19. Wisteria

When I wake up in the morning, I'm glad I didn't beg off of work yesterday, because there's no way I'm going in to the shop today.

In all the time I worked at the bookshop in Seattle, I hardly ever called off sick. Maybe twice, the entire time. I rarely get sick, for one thing–all the herbal teas and remedies are really good for something–but also just because I couldn't afford it.

I wake up feeling drained and exhausted. There's nothing pleasant about this, not like yesterday. I woke up off and on throughout the night, crying, feeling as if I'd lost something vital, and the confusion was almost as bad as the hurt itself. Rejection stings–but this feels so much worse.

Faintly, what Penelope said about shifters and their bonds come back to me–how trying to reject that mythical fated mate bond feels like the worst heartbreak you've ever had. But that's a shifter thing–it's not possible for it to happen between a shifter and a human. I clearly remember her saying that. Whatever is wrong with me, it's not that.

I fumble for my phone, and I can't help hoping that I'll see Eli's name on the screen when I pick it up. There's nothing, and I fight back a fresh wave of tears as I scroll down to Penelope's contact.

I'm sorry. I'm not feeling well. Can you handle the last of what we need to do today to get ready to open back up tomorrow?

I wince as I send the message. All week I've been nervous and excited about the day the shop would re-open–often the former more than the latter–and now I don't know how I'm going to function tomorrow. One day to deal with how this feels doesn't seem like enough.

My phone buzzes, and I reach for it. That's fine. Are you ok??? How was last night???

I wince, swallowing hard. I'm ok. Just don't feel well. It was fine.

A few seconds pass. I don't believe you. What happened?

I blink, staring at the screen. It's so incredibly blunt–but then again, I think I should be getting used to that from Penelope by now.

I really just don't feel good, I text back quickly. Caught a bug from all the mouth-to-mouth, I guess.

It feels hard to be so casual about it, to joke, when it feels like a hole's been punched in my chest. I toss my phone to the side, tugging the blanket up over me again as I close my eyes against a fresh wave of tears. I can't help wondering what Eli is doing right now–how he's feeling. I can't imagine it's anything like this.

Before too long, someone else will be in his bed, I'm sure. Someone who can give him everything he wants–casual sex without catching feelings, someone who isn't keeping a secret from him. A shifter, maybe, who could take his knot if he wanted to do that.

I've never wanted that before.His voice echoes in my head, tight and rasping and full of an emotion I couldn't quite understand, and I let out a muffled sob.

I don't know why things spiraled out of control with us. Why it felt like we were being swept along on an inescapable tide of something that neither of us understood.

And I can't bring myself to regret it, even though it hurts like nothing I've ever felt before.

I didn't realizethat I fell back to sleep, until I'm woken up by an insistent knocking on my front door. It starts out as an echo in a jumbled dream, one that I don't recall upon waking, and turns into a loud and demanding noise as I'm pulled out of sleep.

It pauses, for a second, and then starts back up again.

"Hold on!" I yell, the words feeling thick, and stumble out of bed. I'm still wearing the same clothes I wore to the Lodge last night, and I wrinkle my nose, knowing I need a shower. Hopefully it's a salesman or something–do they have those in Bayton?--and I can tell them to leave.

Instead, when I open the door with a firm "please go away" ready at hand, I see Penelope on my front step instead.

I blink at her. "How did you know where I live?"

"Please." She sniffs, looking at me as if she'd put her hands on her hips if they weren't both full–one with a plastic bag full of something and the other holding a drink carrier with what look like coffees from the shop a block away from the apothecary. "We work together. Literally all I had to do was take a peek at the records."

"That seems like–something you're not supposed to do."

Penelope raises an eyebrow. "What are you going to do, fire me?"

"No, of course not." I let out a slow breath. "What are you doing here?"

"You're obviously not okay. And I didn't think you were sick, either. I figured your problem started with an ‘E' and ended with an ‘i' and has a giant ‘l' in the middle. Am I right? Also, can I come in?"

"Um–sure." I take a step back, still absorbing everything she just said. "Sorry."

Penelope breezes past me, looking around and then making a beeline for the kitchen. I follow her, feeling a little as if I'm watching all of this happen from outside of myself.

She sets the bag down on the counter. "I brought the pastrami sandwiches from the deli again, and a quart of chicken noodle soup in case you really were sick, which clearly you're not. And here." She pries one of the drinks free and hands it to me, taking the other for herself. "Citrus and mint tea for you, coffee for me."

