Page 110 of Magical Moonbeam
“Maybe,” she said, but her voice was gentle. “But I still love you more than anyone. Even if you don’t cook like my boyfriend’s mom.”
I laughed. “Rude.”
“It’s true,” she teased. “You burned frozen waffles.”
“That was one time!”
“Twice.” She laughed. “A month.”
We laughed, and the tension slipped out of me like a spell finally released.
“I’ll call more,” I promised. “And maybe… when your semester ends, you could come stay here for the summer.”
There was a pause.
“Okay. I’d like that, and maybe he can come too?”
Ah, yes,he, the boyfriend.
“Of course.” I cleared my throat. “But, Celeste, promise me if there is ever anything that seems off, you’ll tell me.”
“Always, Mom. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
We stayed on the phone for a while longer, talking about nothing and everything. But when we finally hung up, I stayed seated on the edge of my bed, the smile fading slowly as silence returned.
I thought of Alex, covered in bites, probably cursing the mattress and threatening to sue the linens. I thought of Keegan, who, despite everything, had done it for me.
And I thought of Celeste, my daughter, my heart, who was growing up without seeing the world I had finally stepped into.
But maybe, just maybe, that could change.
Perhaps, I could still be the kind of mother who fought for magicandremembered to call on Sundays.
Even if I still couldn't cook waffles.
The kitchen at the Academy buzzed with the usual clatter of spoons and low chatter, the scent of cinnamon scones and brewed tea curling into the air like a warm welcome. Someone had spelled the butter to keep spinning in place on a tray, and the toast floated by in a lazy spiral, waiting for hands to pluck it mid-flight. I leaned against the doorway for a moment, just breathing it in.
These were the good parts. The pieces I didn’t take for granted anymore.
My dad curled beneath the table with his paws twitching slightly in a dream.
I poured a cup of tea and sat down beside Ember, who was outlining a lesson on protective layering spells to a sleepy Opal. Laughter erupted near the hearth from Skonk and Mara. He’d spelled her to sing silly ditties in a three-part harmony. She didn’t seem to mind.
Then the door creaked open.
Keegan strolled in, casual as anything, sleeves rolled to the elbows, hair a little damp from the morning mist, and looking for all the world like someone who hadn’t hexed a bed the night before.
I swatted his arm lightly as he walked by.
He grinned. “What was that for?”
“You know what it was for,” I said, barely restraining my smile. “Thank you.”
His expression turned mock-innocent, brows raised in theatrical offense. “Thank you? I don’t even know what I’m being accused of.”
“Uh-huh,” I murmured, sipping my tea. “Alex would beg to differ. Well, if he could stop scratching long enough to form a coherent sentence.”
