Page 115 of Magic of the Damned

“I’m fine.” My voice was preemptively drying for the falsehoods to follow. I wasn’t good at lying to my family. “I just needed some time, so I took a mini vacation.”

“Oh honey, is it Jackson?”

Not at all. My mother was aware of the seismic changes my life underwent after discovering Jackson had cheated. Our breakup wasn’t the uncomplicated type of separation where two people just decide the relationship isn’t working out and end it, giving those involved the chance to slowly accept and deal with their significant other no longer being in their lives. Allowing a person some time to pack and find a new living space. No, it wasn’t as civilized as that. It was abrupt, emotional, and tumultuous, forcing me to pack up, stay with Emoni, and make a performance of living a normal life while dealing with a broken heart. If I’d stayed, he’d have hounded me for forgiveness even more.

“I know it still hurts.” Since whispering wasn’t a skill my mother had mastered, she stage-whispered to my dad. “Our Luna is still brokenhearted,” she told him. “It was her first love and you know how those things are.” Jackson wasn’t my first love, but in my mother’s mind, high school romances didn’t count. “Poor thing.”

“Mom, I’m fine,” I assured her. “I just needed a break. It’s been a long time since I had a vacation, so I took one.”

“I invited you on vacation with us,” she touted. Assured that I was safe and not pining over my broken relationship, my mother was free to be her normal self. “We wanted you to go.”

“It was a vacation to celebrate your anniversary. Why would I agree to go on that? You realize that’s weird, right?”

“How is it weird?” No explanation would convince her otherwise. Why not take your children on your thirtieth wedding anniversary cruise? Cuddling with your adult children, normal as the sun rising and setting. Not seeing a problem sharing intimate moments with the results of it sitting across from you.

“I miss seeing you,” I told her. That was the most truthful thing I’d disclosed in this conversation, and I felt a twinge of guilt because of it. The monthly dinners were something I appreciated and had taken for granted. Hearing my mother’s voice made the void seem wider.

“We miss you, too,” my father said over the speakerphone my mother had placed me on. A video call from my father interrupted the call. I answered to find their faces next to each other.

“You look good,” my mother piped out, surprise in her voice as if she’d been expecting a bedraggled mess. “I’d say the vacation did you well.”

I looked better than I felt.

“Thanks?”

“Where did you go?” my dad asked.

I told them I rented a cottage Airbnb where I did nature walks, read, and went kayaking.

“Good. And Jackson? Where do things stand with you two?”

During our relationship, he’d managed to burrow his way into my parents’ hearts. They’d expected us to get married. But they weren’t so blinded by his charm to approve of me continuing the relationship after his betrayal. My father, being a pragmatist in all things, understood it was a possibility. Love made people more forgiving and less rational at times. After learning of the reason behind our breakup, he simply said, “We’ll support any decision you make without judgment.” The last part was a complete embellishment that he could barely push out without voicing his true opinion. My mother was tight-lipped during his speech, her eyes widening from the effort to restrain from commenting and be in accord with my dad. I knew what she desperately wanted to say: He cheated. Work to get over him and move on.

“There’s no Jackson.” And further conversation about him wasn’t necessary. With everything else going on in my life, he was the last thing I wanted to discuss. “Can we have dinner tomorrow?” I asked, bringing a smile to their faces.

“Invite your brother,” they instructed before getting off the phone. I had planned to because I wanted everyone present during my questioning. As soon as I ended the call, I called my brother. The heaviness in his greeting immediately lifted once he heard my voice. Relief flooded his voice when he spoke.

“Glad this call isn’t a hostage negotiation,” he teased. Forest hated phone calls and preferred the succinct communication afforded by text messages. He remained convinced that phone calls were reserved for parents, grandparents, scams, and probably hostage negotiations.

“How many negotiations have you handled?” I teased.

“None so far, but the way Cliff and Nancy were acting, you’d have thought we were just minutes from getting one about you,” he said. “Don’t go MIA again, sis.”

“It was last minute and the only thing on my mind was getting away,” I said, continuing with the lie.

“You let that pretty boy stress you like that? Don’t.”

“Pretty boy?” I teased, a description often used for my brother and one he hated, even though most people would be flattered by it, perhaps even trade on it. Coltish and tall, Forest had a slim build that gave the impression he worked out. We shared similar red hair, but his hues leaned closer to copper. The last time I saw him, it was darkened with azure woven through it, complementing the colorful sleeve of tattoos up one of his arms. Despite our contrasting appearances and personalities, we shared a lot of characteristics. His face was a definitive oval shape, with wide brows and lips fuller than mine. I cringed when Emoni described them as ‘kissable,’ which quickly forced a repulsed plea from me: “Don’t kiss my brother.” I had a feeling he’d hate me if he knew it was a promise I urged her to make. All his flirting and banter with her was in vain.

“Good for you. Take all the vacations you need but don’t get back with that loser.” Why was Jackson the topic of everyone’s conversation? Were they able to see the real pain and my struggle through the façade I put forward? “If you talk to him again, tell him to lose my number.” Disgust rang in his demand. “If I’m not responding to his messages and answering his calls, take the hint, asshole.”

I laughed. Forest was an unflappable supporter of relationships. Period. If he’s my boyfriend, he’s a cool guy. Break up, then you quickly downgrade to asshole.

“So, you’re coming to dinner?”

“No,” he whined. “I had dinner with them when you were a no-show. I just can’t with them.”

“Please. I want to see you too,” I pleaded.

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