Page 3 of Spell Ya Later

Laura dutifully grabs the plates and bowls, and I follow her back into the dining room. Anything to get away from them and their tense vibes. I love Grandma, she’s a serious badass, but I don’t understand why she and Mom can’t get along.

“Give me an update, sweetheart. What’s going on in your life?” Grandma asks me once we’re all settled around the tablewith our food. Her signature bangles clack on her wrists, just beneath the black cat tattoo of her familiar, Rosie, whom I haven’t seen in years.

“Nothing, really. Same old, same old.” I shrug. It’s the same reply I have for her each month. I’ve been stuck in mud ever since I graduated high school. Seven years later and what do I have to show for it?

For the last thirteen years, from the moment my father died, my life has been one giant ball of nothing. I’m not human. I’m not a witch. I’m thisthingin the middle. No friends, no social life, no professional life. I have nothing.

Her eyes are kind, however. No judgment, no disappointment, only a quiet understanding. “You are such a beautiful, creative, intelligent witch, Hazel. Never forget that.”

Mom’s teeth grind together the moment Grandma says witch. Is Grandma sincere in her words? Absolutely. Did Grandma use that word specifically to piss off Mom? Also absolutely.

“She’s a beautiful, creative, intelligenthuman,” Mom says.

Laura flops back in her chair with a groan. “Here we go! Only took two minutes tonight.”

“I realize she’s a human,” Grandma continues as if Laura never spoke. “I also realize that Hazel is a grown woman and pretending she’s not a witch is neither productive nor useful. I’m happy to support both of my granddaughters should they ever wish to explore that part of themselves. Is that truly so threatening to you, Sarah?”

The rickety chandelier flickers above us as Mom and Grandma stare at each other—waiting for the other to flinch first. Laura eats as if this happens all the time, but that’s because it does. This bullshit happens every single month. Each time Grandma steps into this house, Mom ramps up her controllingmonster persona and Grandma acts like the only joy she gets in life is from poking our mother until she breaks.

“My daughters will have nothing to do with that life,” Mom says. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Crack!

One of the light bulbs shatters in the chandelier in a swirling haze of...is that water? Laura and I gape at the splattered mess of glass and water all over the once perfectly set table.

And it’s as if something breaks in me, too. What is the rest of my life going to look like? Am I going to live with my mother until I’m old, regretful, resentful, and cruel?

Until I become her?

My gaze lifts to the woman herself, watching her as she stares at Grandma. The anger in her eyes, the anger in her heart...I’m already so angry. I can’t become her. I don’t want the anger to eat me alive.

“And what if Idowant something to do with that life?” My voice is steadier than I expected.

My mother’s head turns toward me cinematically slowly, like something from a horror film. I ignore the “Ooooh” from Laura.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” The house—full of noises, always talking and creaking—goes eerily quiet with Mom’s words.

“For the first time, what if I do?” I pause, practically shaking in my chair. “God, Mom, for the first time I know exactly what I’m talking about. I need this. I need to be able to explore every part of who I am without fear of you burning me at the stake!”

“At the stake? Do you think that’s cute, Hazel?”

“To be fair, it’s pretty funny.” Laura shrugs as she pops another piece of bread into her mouth. While the backup is appreciated, I want to do this on my own.

I stand slowly, rage boiling underneath my skin until it’s practically tumbling out of me alongside my words. “I want theability to choose the path my life will take. I can’t know if magic is that path unless I try.”

“Fine.” Mom’s eyes narrow. “Make your choice. But no daughter of mine will practice the craft while living under my roof.”

Her response stops me, cooling the heat burning my blood. I knew I was letting her control me for far too long, but this?

“You’d kick out your own daughter?” My voice wavers.

She nods once. “I’d do anything to protect you.”

My hands smooth over the white tablecloth, the slight embossed flower texture rippling under my fingers. Do I want to practice magic so badly that I’d risk homelessness? I have some money saved, but I’m an unemployed loser with no friends and no college degree. Homelessness is a real worry here.

Is it worth it?

I nod.