34
Demi
“We’ve gone over this a million times. You don’t get a refund if you’ve finished your meal.”
Juniper Junior is fighting for her life to keep her shit together, squaring up against the Pams in defense of the turkey club they shared and devoured along with the basket of fries accompanying it.
I’m sitting in the booth behind theirs and enjoying the show, while waiting for Blue to join me for lunch.
“The bread was stale,” says one Pam.
“The cheese tasted old,” says another one.
“You didn’t cut it in perfect thirds. Bitsy’s portion was bigger than Kim’s,” says the only one whose real name is Pam.
Through the windows, I can see that the big maples along Main Street are in their full October splendor.
Bright orange leaves, inching toward red, some of them just starting to drop.
Most of the shops have pumpkins on their stoops and their front windows decked out with Halloween displays.
I love this time of year. It’s been consistently cold enough lately for sweaters and cozy jackets. Autumn is in full swing in Ivy Hollow.
Juniper Junior sighs, adjusts her long brunette ponytail, then crosses her arms at her chest. “It’s not happening, ladies. I don’t know why you keep trying to do this. ”
The front door opens with a bell chime, and then the whole diner goes silent. Blue walks in, looking like a hellcat in a pair of combat boots, and all eyes are on her. Even the Pams stop talking. I grin.
This town isn’t big enough for a young widow with an attitude like Blue’s.
My sister takes in the situation, looking from Juniper Junior and back to the Pams.
“Problem?” she asks.
Juniper smirks. “Same old, same old.”
“Yeah, looks like it,” Blue replies with an eye roll. She gives the Pams a pointed look. “Knock it off.”
“You need to learn some manners, Blue St. James,” one of the Pams says. Brave move. Honestly, good for her.
“And you need a bark collar,” Blue responds before sauntering past them and sliding into the booth across from me. “Hey.”
“Hi. Nicely done.”
A devious smile lights up her face. She raises her voice just loud enough for the Pams to overhear. “They can’t afford my furniture, so this is my only chance to participate in the Pam Resistance.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. The Pams hand Juniper some cash to pay for their meal and stalk out of the cafe, collectively shooting an evil eye at the back of Blue’s head as they leave.
Juniper swings over to our table to take our order—cheeseburgers and milkshakes— then heads back into the kitchen .
“So.” Blue says it like a full sentence, leaning back in her seat and eyeing me with a mixture of amusement and speculation.
Anxiety curls in my belly. I don’t want to get into the whole “I did a spell to bring a ghost back to life, and now he’s my boyfriend” conversation yet. I’m not ready. I just want to sit, eat burgers, and wash them down with milkshakes with my sister, like we’ve done since we were kids.
The only thing I can do is try to play it cool.
“So?” I ask.
Her smile widens. Like a wolf.
“I heard there was a bit of a showdown at The Foggy Witch a few nights ago.”
“Elaborate.”
“I heard you were there and fucking Owen was there, and he tried to make a scene.”
“Heard? From whom?”
Blue shrugs. “Spies.”
“Noah?”
“Of course, Noah. Always Noah.”
I didn’t even see him at the pub that night.
But, to be fair, I was really only focused on Tristan for most of the evening.
Regardless, I pack away the way she said that (“Of course, Noah. Always Noah”) to use against her some other time.
With the witchcraft confession still on the near-future horizon, I’m not about to play with fire.
“And what did Noah say about it?”
“That it looked like Owen was being an asshole and Noah was this ?close to walking over and laying him out for you, but then some tall guy with long hair showed up, and Owen left.”
“Pretty specific. ”
“My spies are good.”
“Spy. Singular.”
“You never know. I might have more.”
Juniper drops off our milkshakes, chocolate for Blue, and strawberry for me.
Blue takes the cherry from her whipped cream dollop and drops it on top of my milkshake.
Not because she doesn’t like cherries herself, she does, but because she knows I like them too, and she’s always making sure I have what I need.
I can almost guarantee she’ll give me the pickle spear from her plate once our burgers arrive, despite pickles being ?one of her favorite foods.
That’s just who she is.
She takes a long pull of her milkshake through the red and white straw, then waves her black-manicured fingers at me expectantly.
“When were you going to tell me about the giant man that’s apparently following you around?”
“It’s still new,” I lie, trying to remain as nonchalant as I can as I take a sip of my milkshake.
