Page 13 of Sugar, Spice, and Magical Midlife

Ilove my son. I love everything about him, exactly the way he is. For many years, even when I was married to Colin, the world seemed to be just Des and me. I quickly learned his language and needs and how to ensure he felt safe and happy. Did I prioritize him over Colin? Of course. Any father worth a spell would agree our son should’ve come first. Sadly, Colin never saw it that way.

I don’t love my child in spite of his autism. I love my child because he’s amazing and special, but I can’t deny I don’t worry about him, especially how he’d cope should something ever happen to me. And I worry that he might not have a happy and fulfilling adulthood, especially when he’s already had to face so many obstacles. And by obstacles, I mean prejudice, from doctors who’ve scrutinized him as if he’s a lab rat, to other parents and children who’ve said hurtful things, and even his own father who has never understood him.

As hard as it’s been for me to accept, I can’t always be there to protect him. Like every other weekend when I drop him off with Colin and his new wife. Sometimes I think Colin considers taking care of Des a drudgery, which makes me resent my ex more than anything he’s ever done to me. The cheating, lying, and neglect were nothing compared to the day he’d complained about having to ‘babysit’ his own son.

I’d lost my cool that day, scaring Colin when I’d shattered the windows of his car. And, no, I hadn’t done it on purpose. Sometimes when I get very upset, I lose control of my magic. It’sbeen an issue of mine ever since my parents were killed, and no amount of therapy has been able to fix me.

But Colin never complained about having to ‘babysit’ his son again, and surprisingly, he started working on being a better father after that, either out of guilt or fear. I just hoped his paternal instincts continued to strengthen, otherwise, Colin would lose a lot more windows.

“Des,” I said with a sigh as I turned off the ignition, “we’re here.”

My lanky preteen son hunched over in his seat while staring at his phone screen. I knew he heard me, because he’d turned down the volume on his headphones when we’d pulled into the driveway.

He pulled down his headphones, looking at me with those luminous, dark eyes. “I don’t like it here.”

My heart clenched, and I felt like the world’s worst mom for leaving him, but I’d feel equally guilty if I denied my son time with his father, even if his dad was more aggravating than a curse of raging selkie herpes. A boy needed to know his father—at least that’s what my third-rate lawyer had told me.

“I know you don’t.” I forced a smile while brushing a wayward strand of dark hair out of his eyes. “It’s only two days, and then we’ll have you back to your routine for another two weeks.”

“I don’t likeher.” He frowned, looking at something out the front window.

I worked hard to unclench my jaw, for I knew Des’s dad and his much younger new bride, aka Felicity Fartface, aka Homewrecking Barbie, were watching us from the doorway.

Neither do I,I wanted to say, but I kept my thoughts to myself. “Two days, baby,” I repeated.

He let out a slow breath. “Two days.”

“Yep.” I fought the urge to slam the car in reverse and hightail it out of there, but I couldn’t afford more lawyer fees, and ‘a boy needed to know his father,’ even if his father was more worthless than a boil on a troll’s behind. “Two days,” I repeated once again, realizing it was as much for my benefit as it was for his. I cracked a smile. “What do you want me to cook for you when you come home?”

His grin stretched nearly ear to ear. “Pizza.”

“Olives and cheese.” It was more a statement than a question. I knew what Des liked on his pizza. Exactly three olives per slice, with a thick enough crust that his fingers didn’t touch the sauce.

He punched the air. “Yes!”

“Okay.” I cupped his cheek, feeling privileged that only I could touch him like this. “I love you so much.”

An understanding passed between us, and I saw a flash of recognition, even if it was only for a moment, a glimpse of the boy beneath the haze that usually fogged his eyes. As always, he ended contact first, pulling away from me while reaching for the door handle.

“Let’s get this over with,” I grumbled while following after him.

I couldn’t escape the feeling that I was marching to my own funeral as I followed my son up the steep driveway to the house my ex’s parents had purchased for us as a wedding gift. It was a glaringly white art deco modern monstrosity with zero landscaping save for pale rocks and bristling cacti. I’d hated almost everything about the home, but his parents had already signed the paperwork before I could have a say. It had a big kitchen and a hot tub and pool, so who was I to complain?

My ex-husband and his former secretary were all smiles while waiting for us beneath the tall portico. Colin looked like he’d raided the wardrobes of Mr. Rogers and Keith Richards with a douchebaggy cable knit sweater and (gag) tight, tanleather pants tucked into suede boots. His hair was slicked back in a way that made him look like Elvis’s resurrected corpse. Felicity’s silver-dollar-sized nipples poked through a tight, sparkly crop top that showcased her new, perky double Ds that were big enough to feed a colony of feral gnomes. She wore a tight little skirt that barely covered her skanky crotch, no doubt infested with a raging case of dragon crabs, and she’d caked on enough makeup to encourage every commercial cosmetic industry to resume animal testing. Both were second-rate witches, though one had money and the other had looks, which, no surprise, gave them just enough clout to pretend they were important in the magical realm. To say I loathed and resented them would’ve been an understatement.

Colin squeezed Felicity to his side, his smile appearing plastered to his face. “You look nice.” His beady-eyed gaze raked over me in a way that made me vomit a little in my mouth. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” I answered with a disinterested slur. Yeah, I looked good, mostly because Ethyl had done my hair and makeup, and I’d practically bathed in butter to slip into a pair of tight jeans, but most impressive were my gals suspended in a truly miraculous bra that defied gravity while masking the fact that I had breastfed a hangry baby for two years.

“Where’s my little Dessie?” Felicity flapped up and down like a deranged dragon while talking to my son as if he was a toddler. “There he is!”

I inwardly smiled when she held open her arms for a hug and he slapped her hands away before marching into the house. My glee was short-lived as I watched him flee up the modern, floating staircase with the metallic rails. He’d probably hide in his bedroom all weekend, playing video games while his father and stepmother ignored him.

“We’re going to have so much fun.” Felicity clasped her hands together, speaking through a frozen smile. “I just love that kid.”

I curled my hands into claws, fighting the urge to whip out my wand and deflate her new boobs.

“Can you pick him up early Sunday?” Colin asked.

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