A Passion for Potions (Petalfall #1)

59. Fifty-Nine - Birthday Presence

Fifty-Nine - Birthday Presence

Ana

For a moment this morning, I worried that I might feel guilty tonight. Leaving them to fend for themselves felt a little unkind. I am used to the chaos and cacophony.

But Penny pushes me forward—it’s not quite a shove—and it feels like I’m swallowed up by these people I’ve known all my life.

They’re all so happy to be here... how could I be any less happy to be with them.

Leaf hauls me into the fray first, parading me around as though I don’t already know everyone who’s here. I thank them all for coming and for their part in the planning and execution—specifically, if I know it.

She hands me off to Celese and I think I see Bibble in the direction she tromps away to.

The entire village is here, except... perhaps, my mother.

If my attention wasn’t constantly captured by a new person wishing me well, I might worry about it.

And then, Celese hands me off to Misses Keeling and Murdoch. The two women are still wearing aprons.

“One last thing to unveil.” They hook their elbows in mine and I laugh a little at the strangeness of one arm so high while the other stays where it should.

They watch me with hesitant looks as the two boys pull back the sides of the little tent.

“Oh! It’s beautiful.”

Five enormous tiers, pale apricot frosting with lavender icing dribbling down the sides, they’ve decorated it with flowers and berries and little swirls that look like they might be magic.

Misses Keeling takes me by the arms, holding me still when I would have taken a step forward. “Don’t look at the back.”

There is a scolding tone in her voice and I imagine there are fingerprints hidden at the back.

“Which of them was it?” I ask, laughing.

She looks to the side and I see three little boys—one of my nephews among them—with purple frosting smudged on their chins.

But Misses Keeling laughs as she says, “We may never know.”

Winking at them, I turn away, also pretending I don’t know what they’ve done. And I don’t go around to look at the back. I let them rearrange me and motion to the musicians, and I wait as they sing to me, wishing me another happy and healthy year.

When they’re done, someone yells “Speech!” and I force myself to keep my smile in place, but luckily, Leaf is there to tell them no.

The idea of speaking in front of this many people... even if they are all friends, is terrifying.

I escape into the tent where the women have started to take apart the cake, cutting it in pieces and placing plates on trays.

“Let me help.”

Murdoch snaps her beak at my hand. “Absolutely not.”

One of the little boys looks at her, terrified, but I know she wouldn’t have actually bitten.

And even though they won’t let me help, when they’re focused on something else, I set the cake they’ve given me on a tray with a half dozen other slices and, heft it up, slipping away to the table where two of my sisters sit with some of their children.

“I come bearing sweets.”

“Told you,” Eryn says softly to Carlotta.

With a groan, the eldest of my younger sisters slides a coin across the table and Eryn takes it from her, looking utterly pleased.

“Are you making bets about me again?”

“We make bets about everything,” Carlotta says and Eryn adds, “We take after our mother in that.”

I look around again, not seeing her. “I am surprised she hasn’t made an appearance yet.”

“She will. I have a feeling she’ll crash in when it makes the best scene.” Eryn takes a plate from the tray and sets it in front of Carlotta.

The little boy in her lap reaches out with a clumsy hand, grasping at it and smushing what little he manages to grab through his chubby little fingers. “We have a bet on that too.”

“And what bet did you just lose?” I ask her.

“That you’d be able to get through the night without playing waitress.” Carlotta glances behind her. “I thought you’d be too distracted.”

I follow her gaze and meet Viggo’s eyes, red and glinting under the lights.

Eryn looks over to where they’ve been trapped by Callum. The old gryphon is the town butcher. I wonder if he’s trying to sell them blood.

“They watch you like they’re afraid the wind will sweep you away.” Eryn hefts her youngest up onto her lap and bundles the little boy close. “If Mina hadn’t come to tell me every little thing she knows... it might worry me.”

Across the table, Carlotta pinches her lips together in a smile that feels like she’s trying not to laugh. “Mina certainly has enjoyed visiting with all your news.”