When it hits my tongue, I expect the creamy sweetness of the ice cream and the gentle tang of the blended strawberries, but instead, I taste nothing.
I can feel the cold, the texture, but there’s no flavor.
I frown and hold the glass up to take a look at it.
It looks ?like it always has, and when I sniff it, it smells like it always has.
But I can’t taste it. “Does your shake taste weird?”
“Yeah, I’m not gonna let you change the subject like that.”
“No, I’m serious. There’s no flavor in this.”
Blue takes the glass from my hand and sips it, then shakes her head and hands it back. “Tastes like a strawberry milkshake. ”
Weird.
“You can taste it?” I ask. I try again, hoping it was just a glitch, but no, it still tastes like nothing to me—just texture, without flavor.
“Are you getting sick or something?” Blue asks.
“I hope not. You gave me the plague last month. I don’t want round two.”
“Maybe your new boyfriend gave you mono.”
“Shut up,” I laugh.
“Or he’s been defiling your taste buds in other ways.” Her grin is downright evil.
“Jesus Christ, Blue.”
“Grow up, Demi.”
Juniper returns with our cheeseburgers. The scent hits my nose, and my mouth waters. Blue takes the pickle spear from her plate and puts it on mine before grabbing a stack of three French fries and dipping them into her milkshake. She nods her appreciation as she chews.
With two hands, I pick up my burger and take a bite.
Nothing.
It’s like I’m chewing on air, except with the unfortunate texture of something mushy and hot. Not even the whisper of flavor.
“What’s wrong?” Blue asks, her expression becoming a mask of guarded concern. It’s her mom-mode face.
I shake my head and swallow, the bite going down like wet cotton. “I can’t taste this either.”
“That’s not normal.”
“I’m aware.”
“Want me to take you to the doctor?”
“No, I feel fine. ”
I do. I don’t feel sick, nothing feels out of place.
But the inability to taste is uncomfortable and alarming.
Maybe I’m coming down with another cold, and this is the first symptom?
In my experience, I’ve only ever lost my sense of taste on the tail end of a virus when my sinuses are all blocked as they attempt to recover. Not before the other symptoms show up.
Across the table, Blue’s eyes are locked on me as she takes careful bites of her lunch like she’s waiting for the same thing to happen to her. I don’t like the worry in her eyes, or the way I feel like I’m under my sister’s microscope right now.
Bringing the burger back up to my mouth, I take another bite just to see if anything has changed. It hasn’t. No flavor. And this time, after I swallow, a dull ache radiates in my stomach.
That’s not good.
“Demi—”
I’m about to reply that I’m fine when the ache sharpens into a pain that lances through the middle of me. On instinct, I press both hands to my stomach, as if to put pressure on a wound I can’t see.
“Okay, that’s it. I’m taking you to the doctor,” Blue says, springing into action.
She slips out of the booth and strides up to the counter, walking behind it to grab some takeaway containers and to-go cups.
“Blue, I don’t need a doctor,” I protest.
She’s putting our food into boxes and dumping our milkshakes into the plastic cups while keeping one eye on me the whole time.
“Everything okay?” Juniper asks, coming up behind her and lending a hand .
“My sister is overreacting,” I say. Another pulse of pain grips my gut, and I fight to keep myself from groaning.
“And my ?sister isn’t feeling well, so I’m trying to get her out of here before she barfs all over your restaurant. Can you bring over the check, JJ?”
Juniper Junior shakes her head. “It’s on me today, as a thank you for telling Pam she needs a bark collar.”
Blue chuckles. “That was pretty good.”
After carefully packing our leftovers into a paper bag, Juniper hands it to Blue, then turns to me.
“I hope you feel better,” she says.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
“Let’s go, patient zero.” Blue holds her free hand out to me.
Annoyed, I roll my eyes at her. “You know I’m a grown woman, right?”
“A grown woman whose taste buds have mysteriously dissolved and is now having tummy problems.”
I can give her that one. “Okay, but seeing a doctor right now is overkill. Can’t you just take me home?”
My sister looks at me for a long moment, like she’s weighing the pros and cons in her head and trying to determine if she’s overreacting or I’m underreacting. Finally, she concedes and agrees to take me home.
By the time we make it to her vintage Jeep, my stomach is cramping so badly that I’m fighting for every step I take, every breath. I roll down the window and try to focus on the crisp autumn wind against my face as she drives me home.
Something is definitely wrong.