Chapter 36
Hua Tingwen
Qing dynasty. Tingwen’s favorite novel was Dream of the Red Chamber, and her personal scent was inspired by Lin Daiyu.
Heart note // Increases attractiveness to others
Base note // Osmanthus
I thought I would be awake through the night after my discovery, but I sleep so soundly I miss my alarm and have to run to work.
It’s like my body is trying to give me mental space by forcing me to physically shut down.
The day helps by being shockingly busy. We’re inundated with so many customers that I ask a woman as she’s checking out where she heard of us.
“This place is all over social media,” she says. “I’m not one to follow influencers or anything, but I saw it on the Kitty in the City blog, and it looked absolutely adorable.”
When I finally get a break, I check the blog site. Ana groans and slips off her shoes to wiggle her toes and looks over my shoulder. “Hey, I remember that woman. I guess she liked what she saw. God, look at her follower count.”
“Like” is an understatement. Kitty’s feed is tastefully curated and she loves the scents, our aesthetic, and Ana’s jewelry and vintage selection. Excellent news for us.
Ana quickly reposts Kitty’s post to our social media and then DMs a thank-you to Kitty before a new wave of customers comes in. By the time we close, we have a waiting list for jewelry, I’m running low on all my scents, our online orders are swamped, and Ana and I are wiped.
Just like that, the adrenaline of working drops away and I remember all the things I’ve been trying not to.
“Man, all I want is to eat,” Ana says, moving to the back of the room, her long red dress—vintage couture, and she had a woman try to buy it off her back—swishing as she walks. “You in?”
We go to a wine bar I haven’t visited before although it’s only one street over from our shop.
The place is lovely, entirely staffed by beautiful women and men in toques.
We sit at a high marble counter, and I let Ana decide on the wine as I unwrap copper cutlery from the thick cloth napkin.
Restaurants are always a complex source of smells, and this one has an open kitchen, adding the sizzle of butter to the sharp vetiver of the man to my right, who nervously checks his phone.
Ana puts the small paper menu aside and gives me a blissful smile. “Soft launch for the win. My mother says my ideas are too out there to work, but I knew it. Dreams do come true.”
Eager to forget what I was thinking about, I latch on to her words. How many hints has Ana dropped about how unsupportive her family is? She’s been a good friend to me, and I only think of myself.
That can change, and this time I ask.
“What do you mean about your mom?” A bowl of fresh bread arrives with flavored sage butter.
“Nothing. There’s something going on with you, though.” She takes the bread and waves it at me. “Your mom isn’t the type to leave without a goodbye.”
She’s trying to change the subject. I’m not used to pressing people, and I’m allergic to the idea of not respecting her boundaries, but I can’t get over the sense she wants to talk.
Thinking about it, I can see how Ana depended on a few throwaway comments to make me feel like I knew more about her than I did.
“There is something with me,” I say, getting an idea.
“Then spill.”
“How about this.” I wait until the server puts down a bowl of smoked fish dip and another of golden potato chips. “Neither of us want to talk about stuff we probably should talk about.”
“I talk.”
“You talk selectively.”
She looks guarded, the chip hovering midair. “Okay?”
“We’re going to play a game.”
“I once played strip poker in university and only lost one sock while everyone else ended up naked,” she says. “I’m good at games.”
“That’s great, but this is like emotional strip poker.”
She makes a face. “That sounds less fun, but also far less awkward for tomorrow morning.” She reconsiders. “Potentially less. Also, why do we need to do this?”
I look at the food because I’m not comfortable enough to make eye contact and I know I’ll give up at the slightest discouragement.
Being in the crowded restaurant makes this feel more intimate.
“Because you say a lot of stuff that sounds like it might be good to talk about. I know you love them, but every time you say something like that about your mom or family, I haven’t followed up.
But I think you might want to talk about it?
Maybe? Or think you should? I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
I shut up, already regretting this but feeling like I did a good thing. If the small decisions you make every day are what makes the kind of person you are, I made the right one this time. Ana can always say no.
“I didn’t think you liked talking about stuff like this,” says Ana. “It’s hard for me to be open with you if you’re not with me. You’re not even looking at me.”
I never had to open up in the way Ana is asking for. It’s been a long time since I let myself be close to someone, but Ana makes it easy.
Part of me is alarmed, because I’ve protected myself from accidentally revealing my family secret by simply not having people to divulge it to.
