23. Miranda

I'm notsure why I'm following my mother down the hall. I should be with Declan. But here I am with my bag, following her to her suite. We enter and mother points to a bedroom.

"You can put your bag in there."

I do as she says. I always do as she says.

"This is a nice suite," I say, looking around the space. Mother sniffs and tosses her long, black hair over her shoulders. There are no traces of silver in it. I don't know if she colors it or if there's a chance I may be similarly lucky as I age.

"It's adequate, but it's on a middle floor. They couldn't have given me a room on one of the upper floors? And the view. It's not even a direct view of the ocean. I have to look at an ugly pier."

I look out the window. Yes, she can see The Nest. But she also has a beautiful view of the Atlantic Ocean. And she's not paying for this room, she should be happy for anything she has.

"Yes, mother," I say. "That pier is where I work, where the rink and offices for the team are. Stores and restaurants, too, if you would like to explore them."

"I'm sure there's nothing there I would want," Mother says. "Here, have some more tea."

I turn to see her holding out a mug to me.

"Thank you," I say. "But I'm not thirsty. I had a mug of tea not too long ago."

Some quiet voice in my head keeps screaming: Who cares about tea? I'm a witch. Why did you never tell me? Why don't I know? But something else streaming through me lowers the volume dial on it. I can't hear it. But I know it's there. I know I want answers to these questions, but…I can't seem to get them out. She won't want to talk about that. And I try to always do what she wants.

Mother sets the mug of tea on the counter with a thud.

"Really, Miranda? Must you always be so ungrateful?" From seemingly out of nowhere, she has a tissue she's using to dry her eyes. Not that I see any tears. "I have important things to do at home, but I dropped everything to come down here for your little crisis."

She does air quotes around crisis.

"And what is this crazy claim you are a witch? Do you need attention that desperately?"

"I'm not claiming I'm a witch. Declan and Sophie told me I am a witch. Back when we were kids, I saw a unicorn. It was Declan. My witch powers made his unicorn come out. I don't know. And then earlier today I pointed at someone while saying, ‘shift,' and she shifted into a goose." I point to show what I did to Brick. "I made her shift into a goose. I have magical powers I know nothing about!"

Mother sighs as she takes a seat on the sofa and gestures for me to sit in the chair across from her. I take my tea and sit down.

"I can't believe you are this gullible. You did not turn that woman into a goose. You do not have any magical powers. Yes, I am a witch. But my powers did not get passed down to you. You are ordinary in every way, like your father. They were playing a trick on you, making you think you had powers."

She shakes her head sadly and gives me a look full of pity. Well, if she is capable of pity. I have another objection I can't quite grasp. It's in me, but it's not breaking the surface.

"Now I'm here trying to take care of you, and nothing I do is good enough. All you ever do is reject me. I don't know why you can't love me?"

It's like I've been punched in the stomach. Ungrateful. Reject her. I don't love her. I must have landed in an alternate universe. She's claiming ownership of all the things I've wondered about for myself.

"Mother, of course I'm grateful. Thank you for coming here. It's wonderful we live close together now. That's one of the reasons I moved back here." Experience has taught me it's best to placate her.

I take a sip of the tea. It's cooler than I like but I drink it anyway. It's the least I can do after my mother went to the trouble to make it for me. It's the same tea she made me as a child, and drinking it brings a sense of comfort. She wouldn't send me birthday cards or call me, but she'd send packages of her tea. This tea was essentially the one sign of nurturing she's ever provided me. When I was upset or, more often, had displeased her, she would give me this tea. After drinking it, I would inevitably apologize for whatever she thought I had done wrong and she would thank me, nodding with approval. She never gave me a hug or a kiss or said I love you, but I lived for those nods and her acknowledgement she knew I was trying. When I was at school, I'd drink it a few times a week, stretching it out to maintain some semblance of a relationship with my parents. Once they moved to Argentina the tea stopped coming. I guess I wasn't worth the international postage.

"So, you're sleeping with Declan now?" she asks.

I choke on my tea. I was not expecting to have this conversation with my mother. Ever. But here she is. And here we are. So, I guess this is what we're talking about.

"Um," I run a finger around the rim of my teacup. Round and round. It's mesmerizing.

"Please, Miranda, don't mumble," she says.

