9.Solid Ground is Overrated

9. Solid Ground is Overrated

My stepfather Craig holds open the door for me, inviting me inside as he takes the offered wine.

"Thanks, this will go great with the crab cakes." Craig hesitates, looking from me to the bottle doubtfully. "…should I pour you a glass?"

"No need." I head to the liquor cabinet in the living room to grab some glasses. "I'll get drinks for everyone."

"Hey, you're a guest. Just relax and—" a clatter from the kitchen cuts him off. "On second thought, you work on drinks and I'll go check on the crab cakes. Uh, check on your mother. Check if your mom needs my help… checking on the crab cakes."

"Just go before she burns something," I say.

Craig nods gratefully and rushes off. A firebrand like my mom can use their talents with flames in the kitchen but they also need to know about food, not just how to burn things. Hopefully Mom loses her new interest in cooking before Craig has a heart attack.

My mom and him have been married for almost ten years. He's a good guy, the only father figure I've ever known, and he's a good influence on her. A steady accountant who balances out her fiery personality.

Craig gets ejected from the kitchen as I'm pouring us all the wine I brought.

"Shoo, I can handle this!" Mom orders from the kitchen, "Marty, come join me."

I hover in the doorway, watching as Mom stands over the sizzling stove. A faint glow radiates from beneath her floral blouse—her firebrand coming to life, guiding the flames with a finesse that makes the knobs on the stove redundant. She could just twist the dial, but where's the fun in that?

Magic is our second language; we speak it at every chance. Even when using normal methods are just as easy.

Actually, it's nice seeing her and her element get along so seamlessly. Her control was much more fragile when I was a kid. I like seeing fire and her work together instead of fighting.

"Hey, Ma," I call out, stepping into the kitchen.

"Marty!" The firebrand still shimmers under her blouse as she wraps me up in a bear hug. Her warmth is partly the stove, partly her magic, and the rest comes just from her.

She releases me, eyeing the crab cakes with suspicion, gingerly poking the nearest with her spatula to check if it burned in the few seconds it took to hug me. "Craig only made the salad. I did the rest. Maybe I'm capable of more than just burning things after all."

Mom's dark hair is pulled back neatly, only two strands elegantly framing her face. Her clothes are neat and unwrinkled and she's also smiling at me. All this tells me that Craig did most of the cooking, whether my mother recognizes that or not. I wisely don't mention my thoughts. I lean against the counter, close enough to chat, far enough to dodge any rogue splatters of oil.

"Tell me what's been going on with you," she prompts a few seconds later.

While there are several things I could tell her as we catch up in person, there's one thing she's probably dying to hear more about. "I quit."

"Yep, you mentioned as much over text." She gives me that look—the 'spill your guts or I'll fry them next' stare. "You keep leaving out the details."

"It just didn't work out."

"Uh-huh. Why not?"

"It's complicated, Ma…"

I'm confident in my decision…mostly. Maybe that's why the details are light. She's less cautious th an me. I don't know what I'd do if she doesn't understand. I can't have her trying to convince me to make a different choice. There's a difference between weathering a storm and inviting lightning to strike.

"You were so disappointed when you didn't get the job," she reminds me.

"Yep, I remember, but—"

"And so thrilled when you managed to reopen the project. And now you're just done, that's it?"

Obviously, I have to give her something. "Well, the guy leading the study is pretty difficult."

"Difficult? And that's why you quit?"

"…not exactly."

Mom lifts her head from the stove and fixes her eyes on me. Her being more interested in my life than in the hissing pan is a surefire way to ruin dinner but that isn't why her stare feels uncomfortable.

"Sounds like you need some wine," she declares, and the moment ends.

"Coming!" calls Craig from the living room.

"No, we're fine in here!" Mom insists.

With a flourish of my hand, I summon a breeze. A bit of finesse has the drinks rising from Craig's hands and gliding in through the doorway towards us. The wine glasses hover in the air for a few seconds before Mom and I snatch them up. We smile and clink our glasses together .

"Now tell me the real story," she presses. "You can handle difficult people. You grew up with me."

"He's different. Him, his situation—it's so volatile. That's the last thing I need."

"Debatable. You—oh right, I'm cooking." She remembers her task and sets her wine glass down on the counter. The patties slowly frying in the pan are, miraculously, still golden brown. On top, at least.

"Are you going to check if they're burned on the bottom?"

"Don't change the subject." She tries to resist but her eyes drift down to the pan for a moment before she looks back at me. "Yes, that's a good idea." Very delicately, she lifts and tips one cake. "It's perfect! I mean, I knew they were fine."

Except there's a new problem.

"Mom, your arm."

"Ah, yes. I should be holding wine." She plucks up her glass once more. "There. Cooking is a lot more fun with alcohol."

Debatable. "Mom!" I shout and point to where her unoccupied arm hangs at her side, pressed against the hot pan on the stove.

"Ouch," she utters without any emotion at all. With a bit of the fire element's essence in her, she has no burns. But if she kept pressing against the pan without noticing or activating her magic, it would hurt her eventually or the fire from the stove could spread. "If you can't stand the heat... "

"Yep, I'll get out of the kitchen. Hey, there's an idea. Let's both get out—"

"Nope, you aren't fooling me for a second. Marty, you can stand more than a little heat. You practically grew up in an inferno."

"You're right," I admit. No longer in the mood to tease each other, I find myself confessing. "Mitigating this curse was supposed to be a job. I'd be able to keep my distance. But I can't. It keeps getting personal and that changes everything."

"Keep your distance? You want to get closer to him? You like him?"

