I tried to ask my parents about what I’d heard, to understand how my father could blame such a thing on my mother, but I never got an answer.
I have tried many times since with the same result.
It took months before my parents let me in the water again, and it was only after seeing how miserable I was without it. They were shocked I wanted to go back in after almost losing my life, but I never saw it like that. I have only ever seen the sea as perfect. They set strict parameters around when I could swim, for how long, and where. I push the boundaries every so often, but for the most part I stay within them.
When I think back to that day, I don’t think about the current or the fear or the horrible tightness in my chest. I think about my dad yelling at my mom, blaming her for something that couldn’t possibly be her fault. And I think about my mom, hand trembling, fighting back tears as she stroked my hair.
“Tana?” My mother’s voice brings me back to the present, and I realize I’ve been staring at the large oil painting of the Passage that hangs behind the counter of the perfumery. “Mrs. Mayweather asked you a question.”
“My apologies, I must have been somewhere else,” I say, smiling at the woman in front of me. She’s about my mother’s age, and she has a daughter on the mainland who attended secondary school with Landon. She has become a regular visitor of the Witchery in recent weeks, and I can’t help but think it’s because of the whispers that have started about me.
“Probably thinking about the ball tonight,” she says with a knowing smile. “Can we expect your presence?”
I look to my mom, and she gives a single nod.
“I think that would be a safe assumption,” I say, mimicking the tone I’ve heard my mother use a thousand times when she wants to seem modest about something.
“Then I will look forward to it even more.” Mrs. Mayweather grabs her ivory bag from the counter, says goodbye, and leaves.
I slip into the back room before another customer can stop me, itching for my magic, for the way it calms my nerves and quiets my mind. In this room, surrounded by flowers and herbs and empty glass jars, everything else seems to recede. I know my ancestors gave up a lot to create the new order, but I can’t imagine anything better than the tender magic that fills this space. It isn’t a sacrifice, this life; it’s a gift.
I gather fresh rose petals and pile them high in my mortar. I’m not as polished as my mother, and I don’t always know the right words to say to people, but magic is one thing I don’t have to try at. I don’t have to do several test batches to get things just right or continually tweak my spells until I’ve achieved the desired effect; magic comes naturally to me, the way leadership comes to my mother and sincerity comes to my father.
I want a special perfume to wear tonight, one that feels like a spark, like that perfect moment when you see another person and your insides start to vibrate. I imagine it as the final note of a masterful concerto or the first bite of cold when entering the sea, surprising and delicate and exhilarating.
It’s what I hope I’ll feel tonight when I see Landon at the ball.
The rose petals eagerly soak up the magic, and I put them in a jar, add the base, and gently swirl the bottle.
“Is that Tana back there?” I hear a customer ask, peering through the crack in the door.
I sigh, capping my perfume and putting a smile on my face before stepping back into the shop.
“Hi, Mrs. Alston.” She’s a regular from the mainland, with several bags hanging from her arms and her warm beige skin glistening with a recently sprayed perfume.
“Hello, dear. Excited for the ball tonight?” It’s her way of asking if I’m attending, and after a pause, I reply.
“I am.”
Her eyes widen just slightly, and a large smile spreads across her face. “I’ll see you there,” she says, paying my mother and breezing out of the perfumery.
Mom waits until the door shuts fully before she turns to me. “Why don’t you go home and start preparing for the ball?”
“But it isn’t even noon yet,” I say. “I don’t need the whole day to get ready.”
“No, love, but you don’t need to be bombarded with questions all day, either. Go home, and I’ll handle the store on my own.” Her tone is sweet, but it’s clear her mind is made up.
“Okay, Mom, if you think that’s best.”
“I do.” She kisses me on my forehead, and I walk out the door just as a new wave of customers enters the shop. I hurry outside and hear my mom’s warm greeting as the door shuts behind me, welcoming patrons as if they’re the oldest of friends. While I sometimes think how exhausting it must be to hold herself to such high standards, the truth is that I’m in awe of her.
It’s an overcast day, and the cobbles are slick with rain. I lift my shawl above my head and make my way down Main Street, trying to avoid eye contact so I won’t have to talk with anyone. Up until now, it’s been my mother whom most people recognize, so I haven’t had to worry about mainlanders stopping me on the street unless they’re regulars. But I suspect that will change after tonight.
When I pass Ivy’s tea shop, the Enchanted Cup, she knocks on the glass and waves me in. I look back toward the perfumery to make sure my mother isn’t watching, then duck inside. The Enchanted Cup is one of my favorite shops on Main, and not only because it belongs to Ivy’s family. The walls are a dusty rose pink with deep gold chair rails and matching crown molding on the ceiling. Candle sconces fill the space with delicate light, Ivy’s parents opting for candlelight even after the island was electrified because they wanted the shop to retain its original charm. But the real centerpiece is the grand chandelier in the middle of the room with twelve teacups hanging from gold chains, each holding an ivory candle. All the chairs are shades of pink velvet, and each table is set with gold stirring spoons and lace napkins.
“Where are you off to?” Ivy asks, clearing a table in the far corner and motioning for me to sit.
“Home. I was being bombarded with Landon questions this morning, and I don’t think I was fielding them as well as my mother would have liked.”
“No one fields questions like your mother.”
“I know. The bar is unbearably high.”
“I was just about to take my break. Want to sit with me before heading home?”
“Definitely. My mom seems to think it will take me the rest of the day to prepare for the ball tonight.”
Ivy laughs. “What does she want you to do? Individually curl each strand of hair on your head?”
“I’m sure she would love that,” I say, draping my shawl over the back of my chair.
“I’ll be right back. Want anything in particular?”
“Surprise me.”
I settle into my seat, and Ivy returns a few minutes later holding two teacups. She sets them down on the table before sitting across from me. As usual, she won’t tell me which tea she brought—she wants me to guess.
I take a few sips. It’s a black tea with hints of cinnamon and orange, and it feels bold and robust as it moves through me.
“Well?” she asks.
“Confidence?”
“You’re close, but no.”