Heat rises in my cheeks as I snap back to our conversation. "Yes, Mother. Declan and I are in love. He wants to marry me."

Mother scoffs. "That's what he said to get you to open your legs for him. I don't see a ring on your finger."

I tuck my hand behind my back even though it's pointless. "It's new."

"We raised you better than this, Miranda. I thought you had more pride in yourself." She clucks her tongue. "Are you going to whore yourself to the entire hockey team? I assume you've been with Trevor as well."

I gasp. "Mother, no. Trevor is my best friend. There has been nothing like that between us." I blink rapidly to hold back my tears because I know they will anger Mother. "What Declan and I have is special. I am most certainly not a whore. I was a virgin until last night."

"Hmm," Mother says in a disbelieving tone. "Well, now he's gotten what he wants. I hope you don't expect a proposal now. Declan and Sophie have always ganged up on you. Don't you remember from when you were a child? All the McKenzie children were always being mean to you, and you would run off and cry." She sighs and shakes her head. "You were always needy. And yes, Declan shifted into a unicorn because he could not control himself. They tried to blame you because it was easier to blame the poor little human girl no one would believe."

Mother leans forward to put her hand on mine. I can't remember the last time she reached out to me first. At least, in any sort of comforting way.

"That's why we took you away from there. You weren't safe."

"What?" I press my fingers into my temples, hoping to nudge the confusion clouding my mind into some sort of clarity. "What do you mean, I wasn't safe? The Mackenzies would never hurt me."

Mother pats my hand and leans back. I didn't know it was possible for a pat to be condescending. It is descending, right? Or is it comforting? Is physical closeness so foreign to me I can't tell the difference between comfort and condescension?

All those muffled voices in the back of my head are trying to scream something at me. Something along the lines of that's condescension you twit, if the sound could get through the fog.

"Like I said, you are gullible and na?ve. If it came down to their children or you, who do you think they'd pick? Their sons were getting older, and Declan proved he could not be trusted to control himself around you. We had to sacrifice and put you in a school away from them, where you would be safe from interference by Declan or any of the male Mackenzies. You were a defenseless little girl."

My skin grows clammy. I know what my mother is inferring, and she's wrong. None of the Mackenzies would ever hurt me or molest me or whatever disgusting things she is intimating. I was safe there. I was loved there.

"We always tried to do what was best for you, Miranda. And you never appreciated it."

She shakes her head sadly. "We would no sooner get you settled into a school when you would start causing trouble or failing in your courses. We had responsibilities to the horses and our employers, and you were constantly causing distractions and making us have to spend time and a lot of money to find you a new school. I don't know what we did to deserve such a demanding child."

"I'm sorry, Mother," I say instinctively. I learned long ago it was easier to apologize rather than explain or defend.

"Yes, well. We all have our burdens to bear, and you are mine. I can stay for a day or two to help you decide where to go next. You obviously can't stay here with people who pretend to be your friends and play such horrible tricks on you. Maybe you could go back to New Zealand if you haven't burned those bridges. I can reach out to friends in Argentina. There are rugby teams there."

My eyes widen, and a pang in my heart tempts me to rub my chest but I don't want to show that kind of weakness in front of my mother. "I've been here a week. I don't want to leave. They need me." How can I revive a relationship with my parents if we're on separate continents? Why must there always be all this distance, physical and emotional between us?

Mother gives a mirthless laugh as she sits back on the sofa and crosses her legs. She is wearing jeans and a sweater, like I am, but she looks a million times more elegant than I ever can.

"Miranda, they don't need you. You're here because they felt sorry for you. Are you going to stay where you're not wanted because you're too afraid to be independent? Why are you so needy? I'm a strong, independent woman. Why couldn't you take after me? Or be more like Sophie?"

I take the last sip of tea but it's hard to swallow with the tears thickening my throat. "Yes, mother."

I took a nap a few hours ago, but I'm still exhausted. All the sleep I missed last night plus the past couple of weeks from moving and traveling with the team is catching up with me. My eyes are getting heavy and it's a struggle not to nod off.

"You should rest, Miranda. You will see things more clearly once you are refreshed." Mother's tone is kind, with a softness I wasn't expecting, didn't know she was capable of. It's a softness I've always wanted from her. Maybe we're finally turning a corner and on the verge of creating the bond I've been longing for.

