Fake Dating a Witch

Chapter 27

GRANT

It”s been a month. A miserable, lonely, stressful month since I last laid eyes on Sirona. The real, flesh and blood Sirona. I look at all the pictures I have of her on my phone all the time. Multiple times daily.

I can”t help it. I miss her so fucking much.

How many times have I started a text to her, then deleted it? Because we said a clean break. We said it would be easier if we didn”t talk.

Work sucks. I”ve lost all passion I once had for being a surgeon. Maybe it”s just depression over leaving her, but I think it”s more than that. I go through the motions, but I can”t bring myself to socialize with my new classmates. It”s summer, the lake is right there, shimmering in sunlight, and I can”t make myself go biking. I don”t do anything but work and mope around my apartment.

Ostensibly I”ve started studying for the board exams I”ll have to take next summer when I graduate. But really I just stare blankly at the books and relive my time with Sirona.

In short, I”ve become a pathetic shell of a man.

The one thing I have done is keep in better touch with my mom and Kelsey. Kelsey and I text almost daily. Mom and I talk twice a week. Though they seem to be in cahoots, trying to convince me to move back to Owl Cove again.

Kelsey: I ran into Sirona at Honey”s today. She looked miserable.

Me: What do you want me to say to that?

Should I be glad she”s miserable, just because I am too? I”m not. I want nothing but happiness for her, even if that happiness has to be without me. Even though it would gut me to think of her happy with someone else.

Kelsey: Ideally? You”d say you”re coming back to Owl Cove to be with her forever so you can live happily ever after and we can raise our kids together.

I almost choke on the iced tea I”m drinking.

Me: You”re about fifteen steps ahead of where we were, even if I were still there.

Kelsey: You love her. She clearly loves you. The rest would work itself out if you”d get over your surgeon ego.

I don”t even know entirely what she means by that.

Me: I”m ending this conversation. There”s someone at the door.

Kelsey: No there isn”t. No one shows up unannounced.

I ignore her last text and try to focus on the surgical anatomy textbook in front of me. I”ve got every light in my living room on, in an effort to keep myself awake while I study. I had an early morning today, and another one tomorrow. And the next day, until forever.

And while I was in the OR today, I found myself absolutely resenting my patients. Which has never happened before. I don”t even know what I was resentful about. I just know that”s what I felt toward them. A doctor shouldn”t feel that way.

I scrub my hand over my face. I hate this. A year ago, I had my entire life mapped out. Now, I don”t know anything. I look at the future and I see either gray nothingness, or I see Sirona. I no longer see my name on research papers or on the office of the chief of plastic surgery.

A knock on my townhouse door startles me out of my head. Who could that be? Kelsey”s right, people don”t show up unannounced. And I didn”t order delivery.

I check the peephole to see my friend Leslie standing on the stoop, a pizza balancing on her hand. I pull open the door with a frown. ”What are you doing here?”

”Hey, Les. Thanks for bringing me dinner since I haven”t been feeding myself.” She brushes past me, into my own house.

I shut the door and follow her to the living room, where she”s tossed the pizza box on the coffee table.

”Wow, bright light, big city in here.” She flops down on the couch and picks up my remote. ”Get some plates.”

Too stunned to argue, I head around the breakfast bar to the kitchen and get two plates. I pull two Diet Cokes out of the refrigerator and join her on the couch.

She takes the soda from me. ”Thanks.”

”Why are you here?” I watch the TV as she turns it on and flips it to the Cubs game.

”Because you need a break and you”re miserable and we need to talk.”

”I don”t even like the Cubs. I”m a Brewers fan, remember?” I am hungry, though, so I help myself to a few slices of the sausage and mushroom she brought.

”Well, they don”t play Brewers games in Chicago, now, do they? And I”m a Cubs fan. I want to watch the game, you need a friend, you need to eat.” She gestures around the room, as if that answers all the questions.

We watch the game in silence for a little while. I”m in no rush to ask her what we need to talk about. I suspect I know, and I don”t have the energy for it.

