26. Dysfunctional As They Come
Dysfunctional As They Come
Grandma asks for some time to ask around about Hell, and she gathers us for a normal family dinner a week later. For that week I spent each night at Ash’s house being fucked against every surface he’s ever imagined.
Turns out the guy has a pretty vivid imagination.
And it’s the best kind of distraction.
Belle is also loving being around Ash. For a guy who claims to be more of a dog person, he certainly spoils the shit out of her. That’s the main reason she’s still there even though I’m at home.
Treats trump chosen witch every time, apparently.
I drop my overnight bag—which has really been an over-week bag—onto the floor in the foyer. While I’m not opposed to wearing no underwear, I really should swap and wash.
“Hey,” Hazel says softly from the couch. She and I haven’t spoken since the night of the bonfire. Not because I’m actively avoiding her, but because I don’t think either of us know what to say to each other.
And I like to think we don’t want a repeat of our fight.
“Hey. Grandma here?” I ask, walking into the living room.
The room is dominated by the giant-ass portrait of our family over the fireplace. It’s gaudy and large and, honestly, we all look constipated in it. Dad spent the entire time making faces at Hazel and I trying to get us to laugh. He always knew how to make the most mundane activities fun.
The wrong parent died that day.
A tear slips down my cheek. What kind of person thinks something like that? Especially after reading what Mom put in her letter. I thought I was changing, but maybe that slick, oily, angry part of my soul will always be there.
“She’s at the shop, said she’d be back soon.” Hazel leans toward me. “Are you okay, Laura?”
Nope. Not even close.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” I flip my hair over my shoulder and sit across from her on the floral armchair.
She shakes her head but doesn’t fight me.
Maybe it’s petty, but why do I have to be the one who’s vulnerable first? Why is it me that has to put their shit on the line? It’s not like she’s over there offering up her insecurities and deepest fears.
Why does Noah have to tell me more about how she feels than she will?
Thankfully the door opens, and Grandma’s lavender-and-smoke scent fills the house. The woman burns so much incense it’s practically soaked into her skin.
“Hello girls!” she says, shucking off her winter coat. “I picked up Chinese!”
The fact she’s so cheery should calm me, relax me, but it doesn’t. It feels like overcompensating, and I immediately don’t trust it.
Lo Mein is High Trouble.
We’re immediately on our feet and setting up for dinner.
It’s one of those well-oiled moments that only comes from years of familiarity.
We all know who grabs the dishes, the silverware, the drinks.
Things have changed a little since Mom, though.
She was the one who plated dinner, but now Grandma does that.
Dad used to put on music. Now we eat in silence.
We’re a family. Dysfunctional as they come.
“Have you learned anything?” I finally ask after the appetizers of spring rolls and potstickers have been devoured and we’re well on our way through our main courses.
Good food can only distract me for so long.
“Not much, yet. I have a few meetings this week though, and I’ll share what I know after dinner,” Grandma replies.
Annoyance buzzes around my head like little bees. Considering I’m the one who actually communicated with Mom, shouldn’t I be in these meetings? It makes me feel a little better knowing that Hazel has been covering the shop completely to allow Grandma to make her rounds. She’s not involved either.
Hot cocoa with marshmallows and chocolate sprinkles warms my fingers as I hold the mug close to my chest. Grandma finishes off her tea before joining us in the living room, and the house creaks in an ominous way.
Like a warning.
“I’m sorry if I’ve drawn this out, girls.” Grandma glides into the room. “As I said before, I haven’t found out too much yet. Fire witches are so rare that nailing one down for a conversation is difficult, and they are generally a secretive bunch on top of that.”
I preen a little. Part of me likes being unique.
“So you called a family meeting to tell us you don’t have any information?” I snark. And everyone says I’m the dramatic one.
“I was not finished.” Grandma holds me with her gaze, daring me to oppose her. “Despite there not being much information available, I have set up a meeting with a Fire witch that Dotty knows in a couple weeks. I’d like you both to join me.”
“Weeks?” My mouth drops open. “That’s practically forever! Mom needs help now.”
“I couldn’t get her to agree to anything earlier with the holidays coming up. We’re just going to have to get past the new year,” Grandma says, resignation in her tone.
Hazel huffs a little. “Mom can wait a second. If we’re doing this, we’re not going in blind. I would rather have all the information and do this rescue right the first time.”
She’s not wrong, but the disregard for Mom makes me bristle. I get it, though. She hasn’t seen the letter. I don’t know how to tell her about it. I don’t know how to tell her anything.
“Between now and then we will resume magic lessons and hone your craft. And I would encourage the two of you to have a real conversation. You were making progress the other night and got interrupted. Our family therapy sessions should start soon.” Grandma sits taller.
“I got us bumped up the list after last week.”
Nothing like hearing your mother begging you for a rescue from Hell to get a therapist to take you more seriously.
Hazel and I both nod, but don’t say anything else. I have a feeling it will be radio silence until we get into therapy.
As usual.