Chapter 32
Conner
I’ve officially moved in with Taylor. We’re getting married soon. Life is perfect.
“Wake up, sleepyhead.” I pepper kisses all down Taylor’s face and temple. Her hair. Neck. Whatever my mouth gets to land on. “Come on, baby. Time to get up.”
“Mmph.” She rolls over and tucks herself against my body. “Shh.”
“We’re going to be late.”
“Time does not exist for us immortals.”
“Okay. I guess I’ll go marry myself then. You stay here. I’ll catch ya later.”
Taylor shoots up, her hair tangled in a long braid. “Oh shit! Did I miss my own wedding?” She scrambles to untangle herself from the covers and ends up falling out of bed. “Ooof!”
“Technically it’s the rehearsal.” I laugh, helping her back up. “But you told me to wake you early so you could pick turkey tails, remember?”
Her sleepy eyes and oversized pajamas have me falling harder for her this morning. Every day there’s something more to love.
Yesterday it was the way she put a snail she found on the sidewalk into the grass.
The day before it was how she cut her food.
The day before that it was… shit, I can’t even remember but trust me there was something.
“Ugh, and I have yoga.” She stomps into the bathroom and leaves the door open. “We’re out of toilet paper!”
“Check next to the sink.”
“What? Oh. Found some!”
Heading into the kitchen, I get her tea and my coffee brewing. Fall is upon us, and I’m thrilled for the cooler weather.
Ever since the day we got engaged, I haven’t seen or heard from my father again.
My mom’s never reached out, so I’m not really worried there.
I did start back up with my therapist though because I want to make sure I work through what happened.
Especially since right after that day Taylor beat my dad with her flowers, I started having nightmares that she was in danger, and I couldn’t stand the anxiety I’d wake up with.
So far, counseling has been helpful. Like Taylor says, gotta do shadow work and release all my negative energy.
I honestly have no clue what any of that means.
“Hey, I wanted to ask you about something,” I call out from the kitchen.
Taylor comes in, pulling a tank top over her head that says, Support your local witches. “What it is?”
“Do you think we should do a string cut?”
She looks at me confused. “A what?”
“You know. That thing where you cut the strings and then the other person leaves you alone.”
Her brows knit together. “A cord cutting?”
“Yeah.”
“Conner, I thought you didn’t believe in woo woo stuff.”
“Well, I believe in you and if you think it’ll help, I want to try.”
She sits at the kitchen table, eyeing me. “That kind of thing is for releasing unhealthy attachments and reclaiming your energy.”
All the more reason to do it. I mean, I’m doing the work for my mental health with a professional, why not to the spiritual part with a pro too, right? Makes sense to me.
“I’ve never done that before,” she confesses, sounding worried. “What if I mess it up?”
“You won’t.”
“But what if…”
“What if it’s the last door closing to all the old, bad shit?” I set her teacup in front of her. “What if it’s just a little something extra to bring me peace of mind?”
She chews on her bottom lip.
“I’ve hung that tiger’s eye pendant in my truck for you for years. What’s the difference?”
“Well….” She dunks her tea bag and goes quiet. I let her be because I can see she’s thinking hard. “Okay. We can do it. I’m pretty sure I have everything we need.”
Of course, she does.
“Go get it.”
“Okay.” I watch her walk out of the back door to head into her little shop, and my god her ass is spectacular in those yoga pants. She’ll be blessing the town all day in those damn things.
Bear Creek is so lucky.
When Taylor comes back inside, she’s got candles, a plate, twine, and some other shit. She sets it all up at the kitchen table and by the time we’re ready to light the candles, my palms are sweaty. This is kind of intimidating.
“Are you okay, Con?”
“Yeah.” Except my heart is thudding in my throat and I don’t like it.
“Conner, look at me.” She cups my face. “This is just a spiritual representation of you severing ties with someone else. No harm comes to them or you.”
“Okay. Good.” I don’t want bad things to happen to my parents; I just want to breathe without them suffocating my thoughts anymore.
“Write their names on this this.” She slides a scrap of paper that I recognize from the notepad she keeps on her counter in the shop. It feels weird writing on something so basic for what feels like something very meaningful to me.
Once I do, I slide it back to her.
It’s all so… simple. A plate. Salt. Herbs. Twine. Cinnamon.
I’m not asking about how it all works together. I think the less I know, the better.
But she tells me to be mindful and have a clear visual of what I want. Who the candles represent. And then she ties twine around the candle that is mine, to the one that represents my father. And a second one from mine to the one that represents my mother.
I’m nervous. For someone who claims to not believe in this stuff, it sure feels like I’m about to fuck around and find out.
She lights the one that is me first. Then the other two.
I hold my breath and grab Taylor’s hand.
The three candles burn at different speeds. Mine is the slowest.
“You’re strong,” she whispers, squeezing my hand.
My mother’s candle burns the fastest, her wax melting but never dripping all the way down the length of the candle.
“Fake tears,” Taylor says, pointing at it.
I swallow hard, getting mesmerized by it all. The twine tying me to my mom catches on fire and breaks so easily, it’s underwhelming. Then again, if this is a representation of our relationship it’s also painfully accurate.
My father’s candle and the cord tying us together takes much longer. While my mother’s burns all by itself, steady and fast, my father’s candle seems stubborn.
Imagine that.
I hold my breath, wishing for that cord to set fire. Wishing it would burn, and his candle would bend over and melt away from mine.
The cord eventually catches. Then extinguishes.
I sink down into a chair and watch intently.
I don’t ever want you near me again, I think. I’m so much better off without you.
His candle bends. The cord catches fire again. Mine doesn’t waver. The wax melts but holds its shape.
I am strong, damnit. I built a beautiful life for myself. Became independent and also turned into someone people can rely on. I’m a good friend. A good man. I’ll be a good husband.
I’m nothing like my father and I’m not what he claims I am.
The fire trails across the plate, the cord crackling as it burns. Dad’s candle pitches to the side more, and I’m scared it’s going to bump into mine.
It feels like he’s reaching for me. Stubborn and selfish as ever.
I cover my mouth with my hand and stare at it. I stare and stare and stare. The fire flickers and spreads across the twine, eating at it. Finally, the cord breaks, falling off of my candle and remains on my dad’s because his wax holds it in place. It melts and burns and finally…
CRACK!
We both jump at the same time because the plate legit cracks in half from the heat.
“Holy shit.”
Taylor beams at me. “How do you feel?”
“I don’t know.”
She hugs me and that kinda makes things better.
“It’s done,” we both say at the same time. Okay, that definitely shifts the mood.
“Jinx.” Taylor wiggles her fingers at me, and I do the same back to her and then she gets rid of all the stuff.
Magic is scary. Maybe it would be different if I understood it but since I don’t, that was wild and terrifying and kind of exhilarating.
Standing up, I take a deep breath. “I feel better.”
“I’m glad.”
“Thank you for doing that.”
“Thank you for trusting me to do it.”
Maybe it worked, maybe it was all bullshit, but guys, by the time we’re done breakfast, it’s like the whole wide world has opened for me. I’m free to go into my future with my beautiful woman by my side and have an army of support at my back.
Nothing but good vibes.
Maybe there’s a little witch in all of us.
Psst… Please don’t tell Taylor I said that. She’ll never let me live it down.