But she”s not wrong. I do need to eat. I”ve lost weight since coming back to Chicago. Between my work schedule and my grief, I haven”t been able to make myself make it a priority. I know it”s not healthy, but I just can”t seem to find motivation to cook. And takeout gets old after about three days. So I”ve been subsisting on cereal and protein bars.

Though this pizza doesn”t suck. It”s from my favorite place in the neighborhood.

By the fourth inning, we”re done eating, and she”s on her second soda. The Cubs are down two runs to the Cardinals.

”So,” she says.

”So?”

”When are you going to admit you hate being a surgeon and give up the jig?”

Even though I”ve been entertaining these thoughts, it still comes as a shock to hear them spoken aloud. By someone else. If I”d been drinking, I would”ve done a spit take.

”I don”t hate being a surgeon.”

Liar.

Apparently I don”t need a cat that talks to me. My own brain has been calling me out a lot lately.

Leslie is one of those people who can arch one eyebrow really high, and she does it now. ”Do you remember back in medical school, you told me you wanted to be a general practitioner and open a clinic in your hometown?”

”I did?” No, I don”t remember that. I only remember after my dad died, I swore I would make him proud by becoming a surgeon. He would be proud of me in death, even if he never really had been in life.

Shit, that”s kind of pathetic.

”Yeah, we were drunk with a bunch of other third years. Talking about what we were going to specialize in. And that”s what you said.” She takes a sip of her soda. ”Said your dad really pushed for you to be a surgeon, but you wanted to be a GP and go back to Wisconsin. Said you couldn”t imagine living anywhere else.”

”I have no memory of that night.” Maybe a vague one. We were all pretty shitfaced. I definitely don”t remember saying that to Leslie.

She nods. ”And then you went for surgery.” She laughs. ”I thought it was maybe because you had a crush on me, which is why I made sure you knew I”m a lesbian.”

”I knew you were a lesbian pretty much right away. You had a girlfriend.”

She looks upward, like she”s thinking. ”Yeah, I guess you”re right.”

”I definitely didn”t try to match in surgery because of you,” I tell her. ”It really is what I wanted to do.”

Wanted. Past tense.

Fuck.

”When I was home, Sirona and I had this wild idea that we could start a practice together. I could do modern medicine, she could do magical medicine, and we could work together. She”s not a big fan of her job either.”

”Either?”

Oh. Damn. Did I say that?

”Uh, I mean...”

”Grant. Why don”t you do it? You”re clearly miserable being back here. I don”t know if it”s the whole town, or your family, or her, or what. But you hate being back here. So do it.”

”I can”t just become a general practitioner and open a clinic.”

”Why not?”

I level her a glare. ”Because that”s a whole new residency.”

She waves her hand like it”s no big deal. ”Yeah, but it”s only three years.”

”I”m already behind.”

”What”s three years out of your entire life?” She bumps her shoulder into mine. ”A life you could spend with the woman of your dreams, by the way.”

My chest compresses at her words. Sirona is pretty much the love of my life. And if this were even close to a reasonable idea, I”d jump on it.

”I”ve known you for years. And even though you didn”t truly want to be a surgeon, you had this drive that pushed you. This need to succeed. It kept you going.” She pats my knee. ”Grant, honey, you”ve lost that. And it”s killing me to see you like this.”

I scrub my hand over my face. ”You. My mom. Kelsey. How am I supposed to fight every woman in my life?”

She laughs. ”You”re not. You”re supposed to switch gears, go home, and get the girl.”

SIRONA

It”s been a month. An entire month of not seeing Grant. Not touching his rough beard or looking into his beautiful eyes or kissing his gentle lips. Of not having him hold me.

I look at my pictures of us daily. I can”t help it. So many times, I”ve opened our text thread, typed out ”how are you?” then deleted it. We agreed it would be too hard to keep in touch. We agreed.

I hate it.

I”m currently sitting at Honey”s kitchen table, nursing a long-cold cup of tea. It”s a gloomy, rainy early-August evening. Which means it”s too warm and too humid to be comfortable. And neither one of us wants to bother with some sort of spell to cut the heat in her house. The air conditioning isn”t keeping up and she can”t get a repair person until next week.

