Page 4 of No Place Like Home

I didn’t turn to look at Q because I didn’t want him to know what his girlfriend had said hurt me. I just nodded and acted like it didn’t faze me.

Emma came in with her boyfriend, Detective Dex Hendrix. I’d heard they just moved in together, and I was happy for her; she deserved that. Before he moved into town, I knew she was lonely. I could see it in her eyes. Loneliness called to loneliness. I guessed that was why she gave me the job. She saw something in me too. When I found out about her financial troubles, I had offered to quit. It would hurt like hell not having my income, but it was the right thing to do since she had hired me out of pity. In the end, that hadn’t mattered because Freya came to the rescue.

“Where’s Q? Emma asked, putting on an apron.

“Quick break.”

“Take one,” she offered with a warm smile.

That was just the kind of woman she was. She was like sunshine.

“I’ve got it. The mayor is about to give his speech, and you know everyone will rush to get something to drink before they start to decorate,” I replied.

She should have been part of the festivities to make happy memories with her loved ones.

“It’s cool, Jess. I’ve got her. Go put a wish ornament on the tree,” Dex, said as he came into the booth and intimidated me out of it.

Once I was out, he turned around and gave Emma a kiss that made her get lost in him. Something about open affection fascinated me as much as it grossed me out. My parents could never, but that didn’t mean other people didn’t have difficulty expressing themselves.

For the longest time, I thought love wasn’t real. I’d had years of watching my parents’ fucked-up relationship; it left me with the wrong impression. Looking at Freya with Max and the way Dex adored Emma, I knew love was real, but I also knew it wasn’t for girls like me.

I was a witch, not a princess.

Mrs. Riordan, the local florist, smiled at me as I made it to her booth. She sold clear ornaments that you could fill with all the glitters, dried petals, marbles, and feathers every year. She had little pieces of paper where you put in a wish, then filled it up, and once that was sealed, you would put it up on the town’s tree. I gave her my five dollars—that, excuse you, was a total rip-off—and as stupid as I felt, I wrote my wish. Then I filled it with black feathers and white glitter. Something pure for the wish and black for everything that represented me.

As stupid as it made me feel, I went with the rest of the town's bimbos and lined up to watch our total asshole – but handsome – Mayor Prescott give a speech.Boring.All so I could hang my hopes and dreams on a stupid tree.

“I don’t see why you’re friends with her.” Avery’s voice made me halt my steps.

“She’s right, Q. Aren’t you afraid if you piss her off, she’s going to make a voodoo doll of your face?” Roger’s laughter followed.

My heart was hammering, and I wanted to force myself to move and not let them get to me, but I was rooted in the same spot.

“Come on, guys. Stop,” Quincy pleaded with his friends, but that made them laugh harder.

“Why are you always defending her? She’s such a freak. Like, is she colorblind? I mean, I get that she’s poor, but even the homeless have more color than she does.” Avery went on ignoring him.

“And the black lipstick. What the hell is up with that? But I guess when you follow Satan, that’s like your wardrobe,” someone else added.

“Guys,” Q said again.

I took a step forward, careful to stay hidden from all of them. Quincy was sitting down with Avery on his lap. Avery’s posse stood around them, and Roger was on Quincy’s right, and all of them were laughing at my expense.

All but Quincy.

“Seriously, Q, I don’t know why you’re friends with her.” Roger smirked.

“We just work together. It’s not like I can ignore her,” Quincy said almost defensively.

What was left of my heart finished shattering at that moment. I knew that never in a million years would Quincy look at me like he did all the other girls, but I at least thought we were friends.

When I turned around, I dropped the ornament in the snow. Wishes were stupid. Wishes and dreams were not meant for people like me; they just served as a reminder of something that would never be. Sometimes dreams were a good thing to have, but you had to know when to let go. They were a once-in-a-million kind of thing, and if they were easily accessible to everyone, they wouldn’t be called dreams.

* * *

A few weekslater

My mother was dead.

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