I shake my head as I struggle to hold back a yawn. "I don't want to leave you alone. I appreciate you came here to be with me, Mother. I don't want to waste the time we have together."

"Take a nap, and then we will have dinner with the Mackenzies."

"Alright, maybe a nap will help. I'm fuzzy headed. It's hard to think clearly," I say.

Proof of my fuzzy headedness—admitting weakness to my mother. She's like a shark in the water, sensing blood. I brace myself.

"Rest well," is all she says.

I nod and go to my room. My phone is sitting on the comforter, and I check to see if I missed anything. I have messages from Trevor, Brick, and Declan. I save Declan's for last. Trev is checking in and making sure I know he's there for me. Brick was reassuring me she's okay and isn't upset about this morning. I think about Mother telling me I'm gullible. Were they tricking me? Could that be the case?

I don't know Brick very well, but she's been friendly to me. She offered to go shopping with me for a dress. But maybe it was to make sure I chose something unsuitable and looked ridiculous. That's what the girls at school would have done. They told me the wrong jersey to wear for hockey practice, and I had to skate laps until practice ended or I vomited, whichever came first. My "teammates" laughed when I had difficulty walking up the stairs to my room for days afterward. If they thought they could trick me into thinking I was a witch, they would have done it. Then they would have probably tried to recreate the Salem Witch Trials. Maybe Brick is like them, a grown-up mean girl.

Practical jokes are one of the ways teams bond. The rugby team pulled some epic pranks on the new caps. Maybe teasing me is a way to rally team spirit. Being the butt of the joke wasn't in my job description.

Taking a deep breath, I open Declan's messages. The time stamps start when I left the barn.

Declan: Miranda, leaving to pick up my parents. Please call me.

Declan: We need to talk. Call me, please.

Declan: My parents are here, on the way to DD.

Declan: We're here, are you upstairs?

The next message is from five minutes ago.

Declan: Miranda, I love you, please talk to me. Can we meet?

Yeah, now he's saying he loves me. But does he mean it? I've been here a week, and he's in love and ready to marry me? Why would he want me? Nobody else has. It has to be all part of the prank.

Me: I'm tired. Taking a nap.

Declan: OK. I can get a room, we can nap together. I want to hold you.

Tears rush to my eyes and clog my throat again. I want him to hold me. I need him.

Why are you so needy?I hear it as clearly as if Mother was here in the room with me.

I can be strong and independent. I don't need Declan. I don't need anybody. I'm fine alone.

Me: No. I need space.

Declan: From me? I don't understand. Please, Daisy, talk to me.

Now he wants to talk to me? How about all those times we talked and he never mentioned he was a unicorn shifter and did I know I was a witch? We always had time to look at real estate ads for farms and auction catalogs for horses because they were things that mattered to him. But somehow, we never found time to talk about things that truly matter like I have magical powers and he can turn into a freaking unicorn? Call me crazy but I think those are things we could have managed to work into conversation sometime over the years.

My phone rings. It's Declan. We had snapped a picture together before the Colorado game and I use it as his contact picture. I decline the call.

Declan: Miranda. Answer your phone. I'm coming to your room.

My stomach plummets. I'm not going to be strong enough to stay away if I can see him, touch him.

Me: No. Don't. Leave me alone. Why can't you respect me? I will call hotel security.

Three dots seem to go on forever. I don't know what kind of reply he is composing. My tears on the phone screen are magnifying random words. Love. Daisy. Please. No. The last word breaks my heart. I don't want to tell Declan no. I love him. I want him to hold me. I want to go back to this morning before everything went wrong. Back to when someone loved me and the future I dreamed of was possible. Now everything is a nightmare.

Declan: OK.

All that time and all I get is one word. Two letters. I turn my phone to silent, grab a blanket from the closet, and curl up on the bed to cry myself to sleep. It's over. I'm alone. Again. Always.

I have the strangest dream Mother is in my room, standing over me, speaking softly enough I can't hear her. I know it had to have been a dream because, when I awoke from my nap, I had to unlock the door to leave my room. I don't remember locking it, but I must have out of reflex.

"Oh good, you're awake. Dinner will be here soon," Mother says.

Stretching my arms over my head, my brows lower in confusion. "I thought we were going to have dinner with the Mackenzies?"

