Page 20 of Charmed, I'm Sure
Balling the fabric up in her hands, she left us gawking after her.
“Did she just?” Jae asked, her eyes wide as she stared out the door.
“Yep. Come on.”
Putrid. That’s the only word that filled my hungover brain as I stepped into the kitchenette. The whir of the blender sounded more like grinding screws and bolts than combining whatever ingredients Mama Jo kept adding to the concoction, and the sickly state of green, as it swirled around and around, made my stomach churn.
“What, in the name of all things holy, isthat?” Jae asked, her nose wrinkling as she recoiled slightly.
“Sit your butts down and hush. This is my bonafide hangover cure. Tastes better than it smells and does the trick every time.” Mama Jo poured the green gloop into two glasses and placed them on the table in front of us. Hands on her hips, she surveyed us as we eyed the cups of goo.
“I amnotdrinking that,” Jae said as she covered her mouth and nose with her hand.
“Suit yourself. But you’ve got a long trek back home, and it ain’t gonna be any fun hungover like you are.”
Groaning like a petulant toddler, I picked up the glass and took a hesitant sip. It was thicker than a smoothie and slightly grainy, but it actually wasn’tthatbad. Jaelyn eyed me curiously as I took another sip and then set my glass back on the table.
“Well?” she asked, her brows scrunched together.
With a noncommittal shrug, I said, “It’s honestly not that bad. A little…weird. But not bad.”
Mama Jo watched as Jaelyn took a small sip, her lips pulling into a satisfied smirk when surprise colored my friend’s face. “You’re welcome. Now, drink up. When your stomachs are up for it, there are beignets on the counter for y’all.” She directed her attention to me and asked, “Walk an old lady to the door?”
After another sip of her—probably magical—cure, I pushed up from my chair and escorted Mama Jo to the door. “Is everything alright?” I asked as soon as Jae was out of earshot.
“Yeah, baby. I just wanted to make sure thatyouwere alright. Your aura is…different… today.” Her eyes narrowed a fraction as she assessed me—for what, I’m not sure. But then her lips thinned into a closed-lip smile, and she bobbed her head like she had found whatever she was looking for. “Have a safe trip home, baby. And come back to see me, alright?”
With a tight hug and a peck on my cheek, Mama Jo slipped through the door with a finger-wave as she pulled it closed behind her.
Grabbing the beignets from the counter, I settled back in at the table and finished my… smoothie? Drinkable sludge? Whatever it was, I was grateful for it as the ache in my head subsided, and the sight of food didn’t send me running for the bathroom. When we finished our breakfast, I grabbed my phone from its charger—thank you, drunk me, for remembering to plug it in—and shot a text off to my aunt.
MAGNOLIA
Thanks for the house call.
AUNT EVIE
A little kitty told me you might be feeling a little rough today.
MAGNOLIA
I’ll give them extra snuggles when I get home. Thanks again *heart emoji*
Monday could kick rocks.
After the drive home Sunday, I spent the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen with Aunt Evie and my sister. We hung various flowers and herbs to dry and planned out meals for the week. I checked anddouble-checked the week’s orders forCharCutieand figured out what specials I wanted to offer. All while Maddie furiously typed away on her laptop in the breakfast nook, nibbling on whatever food I put in her radius.
It had been calm and peaceful, but that all changed the moment I walked into the kitchen Monday morning. Aunt Evie was leaning against the counter, coffee cup clasped between white-knuckled hands as she watched the news scroll across the screen.
“What’s going on?” I asked as I poured my own mug. All I got was a head nod toward the TV as she took a sip from her cup and turned up the volume.
“Tropical Storm Melissa looks to be heading our way. Her current speed is fifty-three miles per hour as she slowly makes her way across the Gulf of Mexico, which means there’s a good chance that Tropical Storm Melissa will become Hurricane—”
The mute icon popped up in the top right-hand corner of the screen, promptly cutting off the broadcast as Aunt Evie let out a heavy sigh. “I was hoping we’d squeak by this year without a storm.”
“We still could. It could fizzle out before it ever hits the coast.”
Shaking her head, my aunt pointed toward the table in the nook. “Not according to the cards.”
