Chapter 21
March
Four Weeks Until The Wedding
I sit at Babcia’s worn kitchen table and pull another potato chip from the bag.
“That is garbage, Elzbieta, not food. Please let me cook you something.” Babcia hovers over me.
“Babunia, stop.” I hold up my hand at her. “I know your cooking is far superior, but sometimes I just want garbage.” I pop a salty, crispy chip into my mouth and it melts on my tongue.
She throws her hands up in exasperation and paces the kitchen.
She’s nervous, but the last thing I’ll do is bring it to her attention.
Altering Sabrina’s wedding dress is a big job, and I can’t remember the last time she had a project so important.
Probably explains why she was pressing her ear to the door the second Sabrina slipped into the bedroom to put it on.
I’m on high alert around Sabrina for entirely different reasons.
More time together means more time to explore the inner workings of the curse.
I’m looking for a safe key or a deck of cards.
Hopefully a conversation with Sabrina will shed some light on which is the right answer.
Unfortunately, Babcia’s hovering presence provides little opportunity to pry.
“It’s going to be great, Babunia. I know it.”
She waves away my comment with her hand. A knock sounds at the apartment door.
“It’s open!” I yell.
Babcia glowers at me. “Might as well tell the burglars we’re an easy target.”
“It’s Zuri, Babunia. Why are you so jumpy?”
“Howdy!” Zuri enters the kitchen with a giant cardboard box in her arms. She gives Babcia a kiss on the cheek and sets the package on the table. “I come bearing produce.”
Zuri opens the cardboard flaps and reveals pounds of red beets with their stems attached. Babcia claps her hands together like she’s a little girl and she just got a pony for her birthday.
“Oh, kochanie.” She wraps Zuri in a bear hug. “They’re beautiful. Tell your uncle thank you for me.” She releases Zuri and grabs her wallet. “How much do I owe him?”
“Babcia, you know I can’t take your money. He’s just happy you keep me fed when the rest of my diet consists of Top Ramen.”
Babcia looks like she might burst into tears. What is with her? She’s normally stoic, reserved. I think back to Kit’s comments at the bridal shower about Babcia making money on spells or something. I want to ask her, but now isn’t the time, especially when her emotions seem to have the best of her.
“Sofia?” Sabrina’s posh accent floats from the other room. “Can I get some help?”
Babcia shuffles down the hall and gives the beets one last approving pat as she leaves.
Zuri points her finger toward the hall and mouths who.
“Sabrina.” I return my attention to the chip bag. “Babcia’s altering her wedding gown.”
“Oh shit.” Zuri sits down and snags a chip. “Your whole family’s part of this now?”
“Don’t remind me,” I groan. It’s my fault Babcia got dragged into this in the first place. The Coldwell wedding—and curse—is now occupying entirely too much space in our lives.
“Well, at least she—” Zuri stops, chip halfway to her mouth, jaw agape.
I turn toward where she’s staring and see Sabrina looking like an angel who accidentally wandered into the apartment.
The light from the kitchen window accentuates the gold in her hair, the loose strands by her face ethereal.
The lace bodice is molded to her rib cage and the silk skirt appears to be floating above the floor.
The dress was beautiful in the bridal shop, but now, it’s stunning. A-plus work, Babcia.
“Isn’t it amazing?” Sabrina does a little twirl and the light catches the dress in all the best ways.
I can’t stop the smile on my face. “It really is. You will make a perfect bride.”
The words catch in my throat, because she will.
I’m happy for her, but there’s a sinking feeling in my chest. I’m not sure if it’s the knowledge she’s marrying Carter or the fresh reminder of my conversation with Trip about their relationship.
Either way, I’m more confused than ever.
I shake myself, discarding my thoughts for now.
“Sabrina, I don’t think you’ve met—” I turn toward Zuri, whose eyes are glued to the dress, chip half-raised to her mouth. I clear my throat. “Zuri.”
Zuri blinks and shakes herself from her trance. “Hi!” She stands from the table. “You. Look. Amazing.”
Sabrina chuckles. “So nice to meet you.” She extends her hand.
Zuri looks at it as though Sabrina just held out a hundred-dollar bill. Fangirl much?
Luckily, Babcia enters the room and prevents Zuri from having to put together a coherent thought.
