Chapter Sixteen #2
A soft smile breached her lips, but did not reach her eyes. “Well, I should be honored, then.” Her voice carried gently, but I heard in it the slightest change of tone, the breath she released.
“Ruth,” I called cautiously. “I really am sorry for the other day. I promise to pay for the cake,” I blurted out like word vomit, eagerly searching her eyes for some flicker of emotion.
The baker nodded. “I know you will. But I can’t let you make any more deliveries,” she admitted, and rightfully so. “Or attempt to.”
Of course. “I understand.”
Ruth then lit up with her usual warmth. “The usual?”
I grinned tightly and my nerves calmed. “Yes, doubled, please!” Thankfully, she didn’t hate me. She actually bought two bouquets for their counter.
As we sat and ate, it didn’t take any convincing for Maggie to taste the magic of Ruth’s baking. Well, these cinnamon rolls weren’t literally enchanted, but their buttery crust and sweet icing and melt-in-your-mouth dough were magic all the same, if you asked me.
“Better than Old Ashton’s bakeries, right?” I asked my full-mouthed friend.
Maggie finished her bite, trying not to laugh. “I don’t know. The Breakfast Stop’s burnt bottoms give these a run for their money. I’ve grown fond of them.”
Rolling my head back, I grinned. The Breakfast Stop, a bakery in Old Ashton, had the worst food. They were good for people on break who only had ten minutes to eat anyway, but for anyone who enjoys savoring their food, we knew better.
My grin faded and I leaned into my chair.
“I miss people watching there,” I admitted.
“Seeing all the office-room officials in their best suits running down the street with coffees in their hands and bags of bread between their teeth.” Maggie and I would watch from our window in the store, trying to decide who was getting fired and who would still be there the next week.
A soft smile flashed over Maggie’s face. “Yeah,” she nearly whimpered. “I miss it, too.”
It grew silent between us for a moment. Our friendship had come to such an abrupt halt, neither of us had time to process it before having to figure out the next steps.
Who stayed after hours and judged passersby?
Who bought her the best socks and candles?
Who would help me lace my corsets? The answers weren’t there. And they wouldn’t be.
Maggie knew it, too.
Perking up, I leaned over the table and smirked. “You ready for stop number two?”
Next: Goldie’s Market, where the apples were crisp and the juice freshly squeezed.
Maggie, being very into cooking, baking, and healthy eating habits, loved fresh fruits and veggies, so I knew she’d love it.
Like a kid in a candy store, she trucked down the aisles with baskets of groceries too heavy to carry by herself.
She picked up several cartons of blackberries and closely examined them from all angles to check their quality.
The ripeness, the colors, the plumpness—it all mattered to her.
She checked dates and skipped down aisles with a hand swooshing her skirt around.
And like a loyal spouse, I followed and carried her bags.
We walked out with two loaves of bread, three cartons of berries, two jugs of juice, and a bag of Faye Augustus’s homemade candies. We even sold the last of our bouquets. One to a woman shopping and four to Goldie for the market and Rabbit’s Foot.
Along with her other souvenirs, my arms were beginning to lose feeling before we found a spot in the grass of the square to sit on.
I unhooked the handles from my skin, rings of red marked up and down my arms. But as Maggie plopped a candy in her mouth and her eyes grew ten sizes, the numbness in my limbs disappeared.
Crossing my legs, it hit me she’d be leaving soon.
If only I could keep a copy of her with me at all times.
I wouldn’t be eating Maggie’s pies anymore.
I wouldn’t have her juice blends for breakfast or hangovers.
I probably wouldn’t even be eating my daily portion of vegetables without her cooking them the way she did.
Gods, I’ve been spoiled.
“We talked enough about me earlier; how’s the shop?” My head shot up. “How’s Tommy?”
Her cheeks blushed. “Tommy is fine, and the shop is fine, too.”
There was more she wasn’t saying. “Is Tommy helping out and everything?”
Maggie tilted her head side to side. There it is. “Tommy only stays a couple nights a week. They aren’t moving right in. We’re taking it a bit slower…”
A mature decision, I supposed, but it left Maggie alone with the shop. Instead of asking, I waited, and she continued.
“You remember how I told you Maxie ran off with a group of benders a while back?” Maxie, Maggie’s little sister, practiced bending magic and found a wild group of circus actors around her age.
After swearing she wanted to do it professionally, she took off.
“Yeah, well that didn’t work out, so she’s going to need a place to stay for a bit and I figured why not try the sibling business thing? ”
Not surprised. Maxie gave it a whole two seconds of thought before packing her bags.
Being the little sister of three, she tended to be restless, reckless, and spontaneous in an uncontrollable way.
She dressed in black dresses and kept her hair short, a very unique persona and very different from Maggie and their older sister.
“Oh, that’d be awesome if it works! Have you told your mom or Thea?”
A quick “Nope” answered that. “Maxie doesn’t want them knowing yet.”
