“I am serious. My Claire has had nothing but bullies and sadness until she came to this town. Her mother did not even show her affection for most of her life—and Mrs. Langdon died right when she had finally realized the error of her ways. Claire’s heart is... What’s the right word... It’s a morning glory. It will wilt and close up tight if someone hurts it again. You won’t hurt her. You will be like a mother bear defending her cub. And ooooh.” He places the pan on the table and swoons, his head back against my china cabinet—which holds no china, but seventy-three crystals, several useful bones, a lot of herbs in cute sachets (I’m a witch, nottasteless), and a whole bunch of ceremonial goblets, mortars, and pestles. “Can I help it if I am someone who sees all the beauty behind the claws? The glory in the powers you possess?”
That’s part of it. I’m so ‘powerful’ and so ‘fierce’ (no one shoplifts from my shop, not after the great College Mischief Night Transmogrification of 1998), and I feel stupid for being afraid of what is supposed to come naturally. Love. Femininity. Maternal crap.
“You could always give me back my ring,” Ray says in a voice that is far too smug for my liking. “Tell me you can’t be the wife and stepmother, even though everyone loves you—once they are done being terrified of you. Run away; hide behind your cauldron.”
“Renaldo...” I warn, rising and putting down my wine glass. “Stereotypes!”
“But,mi amore, youhavea cauldron! And you are far, far too brave to run when you are scared. Although if you must run, run to my arms.” Ray comes up to me, ignoring the glare I’m giving him, and kisses my neck, wrapping his strong, stocky frame around mine. His voice turns husky, pressing into my ear. “Or run, so I can catch you. Perhaps this time, I can pressyouup against a tree? Hmm?”
Oh my God. This man. I whirl around to kiss him, pushing him backwards into the screened-in back porch. “Against the workbench. It’s sturdy,” I gasp, pulling his belt loops.
“They’re supposed to be here in—never mind. The things you do to me, it’ll be fast.”
“Not too fast,” I warn, but I feel silly for even saying it. If there is one thing this man knows how to do, it is how to please me.
He pleases me in every possible way, physically, emotionally, with his words, his support, his help in the shop, his help in the kitchen. “I love you. Of course I’ll marry you. I just... I might not be good at it,” I confess as he pushes my hips up onto the workbench that’s covered in screwdrivers and scattered seed packets.
“But you already are.”
“Ray and I are going to have a small ceremony.” I put down my fork and wipe my mouth, thankful that Georgie and Claire were a little late, and that Ray’s food only gets better the longer it sits and absorbs all the spices.
“Cake on the house,” Claire says at once.
“Everything on the house. Or at cost. We do for family,” Georgie says, like the good kid he is.
Well... I never thought I’d have kids at my advanced age,” I chuckle at myself, and Ray is quick to make a scolding cluck.
“As if someone like my Madge ages. You are timeless,diosa. Beauty has no age.”
“Listen to him.” Georgie dares to sound firm with me, the little boy—okay, he’s thirty-something now, and easily seven feet tall, but I remember him when he was still a toddler.
“You’re going to make a wonderful mom,” Claire whispers, looking at me wide-eyed.
Funny.
I’ve never looked at Ray’s adopted daughter for too long. She just became part of the fabric of the town, a person who slotted in easily, seamlessly, like she belonged with Georgie and had always been there.
When she looks at me, I see fear and hope in her eyes—like we could make this work.
The “wicked witch,” too old to be someone’s lover, too old to have a new family.
The “ugly duckling” child, grown up into an insecure woman.
Ray’s words are wonderful and bolstering, Georgie’s firmness is kindly meant, but Claire’s anxious, helpless, but still hopeful eyes are what get me.
“Well. Cake and catering aside, what’s really important are the people who support you on that day. Claire, will you be my matron of honor? Georgie, I know that your father will be Ray’s best man, but as my son-in-law,” I swallow as the word sticks in my throat, “perhaps you could walk me down the aisle?”
“Really?” Claire squeaks. “Mom—I mean, Madge, I would love to!” She hesitates, then rises and throws herself into my arms as I open them.
She’s so soft. Short and soft, as I am stringy and hard.
But I tell myself she could have been mine. The strength she carries, however she carries it, the height... The hope.
“Mom is fine,” I whisper, and I feel her nod against my shoulder as she hugs me tighter.
Maybe I can do this family-thing after all.
Milo’s Barley and Asparagus Risotto
