Page 26 of Of Potions and Honey
“Ah, Mira.” Her mother shook her head in an exaggerated motion. “If the town is doing so poorly, maybe it’s a good idea to think about a few things. There might be a reason Lochlin closed down the shop. The old coot was always stubborn, but he probably saw the writing on the wall.”
“Or maybe he just wanted to retire,” Mira muttered. “He was in his seventies, he was allowed to do that.”
“Of course, of course. Still, if everyone’s moving on, maybe you should consider if this is the right choice for you.” Her tone was mild. “We just don’t want you to end up penniless, dear.”
Mira swallowed an impulsive reply. No, her mother probably didn’t, that part was true. What was also true was that she had been voicing objections from the start, and probably saw this as a perfect opening to persuade her wayward daughter to come home and find another, more respectable and most importantly stable job in Willow Harbour, wheresensiblepeople lived. It was part worry, Mira knew. Parents did tend to want better for their children than the way they themselves had grown up. Though that didn’t mean that they didn’t disagree on what exactly constituted ‘better’.
“I know. But I haven’t even opened the shop yet. It’ll probably be just fine. People always want potions, right?”
“Sure,” was her brother’s contribution, “’specially thefunones.”
Mira snorted. “Notthatkind, you dolt. Go buy those from that shady guy behind the bar.”
He grinned. “Will do. Any requests?”
“Paul!” Her mothers outrage told Mira that she still heavily disapproved of Paul’s way of spending his weekends, even now that he was an adult and almost a certified accountant with near-perfect test scores. “I asked you not to do that anymore!”
“You asked me not totalkabout it.” Paul ducked his head. “Sorry. Won’t mention it again.”
Her mother exhaled sharply, and her father shook his head.
“Come now, Paul, that’s no topic for the dinner table.”
Paul’s response was a quiet ‘mhm’.
“Now, I hope you’ll keep the shop respectable, won’t you?” Her father eyed her sharply. “Nothing untoward?”
“I don’t even know how to do that,” Mira replied, exasperated. “None of the recipes mentioned any of that.”
“Recipes?”
“There’s a book. Uncle Lochlin left it in the shop, with notes and stuff. Just in case someone would take over, I think,” she added hastily. No need to let them know about the letter. They’d be even more certain that she was mad. “I found it when I was cleaning. It’s pretty useful.”
“You’re working off of a recipe book written by Lochlin?” Her mother sounded dubious. “As far as I know, he’s never had formal training, are you sure that’s a good idea? Can you even run a potion shop without-”
“Yes! I can.” Mira took a steadying breath. “I checked. I double-checked, even. And the recipes are fine. I’ve been practising.” She managed a strained grin. “You should see my flower beds out back. Flourishing. Thriving, even.”
“I see.” It was very clear from her tone that her mother did not, in fact,see. “That sounds like you have things handled for now.” Her smile was as strained as Mira’s. “Well then. We all hope you’ll do great, don’t we?”
The nods were just a little bit forced, though they did at least make a fair attempt at enthusiasm. Mira tried not to let it get to her. They weren’t entirely wrong to be concerned. It was risky. She’d given up something good for it. But she stood to gain so much, too. The emporium had been soul-crushing at times. And while she’d been working a lot, had tossed two ruined pots so far and had a burn on her hand only just heal, it was so much less exhausting. In the emporium, she’d done the same things all day, every day, and every kind of tangible result had been gone again minutes later when a customer had finished rummaging through a stack of sweaters for a size they didn’t have. Like building sandcastles in high tide, Mira had never been able to enjoy anything even resembling the fruits of her labour.
In Emberglen, she could point to exactly what she had accomplished at the end of every single day. Even if it was just scrubbing the baseboards in the shop, or cleaning a few square metres of her garden to plant some vegetables, because that seemed to be a thing everyone in town did, so Mira had felt compelled to join in. And even when her back ached and she had blisters on her hands because she’d forgotten to wear her gloves – again – there was always satisfaction in the knowledge that she had done something she, and others, could see. She looked around and wondered if any of them would understand.
“Thanks,” she eventually said. “I appreciate it.”
The table was cleared, the dishes were done, and her parents were on their evening walk to chat and collect the newest gossip when Mira opened the squeaky sliding door and stepped out onto the tiny balcony. There was barely enough space for a small wooden bench and a few pots of kitchen herbs, which all looked a little sad. Mira wondered if she should send her mother a bottle of fertiliser, and if she did, if her mother would actually use it.
“Hey. Are you pouting?”
Mira turned to watch Paul finagle himself and two tall glasses through the door. He made it unscathed and held one glass out to Mira.
“I’m not pouting, I just needed some air.”
She sniffed the glass, and Paul cackled. “Don’t worry, it’s just cider. Wouldn’t hand anyone anyfun potionswithout warning.”
“Thank you ever so much.”
He sat down beside her, shaking the rickety bench in a rather concerning manner. It held up though, so Mira leaned back and sipped her cider. The good stuff.