I take it wordlessly, sinking down into the chair. Penelope gives me a long, searching look before sitting down to my right, taking a sip of her coffee before setting the cup down. "What's going on, Wisteria?"

Her playful tone has changed to something more serious, and it's too much. It's been a long time since I've cried in front of someone, but just like that, I burst into tears all over again.

Penelope's eyes widen with slight alarm. "Did he hurt you?"

I shake my head. "Not like that. Not really, he just–" I break off, wiping a hand across my nose.

"Wait. Did you tell him? Is that what happened?"

"No, I–" I bite my lip as my throat tightens, remembering the night before. "I didn't tell him. I still couldn't. And now I'm glad I didn't, because–"

Another small sob escapes, and Penelope stares at me. "Wisteria, what's going on?"

"I don't know." I cover my hands with my face. "I shouldn't feel like this. It was a hookup. It was just a hookup. I knew that. Why do I feel like this?"

"Shh. Hey, look at me." Penelope reaches for my hand, tugging it away from my face and squeezing it in hers, seemingly not caring that there's definitely both tears and snot on it. "Just slow down, and tell me what happened. At your own pace."

Somehow, I do. Between sips of tea and bursts of crying, I tell her that I went right over to the Lodge after she texted me back, that we barely made it up to his room before we were all over each other. Somehow, despite the fact that I've never had a friend I could talk to about such intimate details before, I tell her what happened that freaked Eli out so badly–and about the conversation, at the very end.

"It seemed like he was trying not to shift." I bite my lip, feeling that shiver run down my spine again. "And like he was trying so hard not to force me to take something my body couldn't handle. He was afraid he'd hurt me. It seemed like–like he feels more strongly about this than he should, too. Like we both do." I look at Penelope, feeling that confusion wash over me all over again. "That mate thing you talked about–you're sure it's only between shifters?"

"Absolutely." She nods. "I've never heard otherwise. I've never talked to anyone who has either. This isn't that."

"Then what's going on?" I shake my head, wiping my hand across my cheeks. "I'm bad at hookups, but I've never been like this. I know I'm being ridiculous. And I can't stop."

"I think you've been through a lot," Penelope says firmly. "Wisteria, look at me. You picked up your entire life and moved to a new town two weeks ago, after finding out your aunt died. In that very brief span of time, you've gone from an ordinary job to owning your own business–something you probably feel a lot of responsibility for, since it was your aunt's–from renting to having a house of your own, and living in a town where everyone is a stranger. In the midst of all of that, you met someone, and he showed you the absolute time of your life before things came to a head very quickly and he reminded you that it was only ever supposed to be a one-or-two-night-stand. Have I gotten anything wrong?"

I shake my head. "No," I whisper. "Wait–are you using magic on me?"

Penelope laughs. "I'm not. I don't have to in order to see what's going on here. You've dealt with so much in a very short span of time, and this is the thing that your mind and body and heart have decided is the final straw. You're not heartbroken over a man you barely know, you're overwhelmed. And you need a friend. So I'm here." She squeezes my hands again. "Now, drink your tea, and go take a shower and put on some clean, comfy clothes. And then I'll warm up these sandwiches, and we'll talk some more."

I reach for the tea obediently, glad for once to have someone telling me what to do. She's right, I do feel overwhelmed, and right now it's easier to listen to what she's saying than to try to figure out for myself what I need.

"What about the shop?" I ask, after a few sips of the hot tea. It's good, minty and sweet with a sharp bite of citrus, and it's soothing after so much crying. "We need to open tomorrow, and–"

"I already finished the inventory." Penelope lets go of my other hand, sitting back in her chair. "We were almost done with it anyway. We can open tomorrow if you still want to. Or, we can take one more day, and no one will think twice about it. Tourists will just keep going about their days, and the locals will understand. No one is going to rush you."

"I need to rush me." I run a hand through my hair. "My aunt might have owned the shop outright, but there's still utilities to be paid, taxes, your wages, all of that. I can't just let it sit forever. Especially if I want to turn it into something else. My inheritance will only go so far."

"One more day won't make the difference," Penelope promises. "If you need it. And if not, I'll be there with you tomorrow. Or I'll take a sick day, too. I wouldn't mind."

I narrow my eyes at her. "I pay for your sick days."