We didn’t talk about them with mom, for obvious reasons.

“I don’t have much of it, but I should have come to visit, myself, already. It’s been too long.”

“You’ve been busy,” Carlotta says, this time, her smile is soft as she takes a bite of her cake.

“I’ve always made time before.”

“You have more distractions now.” Eryn wipes at her son’s purple stained cheek. “But we’re not worried about you anymore.”

“You’re my little sisters. I’m the one who’s supposed to worry about you.” I pinch Derrin’s cheek. “You have plenty to worry about on your own.”

She groans. “Like when one of them falls in the nettle patch next, or which one breaks their arm trying to catch the goats again?”

She looks pointedly at her four-year-old who has broken at least three bones in the last year.

“I will mix you any potion you need.” I watch him throw himself into a group of other children with abandon. “Though... making him live with the pain for a day or two might deter him from doing it all over again.”

“I couldn’t do that.”

“I know.” I couldn’t either.

A flurry of motion beside me makes me flinch.

“This!” Morganna says, flopping a heavy wad of fabric down onto my lap, “Is your birthday present.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me until you’ve looked at it. The weavers hate it. It’s ‘ too experimental ’.” she huffs. “It’s just apricots!”

She covers her face and holds her breath.

I carefully unfold the fabric and it is, indeed, “just apricots” but they are beautiful and so intricate... “It’s wonderful!”

“Really?” She peeks at me through her fingers.

“Yes!” I hug her tightly and when I let go she looks... rueful.

“I can make a better one if it’s not—”

“Hush. This is wonderful.” And I want to march down to the weavers guild—their absence is noted—and tell them they’d better stop being mean to her.

“I finished off the edges, in case you wanted to wear it as a shawl, but if you want to have Misses Scoggins do something with it, I tried to make it long enough.”

“Thank you, I love it.”

But before I can say anything more, the band stops playing and we all look up at our mother who has climbed up on two crates to get everyone’s attention.

“It’s my daughter’s birthday!”

I grit my teeth as she raises a glass. But none of my sisters... not even Mina who has popped up beside us, holding a wriggling little boy... reacts to the way that sounds as if I am an only child.

“Thank you all for coming out to celebrate her, and me! After all, it’s my birth day too.”

There’s an uneasy chuckle among the crowd and I wonder just how much help she was today, or if she’s been absent until now.

“Thirty years! It’s amazing and I know we all plan to be here in thirty years when we get to celebrate again.”

She looks pointedly at me and I nod, glad she didn’t turn that look on Penny or Viggo.

“I’m not going anywhere.” I say, loud enough she can hear, but not yelling.

“Good.”

This time, she does slant a glance their way, but only for the barest second before she turns to a cart that two of the village boys have brought to a halt beside her.

Something covered in sheeting sits in its center and behind me Eryn says, “Get ready to pay up.”

But my eyes are locked on our mother.

A small tremor of apprehension flutters through me as she says, “Tomas and Jerechiah were kind enough to cart this all the way up here for me, so I am not going to wait another second to show you!”

She pulls back the sheet and the meadow is punctured by a sharp gasp and then... silence.

“Oh Goddess.” Morganna says, softly. “It’s worse than I thought.”

Carlotta and Morganna both put money down in front of Eryn this time.

The statue is marble with gilded accents. Two women—I assume they are supposed to be us—standing hand in hand beside each other.

The way the sculptor has made their faces... they look more like lovers than mother and daughter.

Even though I don’t want to, I walk through the small gap the partygoers have made for me and when I stop in front of it, my mother finally gets down off her stand.

“Do you love it?”

“It’s incredible,” I say, not lying. “Thank you. I have no idea where we’re going to put it.”

“In the square, obviously.”

“I don’t know if the temple allow that.”

“They will. You and I will simply have to tell them they can’t refuse a birthday wish.”

I am going to have to get to them before she does... to make sure they deny that request.