The rest of me almost sags in relief at having someone to talk to—really talk.
Willpower gets depleted over time, and I’m as vulnerable to the idea of friendship as I am to a bag of chips after eating salad all day.
“Sorry,” I say, raising my eyes.
“You don’t need to be sorry,” she says. “I get it. You’re pretty closed off. Like, I don’t want to force my friendship on you.”
I’ve shut out Mom and Rafe. I’m not going to do that here. “I’m a witch. Kind of.”
“Huh?” She blinks at me. “What did you say?”
“I left home because the women in my family are basically witches and I didn’t have my power. I was ashamed. It was hammered into me that this was a huge secret, so I’ve never told anyone.”
“Are you for real? No bullshit?”
“My magic is in my perfume. It’s real.”
“What about your mom?”
“Her too. All the firstborn daughters in my family.”
“That’s why you moved around so much?” Her eyes are huge, food forgotten. “Are you being chased by a secret society of witch-hunters that survived from the Inquisition?”
“What? No, God, why would you think that?”
“Honestly, it’s the plot of a lot of books I read when I was younger,” she admits. She casts a glance at my face as it to check if I’m lying. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought at first you had a toxic family and went no contact,” she says, fixing the pearl headband that has slipped over her forehead. “Then your mom showed up and she seemed cool. A witch was not on my bingo card. I assume it’s a secret. I won’t tell Jayne. What can you do?”
I might as well spill all the beans since I’ve already tipped the jar. “We can change emotions with our perfumes,” I say.
That’s it. I’ve said it all. I’ve told another person our greatest secret without my mother’s approval.
Yet it feels right to tell Ana in a way I could never imagine feeling with anyone else I’ve met.
I cast a quick look around the room, half expecting the Peony Goddess to send down lightning to smite me, although that’s more of a Greek god thing.
A little furrow has appeared between Ana’s brows. “Not to minimize what you’re saying, but I thought all scent could do that,” she says. “Like how lavender is relaxing.”
“That’s true. My grandmother suspected our ability was related to that, but what we do is more targeted.”
“Wow, cool.” Ana is taking it all in stride, exactly the way I hoped. “Wow.”
More food comes—a pasta with morels, which we share, along with tender zucchini—and we take a moment to eat.
“I hate to ask, but have you been bewitching me?” She looks uncomfortable. “That perfume you gave me?”
“No! I would never.” I think about Kelsey. “Not on purpose.”
“I feel there’s more to that story.”
“Your turn first. Put up your stakes.”
“My what?”
“Stakes. Isn’t that what you say in poker?”
“Have you ever played?”
I shake my head and she sighs.
“Let’s put the game analogy aside, then,” she suggests.
“Okay. It was more of an icebreaker thing anyway.”
“It was a great idea,” she says. “You don’t need to try so hard. You’re my friend. I’m not going to leave.”
My eyes well up with tears, but I blink them back. Not fast enough, though, because Ana sees.
“Lucy?”
“It’s your turn,” I say, twisting my head down.
“We’re going to talk about this next.”
“After you go.”
Ana scrunches up her nose. “It’s strange, you know? When you called me out, I truly didn’t remember saying anything negative about my mom.”
“It’s not negative negative.” I consider. “More just not positive.”
“I had no idea. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism, because I can’t be mad at my mom for wanting the best for me, can I?”
I shrug uncomfortably. “You’re talking to someone who left home and barely talked to her mother for over a decade because she wanted the best for me.”
Ana snorts. “You’re such an overachiever.
” Then she gets serious. “I compare my family to Jayne’s and I’m grateful.
The only thing I wish is that Mom would let me be me instead of wanting me to be more like my sisters.
I get that Fernanda is perfect. Great cook, great mom.
Good housekeeper. Works full-time. Maria goes over for dinner almost every night after her amazing bank job. They’re the daughters my mom wanted.”
I drink my wine, letting her talk.
“The thing is, I’m happy. They think owning a store isn’t a good use of my business degree, but I can’t bear the thought of wasting my life on a report that’s only being generated because someone up the ladder thought they might want it.
They know about Jayne, but they keep mentioning my old boyfriend and wondering what he’s up to these days. ”
She heaves a sigh that seems to have been dragged up from her toes. “Your turn.”
“Shouldn’t we talk about this?” I ask.