Valid. Thea, the eldest, was a scholar and a bit pretentious when it came to their family. She wore her title proudly, as she should, but didn’t always understand her sisters’ outlooks on life.
“So… you’ve got it under control?”
From under her lashes, my friend glared at me. “Do you?”
A cheap laugh bubbled my cheeks. “Fair enough.” We’d figure it out eventually—heavy on the eventually part. “You know, this is the first time in years we have problems we can’t solve together.”
“I know,” Maggie agreed. “Why do you think we haven’t figured them out yet?”
I whined. “Sad day, isn’t it?” I faced her. “Having to solve our own shit.”
“Torture, honestly. I call bullshit.”
“The Gods will be hearing about this for the rest of their eternity. Cruel and unusual punishment for what? Being alive?”
Maggie grinned, leaning back on her hands.
The sun crept between her curls and warmed her brown skin.
“Is this what growing up is?” she joked.
If anything, I could be thankful for my friend and the fact she found my sense of humor to be funny.
Being friends with someone feels weird sometimes because they become such a big part of our lives and one day you just…
separate. Forced to do life on your own.
At least we had a good three years together and only lived a couple hours’ carriage ride away. I could run away to Dirty Hoes if I needed to; Maggie would be there waiting. Our visit ended quicker than I wanted, but it wasn’t wasted.
And she’d given me a lot to think about.
A silence fell between us, the anticipation of our goodbye rising and simmering quietly but not without threat. And once it boiled enough, it’d burn.
“Promise me something, Reece.” Maggie picked grass from the ground. “These people here aren’t me; they can’t read your mind. You’re going to have to ask for help when you need it.”
I wanted to puke. “I’m going to be fine, Maggie. And if I really need help, I’m sure the fisherman down the street wouldn’t mind—”
“Reece!” she called, giving me an I’m-serious frown.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll work on it,” I said, and truly meant it.
I would work on it.
One day. At some point. In some life.
From my gate, I watched Maggie’s carriage drive off, leaving me to myself and my creatures.
Standing there for another moment, I inhaled deeply and exhaled for as long as my lungs allowed.
I wasn’t used to watching her leave. But the feeling was familiar, so I shoved it back into my little mental keepsake box and turned on my heels.
Seeing Maggie had been exactly what I needed, but the leaving part left me feeling bitter. Sad. Unsure. Old Ashton remained with her, while Honey Brooke tolerated me, if you’d call it that.
Slipping into the house, I stared at the stone walls and windows—and let out a deep groan. Sometimes I needed to yell a bit; it made me feel better as I grabbed a jar of healing cream and resumed my daily to-dos.
Perhaps my bitter heart searched for a bright side, but as I inched into Phoebe’s enclosure for her weekly medicine treatment, she seemed more welcoming than before. Dare I say, I thought she might even like me.
“Alright, Phoebe,” I started soft and knelt by her pink, cushioned bed.
Her little head and inky eyes flicked up, heavy and tired from her sleep.
From a cup by my leg, I pulled out some of her favorite snacks—berries and corn—to hopefully help keep her calm.
Phoebe strutted to me with ease, not even trying to hide in her little princess house.
Curling against my knees where I sat, she rolled right over for me. No disappearing or anything.
Had I befriended a porcupine?
According to my father’s journal and Laken, Phoebe had arrived two weeks before I did, which made sense for her anxiety levels.
Unfortunately, her past had left her skin pretty raw and needing help to recover if we ever wanted her quills to grow back completely.
She had a few here and there, but the vast majority remained injured.
The irony was not lost on me. This little porcupine princess with a pink bed had enough poison in her body to take down an army. Twenty could be killed with just one quill. Attacking the body’s muscles first, then the heart, it’d be a quick death.
All the more reason to keep her from the poachers.
I’d never done her treatment on my own; Laken had shown me once before, but he made everything seem easy.
With her mouth full of blackberries, I twisted the lid off our healing cream from Finneas and Finnigan, along with a tube of antibacterial ointment.
She paid me no attention as I rubbed it on, slow and easy so as not to press on her raw wounds.
Some healed fast, but because Phoebe was Phoebe, she’d accidentally reopened them.
“See? I don’t need help.” Maggie’s words replayed in my mind. “I just needed a tutorial and some patience. I can do this on my own.”
Phoebe flickered her attention to me with a questioning side-eye.
“Okay, fine, and some cooperation. Thank you.” She laid her head back down as I finished up.
“I mean, he is helpful to have around, but… do we really want that? What if he decides to vanish again? What if he decides he doesn’t really like us that much?
It’s been three years. I could’ve changed too much.
Phoebe, what if he leaves us crying in our bed again?
I don’t want to cry in my bed. For anyone. ”
I didn’t know if porcupines could laugh, but Phoebe did. Or huffed, maybe an annoyed growl.
“You’re right,” I surrendered, patting her belly. “It’s definitely a bad idea. I have other things to worry about.”