“Miss Carmichael,” Babcia says through a mouthful of pins. “Turn, please, so I can see the train.”
Sabrina does as asked and I gasp at the improvement Babcia’s made. It looks completely different in the back than it did in the bridal shop. Instead of the skirt dragging the rest of the dress down, it looks as if it were made from a cloud, weightless.
“Sofia, I can’t thank you enough.” Sabrina may be the only person to call Babcia by her legal name. “Your work is impeccable.”
“Not yet, it’s not.” Babcia is back to her gruff tone, circling Sabrina and sliding pins into the dress wherever she deems adjustments are needed. She stands back, hands on her hips, and gives it another look. “Good.” She nods. “You can change back into your clothes.”
Sabrina clutches her hands to her chest. “Oh, can’t I just leave it on for a few more minutes?”
Babcia clicks her tongue, as though she has the authority to tell Sabrina what to do with her own dress.
“Five minutes.” She steps through the doorway, picks up her old kitchen timer, and winds the dial.
“I need to write some notes about the alterations anyway.” She tugs on the tape measure draped around her neck and walks down the hallway, presumably to her bedroom, which also houses her sewing machine.
“You look hot.” Zuri rests her chin in her hand and nods toward Sabrina.
I clench my jaw to keep it from dropping to the floor.
“Yeah? You don’t think it’s too—I don’t know, stuffy? Formal?”
“It’s perfect. Chef’s kiss.” Zuri presses her fingers together like an old Italian woman. “How are you liking your time in New York?”
“Very much. Libby’s given me some great restaurant recommendations—”
“Oh sure. Libby has all the best uptown spots on lock. Divey places with excellent food. But if you ever find yourself on the Lower East Side, I could introduce you to some real gems.” Zuri grabs a pen out of her purse and begins scribbling on the notepad Babcia uses for her grocery list. “You like spicy?”
Sabrina smirks. “Absolutely.”
Zuri tears the slip of paper off the pad and hands it to her. “And I wrote my number on there. In case you have any questions.”
These two? Friends? Sure, Zuri is my oldest friend and Sabrina my newest, but they’re like mismatched pieces of a puzzle, with me as the connector. I don’t really see them fitting together on their own.
A harsh dinging sounds. I stand to turn off the timer.
“That’s my cue.” Sabrina nods toward Zuri. “Thanks again.” Lifting her skirt, she traipses down the hall.
Zuri’s eyes follow her before turning to me. “That’s Carter’s fiancée? You really are screwed.”
“Thanks. But you saw her at the engagement party, remember?”
“Not all up close like”—she gesticulates wildly with her hands, maybe indicating the dress, or the way the light caught Sabrina’s face, or her amazing figure, or all of the above—“that.”
“You’re making me feel so much better,” I deadpan.
Zuri grabs a chip from the bag. “Honey, I’m a realist.”
—
Zuri leaves shortly after Sabrina does, which means I finally have a free moment with Babcia to see what the heck is eating at her. I sit on the couch, and she scribbles on her notepad at the kitchen table. I’m waiting for my opening.
She beats me to the punch. “You’ve used it, haven’t you?”
My muscles tense. “The stone?” I drum my fingers on the coffee table. “That was the intent when you gave it to me, wasn’t it?”
Babcia sets her notepad on the kitchen table and removes her glasses. “How many times, kochanie?”
“Twice.” I shrug and lean back on the couch, hands on my abdomen. “Why does it matter?”
Her brow furrows. “You’ve seen this spirit more than two times.”
How does she know that?
“He”—I clear my throat—“sometimes comes without being summoned. We have a system.”
“System? He?”
Trip’s lips, the perfect V of his abdomen, the dark chocolate silk of his hair all pop into my mind. I turn away from Babcia. If she can’t read my mind, she can definitely read my face.
“I can sense it on you,” she says. “Your interaction with this spirit is growing stronger.” Her chair slides out from the table and then she’s in front of me, tilting my chin up to meet her eyes. “What have you promised him, kochanie?”
“Nothing, Babcia. He doesn’t want anything.” My voice comes out a shade too earnest. The lady doth protest too much.
“Spirits always want something. It’s why they can’t move on.”
I swallow. The thought of Trip moving on drives a knife into my gut. “We—we’re working on something together. It’s mutually beneficial.”