Mother sniffs. "They are having dinner together with the casino owner. We aren't invited. We are to get whatever we want from room service. You can go downstairs and make a nuisance of yourself showing up where you're not wanted, but I have too much pride for that."

"Mother, I'm sure we'd be welcome. I'll ask."

"Miranda, you will do no such thing. We are Quinns and we do not grovel. Well, you don't grovel when you're with me." She looks me up and down and sneers. "What you do on your own is your business. Goodness knows your pride is questionable, but while I'm here, you will behave with dignity and not beg for table scraps."

Shame washes over me. Like it always does.

"Yes, Mother." I hate myself for sounding meek, for not standing up for myself, and even more for not feeling capable of it.

"I ordered us dinner. Chicken almond stir-fry, your favorite." There's a knock on the door. "That must be room service." She waves to the mug on the counter. "I made you tea. I'll answer the door."

She opens the door and gestures for the room service attendant—his name tag says Frederick—to push his cart in.

"Good evening, ladies." A cheerful smile creases Frederick's weathered face. "Shall I set you up at the table?"

Mother sweeps a hand toward the table and Frederick places two silver domed plates on the square table in front of the window overlooking the Boardwalk and Nest. I walk over with my mug of tea.

"Thank you, Frederick." I glance at the cart. There's nothing else on it. No dessert, no other entrees, or side dishes. I am stuck with food I absolutely hate.

Mother signs the receipt and Frederick leaves with a cheery, "Have a nice evening."

As the door clicks closed behind me, Mother and I take our places at the table. Lifting the lids, I'm disappointed to see we both have the chicken almond stir-fry. There are almonds everywhere, like extra almonds were requested.

"I know this is your favorite, Miranda. I was thrilled to see it on the menu." She picks up her fork. "Remember how you'd always ask for this when we'd go out to eat when we visited you at school?"

"What?" I've never asked for this meal, and they rarely visited me at school. The times I would see them wouldn't be categorized as "visits." They were dropping me off at a new school or picking me up to take me to another school. We weren't having cozy family dinners. I wasn't ordering chicken almond stir-fry.

Mother motions with her fork. "Eat your dinner, Miranda. It's going to get cold."

I pick up my fork and scrape the almonds off the best I can and spear a piece of chicken. They're everywhere. Beyond being scattered on top, it's like they put a layer of almond on the plate first, added the chicken stir-fry and then piled even more almonds on top. There is no way to avoid them. I take a small bite of chicken and try to control the shudder when I taste the almond slivers I couldn't scrape off.

"What's wrong?" Mother asks sharply.

"Nothing." I try to surreptitiously free another piece of chicken from its almond prison.

"Don't you like it?" Her voice is harsh, and my shoulders tense.

"I don't like almonds," I admit quietly, looking down at my plate.

"Since when?" she demands.

My hands tremble. "I…I've never liked almonds, Mother." I look up through my lashes to see her face darkening in anger.

She slams her fist against the table, and I jump. "Don't lie to me, Miranda. You've always loved almonds. Why are you being cruel? I came here for you, ordered your favorite dinner, and all you've done is lock yourself in your room and refuse to eat what I order for you. You have always been ungrateful. I don't know why you hate me so much." She snatches both plates from the table, storms into the small kitchen area, and dumps both meals into the garbage, plates and all. "No wonder you don't have any friends. You're a selfish, miserable human being."

She stomps out of the room and slams her bedroom door shut. Her weeping carries through the door. What happened? How am I wrong? I didn't ask her to come here or order dinner. I put down the fork I'm still holding. Should I apologize? I'm uncertain what I'm saying sorry for. Rising from the table, I walk to the window to look out on the view as I finish my tea.

It's evening and I can't see the ocean, but I can see a few brave souls walking along the Boardwalk. I wish I could join them, leave this room and have time to think. But I know I need to stay here. If Mother comes out and finds me gone, there will be more yelling and guilt. I don't know why it's like this. What I keep doing wrong. I need to try harder. I look into my empty mug and the bits of tea leaves left at the bottom of the cup. This I remember having during my childhood and when I'd see my parents at school, not chicken with almonds.

Mother's sobs have quieted. I get ready for bed because I'm exhausted again. Hopefully, everything will be better in the morning. Maybe today is a nightmare and I'm going to wake in Declan's arms. Maybe all of this isn't real. I wrap my fingers around the clover pendant he gave me yesterday and wish with all my heart.