Today's Reading
"And that's exactly why you're my favorite daughter." Mama raised her coffee toward me in a toast, and I stole another sip. She liked her brew black as tar, but I wasn't picky today, considering I was running on a couple hours of fitful sleep and the temporary buzz of magic.
Mim had finished restoring the wand display and returned to the counter.
She peered into the empty clay bowl curiously.
"I knew it felt different in here." She breathed in deeply, like the cleansing spell was something she could smell in the air. Maybe she could. Mim had a keener sixth sense than most, picking up on auras that most witches never noticed. "No one can burn out negative energy as thoroughly as you, Charlie."
A disproportionate amount of joy fluttered in my chest at the praise. I was annoyed at my own propensity to hoard compliments about my work like a business professional dragon, as if I hadn't been doing this for over a decade now. And the white fire limpia was amateur stuff, not exactly evidence of greatness. But still I clutched her words close.
"You've always been a genius at cleansing," Mama said. "We knew you were a natural when you were drawing sacred circles in the sandbox at six years old."
"Pretty sure I was just drawing circles," I said. "And anyway, this limpia was weaker than I hoped. I wasn't focused enough. Mama should probably redo it later."
My parents exchanged a look that I couldn't decipher, and Mim looked like she wanted to say something more, but before she could, the cuckoo clock behind the counter chirped eight o'clock. We all startled.
"Isn't your appointment at eight-thirty?" I asked. "You're going to be late."
"Yes, we mustn't anger the Master of Coin," Mama said.
"He's called a loan officer," said Mim. "And we have time. The appointment isn't until nine."
"You said it was eight-thirty," Mama said, affronted, probably at the realization that she missed out on thirty extra minutes of sleep.
"Did I?" Mim said innocently, shooting me a little grin. "My mistake."
I bit back my own grin and busied myself behind the counter. Mim often told Mama an earlier time for important appointments, to combat her natural propensity for rolling out the door at the last possible minute.
"I married you so I could be a hot trophy wife." Mama slouched over the counter in dramatic fashion. "I'm supposed to be lounging on a chaise, being fed grapes, not groveling to boring old men in suits."
"We're not groveling," Mim said, stroking Mama's hair sympathetically. "And I promise to buy you grapes after."
"I accept your terms." Mama raised her head and made a pitiful face. "But only if they are aged twenty years and squeezed into a glass bottle."
Side by side, they struck a cozy picture. Mama's golden brown skin and effortless edge (even when forced to wake up at ungodly hours, she never skipped a fierce eyeliner) were perfectly complemented by porcelain-skinned and pink-cheeked Mim, who was a rainbow of pastels from head to toe. The sight of them together invoked a glowing feeling of home in my chest, strong enough to rival my magic's invigorating buzz.
"Good luck with the Master of Coin," I said, smiling. "I need to open up."
"We should probably head out anyway." Mama exuded an air of long suffering. "I need at least eight shots of overpriced espresso."
"Are you going to be all right by yourself today?" Mim's forehead was wrinkled slightly in consternation. I knew she was asking because we usually tried to have two people on the floor on Saturdays, but the question unexpectedly stung. Like she was doubting my ability to run the shop at all, even though I'd been working behind the counter full time since I returned home from college almost a decade ago.
"I'm fine," I said, shaking off the twinge of insecurity. I rounded the counter and headed for the door, so she couldn't see my face. "It should be a pretty quiet day."
"Let's hope you're wrong," Mim said. "How else can I afford to ply my trophy wife with grapes and espresso? She's going to leave me for Tandy DiAngelo."
Mama snorted.
...
