I'll Work On It

I outstretched my hand, a formal gesture, a relic of Institute manners. But Joseph just looked at it, then at me, a soft, amused smile playing on his lips before he pulled me into a warm, engulfing hug. It seems my mother wasn’t lying when she said her dad never missed an opportunity to show affection. His embrace was firm, comforting, smelling faintly of something woody and clean. Slowly, almost tentatively, I brought my arms around his waist, burying my face against his broad chest. The sheer physicality of it, the simple human contact, was overwhelming. It had been so long, years, since I'd had any physical contact with anyone besides Farrah. I couldn't help it when my eyes began to water, a warmth spreading through me that had nothing to do with the midday sun, and a quiet sniffle escaped me.

"Awww, to hell with it, I'm getting in there too!" Farrah's voice, usually a cheerful burst, was thick with emotion. She barreled into us, wrapping her arms around both me and my grandfather, squeezing the life out of us in a fierce, bone-crushing embrace. Joseph, with an easy chuckle, retracted one of his arms from around me and wrapped it around her as well, pulling her into our weird, lopsided family group hug. We stood there for a beat, a tangle of limbs and unexpected emotion, right in the middle of the grand circular driveway.

I guess that’s when it truly dawned on him that there were two of us there. He stiffened slightly, then pulled away, holding Farrah and me at arm's length, looking at us both. We were polar opposites: me with my dark hair and intense gaze, Farrah with her bright strawberry locks and boundless energy.

He stepped back, taking us both in again, his gaze darting from Farrah to me, then to Tilly, then back to us. A bewildered frown creased his forehead. "Umm, hun," he began, his voice laced with affectionate confusion, "I know I'm getting up there in age, but I'm pretty sure I remember you saying I had a granddaughter, one. These are not one, they are two."

Tilly chuckled, a soft, melodic sound, and stepped closer to us. I noticed the shimmering sheen in her eyes, unshed tears that mirrored my own. "Yes, Joe, Genesis is our granddaughter, but we got a bonus one in Farrah, because she refused to leave without her." Farrah, ever the charmer, waved two fingers at Joseph, a mischievous grin breaking out on her freckled face. A wide smile spread across his face, and he immediately wrapped us in another one of his warm, enveloping hugs, the kind that made you feel safe.

"Okay you three, let's continue this inside over some lemonade and sandwiches, I am starving." Joseph's voice was a warm rumble, and at the mention of food, Farrah's stomach replied with a loud, almost theatrical gurgle. The queasiness from the car ride, which had left her a pale green, was completely forgotten in the face of imminent sustenance. Joseph chuckled, a deep, hearty sound, and led us towards the imposing, intricately carved double doors of the house.

Did I say house? The thought barely formed in my mind before it was immediately, vehemently corrected. I mean mega mansion. The thing was gigantic, truly monumental. Its stone facade, a rich, dark grey, seemed to absorb the afternoon light, yet still exuded an undeniable warmth, a sense of ancient power. Or maybe that was just the warmth of a full stomach and the promise of more. Every window, a gleaming pane of impossibly clear glass, reflected the deep azure of the sky, dotted with a few lazy, cotton-ball clouds. Ornate carvings, delicate and intricate, adorned the lintels above each window and door, depicting scenes of nature and what looked like ancient, mystical symbols. Why did my mom leave this place again? The answer, swift and unbidden, bubbled up from the wellspring of my ingrained cynicism: That's right, for love. My lip curled, an involuntary, almost imperceptible twitch. Gag me with a spoon. The thought was sharp, bitter, like an unripe berry, but it was honest.

Don't get me wrong, if you're all about true love and all that, the kind of saccharine, storybook romance that promises forever and a day, then more power to you. Seriously. Bask in its glow, write poems, sing ballads. But I've seen what supposed true love did to my mom, and I'm not here for it. Not even a little bit. It was a phantom limb, a constant ache that throbbed beneath the surface of every memory I had of her. Always hiding, always looking over her shoulder, a perpetual shadow clinging to her heels, making every day a performance of normalcy. Being on the run meant a constant, unsettling impermanence; the scent of dust and hurried packing always seemed to linger in our clothes. Never being able to make new friends, never truly rooting anywhere. The longest we ever stayed in one place was eighteen months, and even that felt like an eternity of fleeting glances and hushed goodbyes. And let's not forget the biggest, most unforgivable one of them all: she was left alone. With a kid. Me. The weight of that reality, the solitary burden she carried, pressed down on my own chest, a familiar heaviness.