Her eyes narrow to slits. “How is it beneficial to you?”
I could tell her. Could explain the Coldwell curse and the fact that my best friend will be saved if we break this. That I have a chance to help him after all he’s given me. And in the process, I might give Trip a second chance at life. My stomach twists at the thought, but I ignore it.
“Trust me.”
Babcia kneels on the floor and clasps both my hands in hers.
“I’m nervous, Elzbieta. I don’t want you to be made a pawn in some game that doesn’t concern you.
You are a smart woman.” She lets go of one of my hands and cups my cheek.
Her voice is a whisper. “He’s not of our world.
Don’t lose yourself in this, don’t let him use you. ”
I pull back from her touch as though I’ve been struck. Something twists in my chest at the familiar flicker in her eyes. Recognition. I want to ask her what she knows about this, about giving your heart to a spirit, but my throat is sealed shut. I stand and she rises with me.
“I’m not, Babcia.” My spine straightens. Time to bring this conversation and her concern to an abrupt halt. “This is what you’re worried about? Not Sabrina’s dress?”
“Why would I be worried about a client? You are my family, wnuczka. You are the only thing I could ever worry about. But this recklessness isn’t like you.
It reminds me of…” She shakes her head. “You’re young.
You don’t understand what you’re dealing with.
You’re letting your emotions drive you instead of sense. ”
I clench my teeth against the burning behind my eyes. “That’s not true. I’m perfectly capable.”
“Yes, but—”
“Is this who we are now? Every time I see you, you’ll want to grill me about ghosts, spirits, curses? Can’t we go back to watching I Love Lucy reruns?”
“Curses?” Her mouth straightens into a thin line.
Shit. “In a manner of speaking. Don’t you trust me, Babcia? I know what I’m doing.”
She grabs my hand. “You and I are the same, Elzbieta. And I know my own mind, which means I know you.”
“Is that a yes?” It comes out sharp, but her lack of confidence in me rankles. All these years, when self-doubt would creep into the corners of my mind, Babcia was my biggest advocate. Now, when my path forward is becoming clearer for the first time, her apprehension is a roadblock.
Her eyes are soft, nested in skin like wrinkled crepe paper.
This woman, the one who raised me. Her infinite wisdom and unmatched strength.
I want to wrap my arms around her and never let go.
Her presence is my safety net. I trust her more than anyone.
And yet, there’s something cracking between us in this moment.
Something that can’t be seen, but can be felt.
“You’ve never questioned my decisions—all these years.
I’m used to that from other people, but not from you, Babunia.
You gave me this stone. This is your doing as much as it is mine.
” I clutch my hands in front of my stomach and breathe to prevent the wobble in my voice.
“I thought you would want me to be happy.”
She straightens and matches my height. “Don’t use that stone a third time, Elzbieta.”
“Is that a demand?” I cross my arms.
“I only ever intended for you to use it once. You never showed interest in these things, I didn’t expect you to become so wrapped up in it.
” Her expression is unwavering, solid as stone.
“The stone is finicky, and you run the risk of calling on more of the spirit realm as you use it. Next time you visit me, I want you to bring it back.”
“Well, I suppose you won’t be seeing much of me, then.” I pick up my purse and march to the door, my hand hovering above the knob.
“You must understand where I’m coming from. Your mother—”
I whirl around, hand flying out in front of me. “Do not bring her into this.” My purse slips from my shoulder and I readjust it. “First the lack of trust and now this? Bringing up Mama—that’s low of you. Capitalizing on my pain, just to what? Keep me under your thumb?”
“I’m only trying to protect you.” She twists her fingers together, eyes softening.
“Well, stop.” The venom in my words is jarring even to me, but I won’t let her snuff this spark that’s ignited inside me. Won’t let her compare me to my mother.
She gave me the stone in the first place.
Why can’t she just let me be happy? I pull the door open before I have a chance to reconsider.
It slams shut behind me and I press myself against the cool metal, finally letting the tears fall.
Leave it to the most open-minded woman to not have an open mind about this.
Something about this situation is uncomfortably familiar. But how can that be? Babcia and I don’t fight. We never fight.
I’m several blocks from her apartment when it hits me. It reminds me of Trip’s fight with his grandfather.