Page 82 of The Sun and the Moon
“I distinctly recall you also wanted to be a horse trainer.” He looks down at Rosie. “A stuntwoman—”
“I still think that sounds kind of fun.”
“—a race car driver, chemist, deep sea explorer—”
“Every kid wants to be a million things when they grow up. Eventually you narrow it down and choose a path.” I shut down his list of all my random daydreams.
“I’m just saying, I know it was hard for you, and you stepped up in ways you shouldn’t have had to at thirteen.”
I don’t argue. He isn’t wrong.
“I leaned on you, and it wasn’t fair. And I still do, and that’s not fair, either.”
I don’t know how to reply to that. So I don’t, and he doesn’t press the topic any further.
After so many years, you’d think hearing him take ownership like that would be a weight off my shoulders, a relief. But with everything that’s happened since I got that invitation in the mail, I’m feeling less grounded than ever before.
I’m also realizing that stability beyond the paycheck is something I actually want.
“There’s something I want to talk to you—” he starts.
We’re interrupted by a streak of white galloping toward us, a screaming Pam hanging on for dear life.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Cadence
We’re standing in the lobby of the hotel, eyes peeled, looking out the doors at the valet, where the shuttle bus to the winery will arrive any minute. I’m watching my mother in my periphery, trying to imagine what it would be like to just be normal and feel normal around her.
It’s really hard for me to do.
“Oh, wonderful,” Moira says suddenly, and I assume it’s because the shuttle has arrived. But when I look up and out through the window, I see that I’m wrong. “I was wondering when you two would arrive!”
I follow the direction of my mother’s elated expression to see Kit and Julia walking in with some shopping bags from the Spice Merchant, each holding a Danish in hand. I make eye contact with Kit first, hoping her intuition about the cards isn’t the only way she’s empathic.
As Kit and Julia approach, their body language couldn’t be more different. Kit carries herself with an open ease, fluid, almostlike a dancer. She’s smiling at us, seems genuinely happy to see us. Julia has the straightest posture I’ve ever seen.
“We’ve been here since last night,” Kit says. “We’ve been enjoying the festival. Thank you for the suggested itinerary and guide to the area.”
My mother beams.
“We’ve come a handful of times over the years,” Moira says, and I know from experience that this is my cue. She’s gearing up to introduce us in what will likely be a gushing display of politeness that is actually bragging in sheep’s clothing. “This is my daughter, Cadence.”
I am an awkward penguin. “Hey.” Julia covers her lips with her Danish to hide her smile.
“Madame Moira’s daughter,” Kit says, chill in the face of her fiancée, who’s almost losing her composure. “It’s wild that you have a daughter.”
Surprise flickers in Moira’s face. “How so?” I hear a razor in her voice that I hope isn’t discernable to them.
“You have to know—we all kind of thought you were a witch growing up,” Kit says, and I chuckle.
“She is,” I say without thinking. Moira cuts me a look. “You literally have an altar in your Reading Room.”
“And witches don’t have children?” Moira questions. It feels directed at all of us.
“You were more like a fairy tale character to us,” Julia replies. Matter-of-fact. “Predicting soulmates, reading futures. We’re just surprised you also had this very human, totally normal thing like a daughter.”
“I can’t decide if I’m flattered by the assessment,” Moira says.She is. There’s nothing this woman likes more than her own folklore.
