Epilogue
Five years later...
“ A re you fucking kidding me?!”
I may still be young amongst the magickal community at twenty-six, but I swear this child of mine is giving me all the gray hairs.
An entire fucking half-dozen of raspberry & pear tarts... eaten . By a four-year-old with some seriously sticky fingers.
No, like seriously. There are sticky fingerprints all over the house. So many that I am wondering if any actually made it into her mouth.
I open my mouth to yell again when I see red marks on the couch when a commotion outside has me on high alert. I am dashing through the house and out the back door in minutes.
Beside my herb garden sits my ornery little girl and standing across from her is the little boy she wants so badly to befriend from a few houses down. At his back, is his mother.
Now I try to see the best in everyone, but Carin is such a raging bitch that she truly makes the task difficult. The irony of it all is that her husband Thym is the one who ordered the tarts my baby absconded with.
“I’ve already told you to stay away from her.” She whispers the admonishment to her son, but I can clearly hear Carin from where I stand. And to add insult, she smacks a tart from the boy’s hand before he even gets to take a bite. “And never eat anything she gives you.”
I hold back the sigh. It’s ridiculous how much people fear what they don’t understand. And my baby girl’s eyes? Well as much as I love their one-of-a-kind golden hue, uniqueness makes people nervous. Especially when you live in a world where the monsters of myth come to life.
“Well hello, Briar, Carin. How lovely to see you.” Carin startles at my sudden appearance and watches me closely as I move to stand at my daughter’s back. As I get closer I see the tear streaks down her precious cheeks and have to swallow my rage.
“Oh! Elswyth. It would seem the children were playing and Briar lost his tart. I am so sorry about the mess.” I love the way she flirts with the truth. Never outright lying as that would risk a punishment from the Gods and temporary loss of her magicks.
“What a shame,” I say gently as I lean forward and pick up the tart. Thankfully it landed face-up so I’m able to follow through with my little demonstration. I take a big bite and moan loudly. “Man, these sure came out perfect. It’s a shame Thym’s order will be delayed now as I will have to rebake them all. I’ll have to stop by and chat with him about it all. He sure loves my tarts.”
Do I enjoy being seen as the town whore when I’ve not let anyone touch me since I became a mother?
Not one fucking bit.
It’s not my fault that people feel the need to hold their mates tight whenever I am near. It’s theirs. They get lazy in their relationships and forget to put in the work. They forget how to be friends as well as lovers.
And me?
I don’t mind having friends, but I only truly care about my daughter.
I must have hit the target well because Carin’s face blushes bright red.
“Don’t worry about it at all. We’ve already had breakfast so I can just swing by this evening and pick them up for tomorrow. I will let Thym know.” And without another word, she picks her son up and turns to head home.
Frowning at the dirty tart, I decide it’s best as an offering to the local fauna and toss it further into the trees and away from the house.
With the trash and the tart both dealt with, I bend down, pick up my favorite sticky chaotic little girl, and head into the house.
She cuddles into my arms and I find myself losing all the irritation I held for her stealing treats. Instead, I head straight for the bathtub. With bubbles galore in place, I toss the tart goblin in the water.
Ok, maybe I don’t toss per se.
“Momma.”
The title brings a smile to my face. I don’t think I will ever get tired of hearing her sweet little voice call me that.
“Yes, baby?” I grab the shampoo bar and begin lathering it in her long brown curls.
“Is there something wrong with my eyes?”
Her question hits like an arrow. I fight threw my anger. Even at the best of times... “kids can be dicks.”
“What’s a dick?”
Oh shit!
That’s what I get for muttering out loud again. Instead of drawing attention to the word that should not be coming out of a child’s mouth–no matter how funny it sounds–I choose to ignore it. The tactic has worked well so far.
“There is nothing at all wrong with your eyes, my sweet flower. Why would you think so?”
“Briar said his Mommy told him not to play with me because my eyes are all wrong.”
Briar’s mommy is a cunt.
I don’t say that–this time–but I sure as fuck think it.
“Well, what color are Briar’s eyes?”
She thinks a moment but answers proudly. “Brown! Like dirt when you plant seeds.”
“Very good. And he got the color from his mommy. Now what is all over the ground outside?”
“Umm... dirt?”
“You are exactly right. So there is brown everywhere, right?”
She doesn’t answer but nods, so I continue.
“If there is a color everywhere you look, it gets a little boring, right?”
“Not purple! I just love purple so much.”
“Right. Except for purple, of course. But brown eyes are very common. I think Briar’s mommy is a little jealous. You have beautiful golden eyes and she is stuck with brown eyes. I might have even heard her say that her favorite color was yellow.” She gasps so I know I have her hooked and push forward to hit my point. “I know, right? Now can you just imagine how you might feel if you met someone with purple eyes?”
She shakes her head solemnly. “Poor, Carin. Stuck with poopy eyes and it makes her act like a poopy head.”
I bite my cheek hard. Do not laugh. Do not fucking laugh.
I really should say something about her calling an adult names but... well Carin deserved it for making my baby cry.
Washed, rinsed, and smelling fresh, I wrap her in a towel and head to her room.
“Momma?”
Isn’t she just the most inquisitive little thing tonight? I really can’t help but love it.
“Yes, Forsythia?”
“Where is my daddy? Briar has a daddy, but I don’t. How come?”
Again I’m forced to bite my cheek hard and hold on to the dresser to keep me sturdy. This time it’s grief that washes over me. That familiar pain in my chest aches and I rub at the spot. Briefly wondering if it will ever go away.
Panic grips me at what to say. I choose the coward’s route.
“Everyone has a daddy, but some daddies get lost to us,” I whisper. “Now, would you like the purple star dress or the purple flower dress?” I hold both options out for her and she squeals in delight.
“The stars Mommy! The stars!”
“Stars it is.”
As I help her dress and go through the rest of my day, cleaning and baking fresh tarts, the pain in my chest slowly dulls down again, but never quite goes away.
When I lay down later that night, my thoughts drift to a blanket under a beautiful night sky and I can’t stop myself from wondering if he ever thinks of me.
But we were never meant to be together in this life.
Maybe in the next.