We followed Joseph through a grand, echoing foyer, the polished marble floor cool and slick beneath my sneakers, reflecting the light from an enormous crystal chandelier that glittered like a frozen waterfall overhead. The air within the mansion was different from the outside world – a subtle, refined scent of old paper, polished wood, and something vaguely floral, like dried potpourri. He led us into what I was guessing was some kind of tea room.

And what a tea room it was. The moment we stepped across the threshold, a cascade of natural light enveloped us, bright and welcoming, a stark contrast to the slightly dim corridors we'd navigated. Big bay windows dominated an entire wall of the room, curving outwards like a benevolent eye, offering a panoramic view of lush, emerald green gardens that stretched to the horizon. In front of these magnificent windows, built into the alcove, was a deep, cushioned seating area, plush and inviting, designed to catch every last ray of sunlight and create a perfect haven for contemplation.

Off to the side, on a long, ornate mahogany table draped with a pristine white linen cloth, was a breathtaking layout of fresh pastries, delicate sandwiches, and glistening cakes. It was an edible masterpiece. Croissants, golden and flaky, were piled high, their buttery scent mingling with the sweeter, more vibrant aroma of fruit tarts whose berries gleamed like jewels. The aroma, a complex symphony of sweet and savory notes, rich and intoxicating, wafted around us, swirling and dancing in the air, making my mouth water with an almost painful intensity. I stole a glance at Farrah. Her mouth was hanging open, a comical picture of pure, unadulterated awe, and she lifted her arm slowly, wiping the side of her mouth with her fingers, like she was literally drooling. At this point, I wouldn't have put it past her, really.

Tilly, ever the gracious host, ushered us into the plush seating at a large, round table situated closer to the center of the room. The chairs, upholstered in a deep, rich velvet, felt impossibly soft as I sank into one. Tilly then took a seat herself, her posture straight and elegant. Just as she settled, two women, moving with a synchronized precision that suggested years of practice, emerged from a discreetly placed door. They were dressed immaculately in crisp white shirts and neatly pressed black skirts, their hair pulled back into severe, elegant buns. They took up positions at the table. "Okay, what would you girls like to have?" Tilly asked, her gaze sweeping between Farrah and myself. Farrah, still mesmerized by the spread, ogled the layout some more before asking, her voice a little hesitant, "We can have whatever we want? We won't get into trouble?"

A flicker of confusion passed over both my grandparents' faces. I, too, awaited an answer. "Of course, you won't get into trouble. Why would you? It's only food." Joseph replied, his voice laced with gentle incredulity. As he spoke, I noticed a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in Tilly's expression. A fleeting flash of something that looked suspiciously like anger washed over her face, quickly replaced by the familiar, gracious smile once again. "In that case, I'll have one of everything, please!" Farrah declared, her confidence back at an all-time high, gesturing grandly at the entire spread. They all turned to me, their eyes expectant. "I'll just have a slice of the raspberry cake I saw earlier and some lemonade, please." Farrah gaped at me, her mouth falling open once more, as if I had just announced I was going to sprout wings.

The two women, ever efficient, began dishing out the pastries. One discreetly slipped back into the kitchen to retrieve a bigger plate for Farrah's monster meal. Joseph used this brief interlude to engage us. "So, Genesis, tell me about yourself. How are your grades? Your friends? That sort of thing."

"Well, umm, the only friend I've ever had is Farrah, she's more like a sister by this point, and my grades are good, I guess." I shrugged, minimizing my achievements. Farrah, who had been quietly mesmerized by the spectacle of her monumental meal, suddenly made a loud choking noise. Her cheeks flamed a vivid crimson, and her eyes, wide with sudden mortification, dropped to her lap. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, "it's just that she's being a bit modest in the grades department." I glared at her, which only caused her face to become an even hotter shade of scarlet. "Oh, really? How so?" Tilly urged, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

"Well, she was at the top of every class," Farrah began, gaining momentum, "even Lucan history, which is weird." I glanced at them, trying to gauge their reaction. Nothing. "And I'm pretty sure she would have aced spells and magiks, but we had only started that class today, and here we are, so there's no way of knowing for sure." Joseph opened his mouth to say something but closed it as she barreled on. "I mean, I should have probably been pissed that she knocked me off the top spot, but I wasn't. I realized there was a lot I could learn from her, you know, having come from the real world and what not. Did you know she was doing actual magic from the age of five? FIVE! At five, all they had us learning was how to put sentences together!" I quickly placed a hand on her arm, a gentle but firm pressure, signaling she was talking too much again. She caught my cue, and her mouth snapped shut.

