful, chubby little creature instead. It only takes us a handful of minutes to make it to our destination, but the awkwardness of trying to be as unobtrusive as possible makes it feel like centuries upon centuries. Every now and then, I can’t help it; I’ll sneak a glance at the woman I’ve been blessed and cursed with as a soulmate. Blessed, because she’s unlike any other person I’ve ever met before, and cursed… Because of this aching distance between us.
It’s my own fault, hesitating, pulling away.... I needed time, and it seemed like the right idea. Building a romance has never been as important as building a family, and I don’t think it’s wrong to have a solid family foundation first. Maybe even instead. Still, I reserve the right to mentally kick myself over and over again about the possible mistakes I’ve made, despite the greater good successfully being maintained. Isn’t that more important? Isn’t it?
Regardless of Connor’s blunt discussion this morning, I just… can’t. It’s too risky. Maybe some day, when the timing’s right.
Bells tinkle cheerfully as we enter the homey bakery/cafe, a shop largely decked out in shades of pink. I take in a deep breath, finding peace in the warm scents of sugar, yeast, and toasted flour. Stepping into the space is like being embraced in a massive hug; love and protection so thick in the air that my shoulders release some of the tension they’ve been storing up for later. Reminds me of my parents’ home.
There’s a smattering of tables in the front half of the shop, each surrounded by heart-backed chairs. Miss Fern’s cane makes a dampened tapping with each steady step she takes towards one. Quickly, I beat her to the nearest seat and pull it out.
“Why, thank you, young man. Such a nice boy, I sure hope you never forget to spoil all the women in your life rotten.” Miss Fern smiles warmly as she lowers herself into the offered chair. “Now, would you be a dear and give them our order while I rest my old bones?”
Lilly rolls her eyes. Dizzy cocks her head and raises an eyebrow. I just smile and nod politely, fully aware Miss Fern is no spring chicken, but she’s also far from being out to pasture just yet.
“Ladies? What can I get for you all?” I dig in my pocket and pull out the list of everyone else’s orders, ready to write down their additions, only to discover I don’t have a pen. Miss Fern taps me lightly on the elbow and I realize she’s more prepared than I am, of course.
“I’ll take a Spring in Your Step special, if you don’t mind. And a sweet tea too, dear.” I gratefully accept the pen from her and scribble it down.
“And for you two?”
“I’d love a turkey club on Ready for Everything rye, Monty. With a lemonade if they still have some.” Lilly inquires.
Dizzy’s eyes go wide, lighting up as she whispers; almost as if in a trance. “Turkeyyyy clubbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb.”
Lilly jabs her with an elbow, “Gurl, you know you should try getting something else. Clearly, the universe don’t want you to get a club. You know some shit’s going down if you even try
it.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault! You did this to me! Making me want one the day we met, and now again?! Totally not fair! This might as well be an anniversary lunch! Club and cake, that’s the way! Think they do veggies?” Dizzy eyes the glass display case next to the counter, pretty much loaded with every type of bread or cake imaginable. “Nah, probably not veggies. But cake and club are totally on the menu! Please, Monty?” She looks at me, golden eyes glistening widely with hope. How can I say no?
“Of course, Diz. Whatever you want,” I respond. Pen poised at the ready, “Drink?” I ask.
She places a caramel-skinned finger on her lips, tapping in thought for a moment. “Root beer? With lemon? And cherries for Aria!” Dizzy quickly strokes the back of her friend, the long black fuzzball proudly standing at attention on her shoulder.
“Sure thing ladies, I’ll look into it.”
My steps are loose and smooth as I stroll up to the counter, a round woman also dressed in pink patiently taking our long order. Glancing over my shoulder while our drinks are poured, I sneak a peek towards the ladies at our table. Dizzy’s arms flail in big, excited gestures as she speaks, whole body exploding with the story. She fills a room like no one else I’ve ever known. The other two are caught up in their own way; Miss Fern nodding every so often, hands folded on top of her cane, chin resting on her hands. Lilly waving a hand and pointing her fingers throughout; but the main attraction is the purple-haired woman with a way all her own. She spent years running, trying to hide, but how could she ever possibly go unnoticed?
“I’ll bring the rest over to you when it’s ready, would that be okay?” I turn my head back to the register, a tray of four drinks suddenly on the counter where they hadn’t been before.