"I know." She laughs, finishing her coffee and getting up to toss the cup in the recycling. "Go get in the shower, Wisteria. You'll feel better."

Betteris a broad term, but she's right that it helps. I stand under the hot spray for a long time, imagining that I'm washing away Eli's touch, the scent of him on my skin, the feeling of him having marked me. I scrub away all of it, my chest aching at the thought, tears dripping down my face. And I tell myself over and over that Penelope is right, that I'm not crying for him–that this was just the last straw, the thing that my mind fixated on when everything else became overwhelming. I'm crying for the lost time with my aunt, for having spent so much of my life without trying harder to visit, without spending time in a place where I could have been more myself. I'm crying because I'm afraid I'll fail, and because a part of me misses being in the city, because even if my life sucked and I had nothing to look forward to, I also didn't really have much to lose. I'm crying because so much has changed, so fast, and I haven't had enough time to adjust.

And yes,I let myself admit as I tilt my head back, letting the hot water run through my hair. Maybe part of me is crying because I really, really liked him. A very small part.

The sex was good, but it was more than that. I wanted to get to know him better. To understand the man who on the outside seemed like nothing more than a rough and tumble drifter, a lone wolf with no home and no interest in one–but who had hidden depths to him that I only got to glimpse. A softer side, one that I saw the slightest hint of, and now will never get to know.

And he's still going to be here, for at least a little while longer. Close, but now very, very far away.

When the water starts to run cold, I finally get out, toweling dry and putting my hair up with a clip. I pull on a pair of comfy sweats and a t-shirt, and go back to the kitchen to find Penelope putting the sandwiches in the oven.

"Good timing." She hands me a glass of water. "Here. Drink it all."

"Are you sure you don't have kids?" I frown at her, sitting back down. "You're pretty good at this whole ‘taking care of someone' thing."

"I just like doing it." She smiles at me. "I don't know. I've always liked it. And you clearly need it, so–it's a win/win."

"It is," I agree tiredly, sipping at the water. "I'm sorry. None of this is your problem."

Penelope frowns, putting the sandwiches on plates, along with what I now see are pickle spears and more of that really good coleslaw. "We're friends, aren't we? So of course it is. You'd do the same for me."

Friends.I do manage a smile at that. "I was hoping I'd make friends here. I'm glad you're the first one."

"And I have more for you." Penelope stabs a fork into the coleslaw. "You should come with me tonight and meet the coven."

A coven. Something warm spreads through my chest at the thought. Out in the mundane world, covens are exceedingly hard to find. Sometimes they manage to masquerade as book clubs or wine nights, but more often than not, being a witch out in the world remains a lonely business. I never really tried to find one. It felt too hard, too daunting. Even finding and making myself go to that support group had been hard at first. The idea of being a part of one both excites and terrifies me all at once.

Maybe a fear of rejection is a bigger problem for me than I realized.

"Are you sure?" I frown, biting my lip as I take a hesitant bite of the sandwich. I'm starving, I realize, but my body feels almost too exhausted to eat. "What if they don't like me? Do they really want to meet another witch?"

Penelope looks at me as if I've grown two heads, taking a healthy bite out of her own sandwich. "Yes, I'm sure. There's no way they won't like you, I like you, and–"

"Don't say you don't like very many people, because I know that's not true. Even if your wardrobe suggests otherwise."

"--and of course they would want to meet you. A coven thrives on its members. The more witches the better."

"I don't know." I poke at my pickle spear. "After the day I've had–I don't know if I have it in me to meet new people tonight. Maybe the next time–"

"What are you going to do instead?" Penelope narrows her eyes at me. "Watch bad tv and wallow? If you're going to be sad, it's better to do it with friends, I promise."

"They're not my friends yet."

"They will be." She gives me a challenging look. "Come on. Just give it a chance. If you're really having that bad of a time, I'll dip out early and we can come back here and watch that bake-off show or whatever."

I laugh a little at that–I can't help it. Penelope has a way of cheering me up, even when I feel completely down, and I'm glad to have someone like that finally. I didn't fully grasp just how lonely I've been.

"Alright," I concede. "But I need another nap, first."

"You do that." Penelope smiles, clearly victorious. "I'll go back to the shop and check on things, and then I'll come pick you up at six-thirty."

"What do I wear?"

She laughs. "I always opt for black. But wear whatever you want."

And just like that, over tears and pastrami sandwiches, I get my first invite to a coven meeting.