Joseph blinked twice, slowly, like someone coming out of a trance. He then looked directly at me. "I've been wondering, didn't Taly tell you anything about us?" At that question, Tilly gave me her undivided attention, anxiously awaiting my response. I decided to be honest. "Of course, she did. She always spoke of home, she told me about your hugs," I said, looking at Joseph. "And that Tilly was one, if not THE strongest witch in history." I turned my gaze to Tilly, allowing my admiration to shine through. "And she would go on and on about this place. Her favorite place to be was the greenhouse, with you." I finished, holding Tilly's gaze, allowing her to see the absolute truth of my words.

Tilly cleared her throat a few times, a faint catch in her voice. When she spoke again, her voice was a little rougher. "If that were true then why did she leave? Why didn't you tell the officials you had grandparents that could take you in?" Her questions were direct, cutting through the pleasantries. I startled at this, a cold jolt of surprise running through me. My gaze darted to Farrah, desperate hope blooming that she would start yapping once more. But she was blissfully unaware, nose deep in her pastries plate. I was caught in the headlights. Even though I wanted nothing more than to be completely honest, I couldn't. "I don't know exactly why mom left," I began, my voice barely above a whisper. "She never told me, really, but I didn't tell them about you guys because I was ten and just found out my mother was missing. I was confused and traumatized. By the time I had even remembered I had other family members, I was already at Solus, and it's not like I could have just sashayed into the Headmaster's office to tell him about it."

"Yeah, not unless she wanted to pay a visit to the white room," Farrah chimed in, suddenly alert, a shudder running through her body. The mention of the "white room" was enough to snap her out of her food-induced trance.

Tilly listened, her expression unreadable, then nodded slowly. "That reminds me, I need to contact the Councillium. Joe dear, can you show the girls to the available rooms so they can pick one out? I'll be in the office, you can come find me after."

Tilly rose gracefully from her seat. She leaned over Joseph, a tender gesture, and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. Then, she started towards a door I hadn't noticed before. She took about four steps, then paused. She turned back around and came over, placing a gentle kiss on both Farrah and me. Farrah gasped, her eyes bulging out of her head a little before she melted into a wide, delighted smile, a dusting of cherry on her cheeks.

"Okay, girls, let's get you situated," Joseph said, his voice cheerful. "Wait a second, where are your things? I didn't see Wally take out any bags before he left." At this, a wave of familiar self-consciousness washed over me. I could tell Farrah did as well. "We didn't have much to begin with," I admitted, my voice small, "and Tilly told us to leave it there. Sorry."

"I see," Joseph said, his voice gentle, devoid of any judgment. "Well, no need to be sorry, that just means you get to go shopping, that's all. In the meantime, I'm sure there's something in your mother's closet that will fit." Both Farrah and I exchanged a look, our eyes widening, then a wave of giddy excitement washed over us. Farrah, because she heard the magic word: shopping. And me, because I heard the mention of my mom's stuff. We both turned towards the grand, curving stairway, but Joseph placed a firm, yet gentle, hand on my shoulder, bringing me to a halt.

"I know it may be a little too soon," he began, his voice soft, his gaze warm and reassuring, "but I'm pretty sure your grandma would like to hear you call her grandma instead of Tilly. I know I'd be honored if you called me grandpa, or Pop-Pop or Papa, whichever one feels best for you." He smiled, a genuine, heartwarming smile, and then, to my surprise, sent a wink my way. The simple gesture, the easy warmth in his eyes, completely melted my heart.

I looked at him, truly looked at him. "I'll work on it, okay? Grandad."

His smile, in response, broadened, a radiant beam that seemed to encompass the entire room. Not even the sun could have shined brighter than his smile.