The omega gift

Lena Marlowe stared at the pale-pink cocktail sweating on the marble bar top, swirling the straw with the kind of gloom reserved for funerals and dental appointments. The ice cubes clinked against the glass like they were mocking her misery.

“I need to know your battle strategy,” her cousin Mara said, nudging her shoulder. “You can’t just walk into that wedding raw and unprepared. Damian will smell blood in the water.”

Lena groaned, rubbing her hand across her forehead as though she could wipe away the problem. “I haven’t figured out anything,” she muttered, taking a gulp of her overly sweet drink. “Every time I think about seeing him, my stomach tries to climb up my throat. It’s ridiculous. We’ve been divorced for four years? But one glimpse of his self-satisfied smirk and I turn into a trembling raccoon caught in headlights.”

Mara rested her chin on her fist. “That man could make a priest swear. You’re allowed to be rattled.”

“What’s worse is my family still thinks he’s some sort of misunderstood angel,” Lena said bitterly. The drink hit her too fast, riding hard on the nerves already buzzing beneath her skin. “They think we just ‘grew apart.’ As if emotional manipulation is some cute little quirk.”

“You divorced him. That’s something.” Mara snapped her fingers at the waitress for another round.

“Yeah,” Lena said, tapping her nails on the glass. “But now I have to survive a week of my cousin’s wedding festivities with him walking around acting like he didn’t shred me into ribbons. He’ll probably show up with some twenty-three-year-old fitness influencer with zero pores and a full-time sponsorship with a protein shake company.”

Mara snorted so hard her tequila shot nearly came out her nose. “Stop. You’re killing me.”

“I’m killing myself,” Lena countered. “I don’t know if I can smile through everything while he pretends we’re still friends.”

“You’re not skipping that wedding,” Mara declared, dropping her empty shot glass loudly on the counter. “He doesn’t get to control your life anymore.”

“He’s not,” Lena protested feebly.

“Mm-hmm,” Mara hummed in a tone that said she was unconvinced. Her sparkly silver crop top glowed under the bar’s neon lights as she leaned closer. “Listen…remember Mrs. Wilder?”

Lena blinked. “Calliope? My neighbor?”

“That’s the one!” Mara’s bright pink lipstick curved up mischievously. “Didn’t she say she runs some matchmaking thing? Like, actual matchmaking not the cheap dating apps that give you guys with fishing photos and criminal records.”

Lena sighed but couldn’t help the tiny smile forming. Aunt Calliope Wilder, who lived just across the hall from her, was a whirlwind of eccentric charm. Most elderly neighbors handed out cookiesCalliope handed out prophecies and unsolicited relationship analysis. Lena adored her.

“She did mention something weird like that,” Lena admitted. “But I assumed she meant she sets up her grandkids with people.”

“She said she’s a professional matchmaker,” Mara insisted. “Why not ask her to find you a date for the wedding?”

“Mara.” Lena pinched the bridge of her nose. “We are talking about a woman who leaves out bowls of milk ‘for the spirits’ and keeps dried herbs hanging on her door like we live in medieval Europe.”

“Yes,” Mara said firmly. “But she’s also powerful. I’m telling you she has connections.”

Lena rolled her eyes. “To the supernatural realm?”

“Honestly? Probably.” Mara shrugged, unbothered.

Lena grinned into her drink. The bar around them hummed with noisy college kids boundless energy, I*******m-ready outfits, and hormones thick enough to taste in the air. Meanwhile she, at 31, felt like the stressed mom of the group, counseling herself not to leave early to soak her feet.

“You need to meet new guys,” Mara said suddenly.

“I’m too old,” Lena replied automatically.

“You’re too dramatic,” Mara shot back. “You’re gorgeous, smart, funny”

“And divorced,” Lena added.

“Exactly!” Mara lifted her fresh glass with enthusiasm. “Divorced women have experience. Men should be lining up. You’re emotionally complex and mildly unhinged.”

Lena choked on her drink. “Is that supposed to be encouraging?”

Mara waggled her brows. “Absolutely. Men love a woman who knows what she wants.”

“I want peace,” Lena said. “Maybe a nap. Or a cat. Or five.”

“If you keep talking like that, I’m kidnapping you and forcing you to socialize with actual breathing men,” Mara warned.

Lena groaned. “Why? Every guy I’ve dated since the divorce has turned out to be either married, chronically unemployed, ormy favorite, emotionally constipated.”

Mara shuddered. “That last one was rough.”

“He cried when I told him I liked his shirt,” Lena said flatly.

“Terrifying,” Mara agreed.

Lena sank into her stool, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle on her. “Honestly, at this point, I’d be happy with a decent date for this wedding. A date who can smile, hold a conversation, and not try to sell me crypto.”

“That’s a low bar,” Mara said. “We can do better. You, my dear, need a date who will make Damian’s eye twitch.”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“Yes.” Mara downed half her drink. “Because I want that moment captured in HD.”

Lena shook her head, but Mara’s determination was contagious. “So what?” Lena asked slowly. “I talk to Calliope, ask if she can set me up with someone interesting?”

“Exactly!” Mara said triumphantly.

Lena snorted. “And what if she tries to match me with someone…insane? You know how weird her family is.”

“Weird is better than boring,” Mara declared, tapping rhythmic circles on the bar. “Besides, she adores you. She’d never set you up with a creep.”

“True,” Lena conceded. “She does sort of act like my second grandmother.”

“With witchy tendencies,” Mara added brightly.

“Oh, definitely. She carries enough crystals to open a shop.”

They shared a laugh, the kind that made a tight knot unwind in Lena’s chest.

Then Mara leaned closer and whispered, “You know she’s a shifter, right?”

Lena rolled her eyes. “She told me that, yes. It could also be dementia.”

“No. She was dead serious. I googled her family name… there are articles. Old newspaper stuff.” Mara shivered. “If she offers you tea, don’t drink it unless she tells you what’s in it.”

“You’re insane,” Lena said affectionately.

“I’m right,” Mara insisted.

Lena took another sip, her mind drifting. Calliope Wilder… matchmaking… a date who could stand beside her at the wedding… someone who wouldn’t crumble under Damian’s manipulative stare…

It didn’t sound like the worst idea.

“I’ll think about it,” Lena said finally.

“Don’t think so," Mara corrected. “You always overthink.”

Lena sighed. “Fine. Maybe I’ll stop by her place tomorrow.”

Mara squealed in victory.

Then she added, with a wiggle of her brows: “And maybe you’ll get lucky at this wedding.”

Lena turned bright red. “Mara!”

“What?” Mara asked innocently. “It’s been a while!”

“Shut up,” Lena hissed.

The group of college boys at the next table glanced over. One winked.

Lena groaned. “I’m too old for this whole scene.”

“No,” Mara said firmly. “You’re too comfortable being miserable. You’re Lena Marloweone of the funniest, snarkiest, most capable women alive. You have survived Damian Freaking Pike. If he didn’t break you, nothing can.”

Lena stared at her cousin, warmth flooding her chest.

Maybe Mara was right.

Maybe she’d finally stopped letting fear drive her life.

She lifted her glass. “To new beginnings.”

Mara clinked their drinks together. “And to Aunt Calliope’s magic.”

Lena laughed.

Little did she know magic was exactly what was coming.