”Want me to warm that up?” she asks, pointing at my tea. She”s busy cooking us dinner.

I shake my head. I”m too drained to care. Besides, room temperature feels better than hot right now. I should probably pour it over ice, but again, too drained.

Work has been awful since Grant left. Before, I could push myself, I could tell myself I was doing some good. But more and more, I can”t do anything for the patients who show up in my office. I”ve tried talking to my mom about an improved screening process, but she says something about this is how it”s always been done and it”s fine.

I”m feeling more like we”re about making money than helping people and I hate even thinking that. Nana and Papa, my grandfather who died when I was ten, and Nana”s sister founded Goode to help people. To make magic accessible to those who can”t perform it themselves.

But Mom and my aunts seem way more about the bottom line. And Nana is long since retired from any real responsibilities.

”What did your mom say when you told her you didn”t want to work for Goode anymore?” The words just come out of my mouth. I had no idea I was even thinking them, let alone about to say them.

Honey spins to look at me, her hair floating around her shoulders. ”You”re not thinking of leaving, are you?”

Am I? ”I don”t know.” I shrug.

”Sirona!” She claps her hands, a delighted expression on her face. ”It”s about time!”

”Wait, what?”

She pulls out a chair and sits down across from me. ”You have so much more to give the world than peddling pain potions for Goode. We”ve all thought that for a long time.”

”Why... how come you never said anything before? And who”s ”we all”?” I sit up straight, a little indignant.

”Me, Chessie, Lavender, Basil, the Gems, Evan. I think at least Bronwen, probably Morgan too, but she doesn”t really share.”

The Gems is what we call our cousins Sapphire, Amethyst, and Garnet. For obvious reasons.

”So, everyone? How come no one said anything to me?” I’m feeling a lot hurt and a little betrayed.

“If you thought Honey Hive was a bad thing for me, would you tell me to my face and risk me pushing back, stubbornly digging in, and getting mad at you? Or would you gently nudge me toward seeing it and let me get there on my own?”

My spine relaxes. “Yeah, you’re right.” I wouldn’t have taken it from anyone, except maybe Honey. But probably not even her.

“So what did Aunt Betsy say when you said you weren’t working for the family either?” Obviously it can be done. Morgan, Bronwen, and I are the only ones who work for Goode. Honey’s sisters and brother all own their own businesses, and of course the Gems are international rock stars.

“She wasn’t happy. I was the first one, so I paved the way for my sisters and Basil.” She gets up and goes to the stove to stir the cheese sauce she’s making for our pasta. “She yelled a little about family loyalty, told me Nana would be so disappointed, shit like that. But I think by the time Chessie did it, she just shrugged and said ok.”

I set my elbows on the table and prop my chin in my hands. “I have no idea how my mom’s going to react. She’s really unpredictable lately. Swings from the starry-eyed bride-to-be to grumpy as fuck.”

Not to mention I’m terrified. I was raised as a healing witch with the intention I would use my powers at Goode Witches. I’ve been on this path since I was, well, since I was born. Nana could see right away that I have strong healing powers. It’s why my parents named me Sirona.

It’s everything I’ve been trained for my entire life. How do I break away from that?

Suddenly, I understand with perfect clarity why Grant can’t walk away from surgery. Even if he doesn’t seem as passionate about it as he was when we first met, it’s what he’s been working toward for years.

“So you’re doing it?” Honey interrupts my musing.

I think about how I phrased my last sentence. “How my mom’s going to react.” It does sound like that”s my intention. But is it? ”I don”t even know where to start, opening my own business.”

”Obviously we can help you with that. Basil has opened like ten businesses.”

”Yeah, but haven”t they all tanked?”

Honey makes a facial shrug expression. ”Doesn”t mean he doesn”t know how to get one set up.”