"Yeah, I think I do." I take a healthy drink of the white wine. "I do. I have feelings for him. And that's why I had to step away. It's too complicated. The risks were becoming unmanageable… I learned a few things while growing up in an inferno. Like that I'm not cut out for the heat. I've had enough of it. So, I had to get out of the kitchen."

My mom and dad were both firebrands. I don't remember him at all, though he was around for the first few years of my life. When things were good between my parents, their relationship improved their magic. Basically, they fueled each other's fire. And when they fell apart and combusted, the raging inferno their love left behind consumed my mother.

Even though casters need an element to safely wield magic, having a force of nature's essence inside you can be overwhelming. If you aren't in a good place and in control of your emotions and powers, the element can take over. That happened when my parents broke up.

My mom tried to regain control, she'd get it together for a little while, and then something would light her fuse and she'd fall into the flames again. The fire would influence her too much, making her erratic, reckless, and quick-tempered. Then completely exhausted when the flames inside her extinguished.

"Marty, you're too cautious. Not all the lessons I taught you as a kid were the right ones."

I take a sip of my wine and shake my head. "No, I think you did pretty well. You just weren't always in control."

"But controlling my magic and element is my responsibility. I'm still responsible even if the fire influenced me. If I couldn't control my own powers, how were you supposed to? "

"Sometimes I got through to you."

"You never should have had to try," she insists. "You were a kid. I should have gotten help. I was scared they'd take you or my magic or both away, so you had to pick up the slack. And I worry that you're still doing what you had to do when growing up.Watching out for disaster and avoiding anything risky that could go wrong. But you are allowed to make mistakes and take some risks of your own. "

I had to be the responsible one and ended up watching out for us both. It took a long time until my mother succeeded and gained back control of her element for good.

Growing up taught me to keep a level head and think everything through. I learned to be careful and watch out for problems. But freedom still called to me and drew me to air magic.

Maybe I am too careful and always trying to avoid risk, but not this time. "This job was filled with risk, and I took it anyway. It turned out to have more danger than I bargained for."

"Are you sure the only way to protect yourself is by walking away? Not all risks end in disaster, you know. Some come with rewards."

"We weren't a good match anyway," I murmur into my wine glass. "I don't need someone who fights me at every turn and brings chaos with him."

Mom flips a crab cake over, her brow furrowing with supreme concentration on the golden-brown crust. She lets out a sigh of relief when it lands safely in the pan. Apparently, she's now an expert on cooking and relationships.

"Maybe you don't know what you need." She decides, "This guy sounds good for you."

"Huh? You don't even know him."

"He has already had a big effect on you, I can see that." She shoots me a knowing glance. "Not everyone can get under your skin. He must be special."

"What? No," I sputter. "He's a cranky cursed dragon. I'm an airbrand with my head in the clouds. What I need is someone to ground me."

He may be landlocked right now, but Azure Serrano is a dragon. They spend so much time soaring above our heads that they never settle in one place for long. Dragons can wake up in Tokyo and go to bed in Nevada. They're travelers who spend more time in the air than on land. We wouldn't ground each other. Sure, I can see the appeal in wandering the globe and being free to explore the world but that isn't my lifestyle.

"Because of me, you grew up too fast. Your magic may be up in the air, but you have a good head on your shoulders." She waves her spatula at me to punctuate her point, almost like she's trying to threaten me into taking her advice… with a spatula. "You're sensible and careful enough on your own. You don't need anyone else to ground you. Your feet aren't just on solid ground, they're practically buried in the dirt like tree roots."

"Put the spatula down before you hurt someone," I plead.

"Fine." She picks up her wine glass instead and nods. "Oh, this is much better. Now listen to me." She raises her glass to me like a toast. "Life isn't happening up in the sky or down in the dirt. Maybe you need someone who can help you find the middle ground where the rest of us live."

I take another sip of wine, swirling the liquid in my glass instead of meeting her eyes. She makes a lot of sense when she puts it like that. But she's not really right, is she? She was threatening me with a spatula a moment ago. She's clearly crazy.

"Don't sit here and talk yourself out of taking a chance on him." Mom puts her hand over mine, forcing me to look at her. "What if this guy is worth the risk? Just this once, don't let your head overrule your heart."

I have to. That's the safe option. His curse could hurt me. He could hurt me, even without the curse. The curse goes after my body. He could hurt my heart.

We've barely even touched and I already feel like I'm in the deep end with him. There's no being a little involved with Azure Serrano. Either I can stay away and stay safe, or I can dive in and lose myself in him. Which could turn out to be pretty amazing… if it goes well.

But what if we crash and burn? What if I can't solve the curse? What if something is burning?

Wait, what? … Something's burning!

"Mom, the crab cakes!"

"Oh shit!"

Mom frantically lunges for the pan and snatches the skillet from the flame, a plume of smoke unfurling like a distress signal. With her magic, she stops the heat from the stove. She starts scraping the crab cakes onto a nearby plate.

"Should I tell Craig to order take out?" I ask.

"No, they taste better blackened."

She's wrong about that. But she's right about me.

There's no telling how things will go with Az. He's a giant risk. Walking away is the sensible choice in some respects. It guarantees my safety.

However, I am an adult now and perhaps too grounded for my own good. If I do stay away from Az, won't I always wonder? Wonder if I could have helped him. Wonder if he was worth the risk.

And I'll wonder what could have been between us.

Usually when I make up my mind, that's it. I'm stubborn and sure of myself. That's why I fought so hard to get this research project back on. Yet I've been moping and uncertain ever since I walked away from him.

I think Azure might be worth the risk.

Besides, I'm a researcher. Leaving a question unanswered when I could solve it is hardly very sensible. I have to take a leap and hope I don't fall flat on my face.

Maybe this will work out. I'm an airbrand after all. Leaps, of faith and otherwise, are my strong suit.