Page 10 of Witchful Thinking

Sirena crossed her fingers. “Well, I don’t want to jinx it. I might have found an investor for my restaurant concept.”

Lucy cheered. “It’s about time.” She’d been tending to her basil plant to bring success to Sirena’s interpreter dreams. “I’m here to help you with a concept collage. My glue stick is ready.”

“Thanks, sis,” Sirena said warmly.

Sirena had spent the last three years trying to find a trustworthy investor to fund the restaurant concept close to her heart. When she wasn’t working at Ad Astra, she cooked privately for the more well-off citizens of Freya Grove. Lucy considered herself blessed to be able to smell Sirena’s cooking let alone taste anything she whipped up on their stove.

Callie came out of the kitchen, cradling her drink while holding a huge bowl of popcorn in the opposite hand.

“Cal, distract Lucy with good news,” Ursula said.

“Nope. She’s on her own. She did it to herself.”

“Wait. What happened? What’s wrong?” Sirena asked.

“She opened that silly class email again.” Callie gave Lucy a pointed stare and dropped the bowl on the coffee table with a snap. Lucy guiltily turned her phone facedown. Busted. She had shared the email with Callie on the drive home.

“I told you to delete those class notes. Quentin’s just finding a reason to be nosy,” Sirena said, finishing off her drink.

“You do this every year. You ended up sending the same thing,” Callie said.

“That’s the problem. I send in the same paragraph. I don’t need a paragraph. I could send in a sentence.” Lucy pouted. She didn’t want to be bratty, but damn she wanted some spark in her life.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Sirena said.

“Lucy still lives in Freya Grove. She teaches at the local high school. She’s single. She drinks tea and casts spells. Cut, copy, and paste. Nothing’s changed,” Lucy said.

“You left out your tea reading business,” Sirena said. “Don’t forget your side hustle.”

Lucy twisted her lip to the side. Sirena wasn’t wrong. During summer break, Lucy opened her doors and her tea pantry to interested customers who wanted their tea leaves read by a Caraway witch. Many times, the reading turned into a venting session for people who needed empathy and a big cup of tea.

She didn’t charge money for the readings, feeling blessed to share her gift with those who needed advice. Lucy opted to barter goods in exchange for her tea reading services, which meant she always was paid with a diverse range of items. Customers paid her with everything from still delicious day-old croissants to fresh cucumbers from a personal garden.

“I don’t really want to brag about that,” Lucy said. “Everyone’s auntie and uncle claims that they can read tea leaves in the Grove. That’s not special.”

“We got a cat.” Callie pointed to Shadow. The cat meowed, making his presence known. Lucy blew a kiss at Shadow, who just yawned, then flicked his tail. Great, even her familiar thought she was boring. She cleaned out his litter box on a regular basis, and that was all the thanks she got.

“Name a witch who doesn’t have a cat in their life,” Lucy said.

“Well…” Ursula sat next to Lucy. “What if you wrote about the life you’ve wanted? Write the class note you wish were your life.”

Lucy sat up, interested. “I’m listening.”

“I’m not saying send it in. Write down your dream life. Manifest. Wish for all the things you want,” Ursula said. Lucy bit her lip in thought. She took another big sip, then put her glass on a coaster. Her imagination went in different directions. Her mind spun with countless paths. Maybe another drink wasn’t in her future.

“I’d love to learn how to bake something fancy,” Lucy said. She wanted to make some pastry she had to spell-check.

Callie tapped the table. “Write that down. Keep going.”

Lucy reclaimed her phone from the table and opened an email draft. Her thumbs went flying over the keyboard. The wishes came quick and immediate, popping up in her head like heated popcorn kernels. Apply for that teaching fellowship in Washington, DC. Train for a race. Save for that dream cottage. Use that designing passion for good. Making mood boards for projects. Stop waiting for that soul mate and freaking find him. Make that cake. Her fingers stopped typing. Lucy read over the paragraph, studying her closely held wishes. Here they were, the things she’d do if she had the money, time, and motivation. Everything within her yearned to make this hastily written paragraph the truth.

I wish this were my life. Lucy closed the email and dropped the phone. No.

To quote Nana Ruth, If wishes were fishes, we’d all cast big nets.

Lucy didn’t want to cast her net wide and then deal with the failure of not catching anything. She’d just have to deal with the life she had. She sat up, refocused on the task at hand.

“You didn’t come over here just to get us drunk. You called this meeting.”

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