”Are there regulations about being a magical healer? I mean, Goode has always covered that for me, so I don”t even know.” I”m suddenly feeling overwhelmed. Maybe this is too much. I need more time to figure everything out.

”Uh oh. You”re panicking.” She points her spoon at me, flinging pasta water onto the table. ”So I”m going to make some decisions for you.”

”Oh, are you?”

”Yes, because everything in your brain right now is colored by your grief about Grant. Plus your natural inclination to put everyone else first. So I”m making your decisions tonight.”

I roll my eyes. As if Honey isn”t as soft-hearted as I am.

”And what decisions are you making for me? Besides what we”re having for dinner.”

”On Monday, you”re going to meet with your mom and turn in your resignation.”

My pulse kicks up, heart hammering in my chest. Just imagining that meeting makes my hands sweat.

”You”re going to take a few weeks or months, however long you need, to figure everything out and get things in order, and then, by the new year, you”re starting your magical healing business.” She turns off the stove and walks to the sink to drain the pasta.

I can”t tell if the seesaw in my stomach is nerves or excitement. Both? ”Why am I quitting if I still have to do all this research and groundwork? Shouldn”t I?—?”

”Because if you don”t quit now, you”ll talk yourself out of it. Plus, this gives you way more time to set things up. And it”s not like you need the salary.”

She”s not wrong. I know she”s not wrong. But I”m not sure I”m ready to pull the trigger.

”But Honey, what if... what if I”m scared?”

”Of course you”re scared. You”ve been raised for your position at Goode since we were little. Told it was what you were going to do. More than my mom or Aunt Sarah, your mom wanted her daughters to work at Goode. I get it.”

She scoops the pasta into two bowls and pours the cheese sauce over it. After sticking forks in each bowl, she sets one in front of me and sits down with her own. ”But you”re not a little kid anymore. You don”t have to do what Aunt Angie says.”

I sigh. ”I know. I just... I always do.”

Honey reaches over and pats my hand. ”I know, sweetie. And you need to start doing things for yourself. You”re never going to be truly happy at Goode.”

I consider her words as I dig into the pasta. The sauce is rich and creamy, with a tiny bite from the cayenne pepper she put in. ”This is amazing. Perfectly done.”

She beams. ”I know.”

I chuckle. ”You know you”re the best, right?” Love for my cousin, my best friend, washes through me.

”Right back atcha. Love you, Sirona.”

”Love you too.”

”Do you need help writing a resignation letter?” She pauses with a forkful of pasta midair. ”We can do that after dinner.”

It”s already composing itself in my head. It”s coming together with startling clarity and speed. Almost like my subconscious has been preparing for this for a long time.

”No, I think I”m good. I know what I”m going to say. I”ll type it up when I get home.”

She nods her chin toward my phone, lying on the table next to me. ”Text her now. Tell her you need a meeting.”

She”s right, I need to. I pick up my phone and start typing before I can chicken out. Of course, my brain first makes me check to see if there are messages from Grant.

There aren”t.

Me: Can we meet tomorrow morning before I see patients? 8:00?

Honey does her best to distract me, chatting about the amazing new machine they got at Honey Hive. ”The lattes are so perfect, you can”t even imagine. And it does the little art stuff in the foam. Customers are going to love it!”

I force myself to be excited for her. ”That”s great.”

My phone beeps with a text.

Mom: I have an 8:00 already. Is 7:45 enough time?

Me: Perfect.

”She has fifteen minutes for me in the morning,” I say. ”Which is good. I”ll tell her, and she has limited time to yell at me.”

”I don”t think she”ll yell at you.” Honey cocks her head to the side. ”Well, not at work, anyway. Maybe at dinner Sunday.”

I groan. That dinner is going to be even more awkward than they have been lately. None of us can figure out why Zach, my soon-to-be-stepbrother, comes every week. He doesn”t really talk to anyone and doesn”t look happy to be there. But he”s there, every week, making everything just a little awkward for everyone.

”So that”s it, then. You”re really doing this.” She says it as a statement, not a question.

I pull in a deep breath, gathering my courage. ”I”m really doing this.”