Where We Go, We're Not Alone (Florence Zimmerman)
Before moving to Michigan, you had it all. You and your wife were happy with your daughter in Paris; then came the war, and it did what it does. The two of you tried to get on with your lives, find some other meaning, but your home was filled with reminders. So you sold your home, fully furnished, and moved next door to a warlock Florence had met a few times before. Jonathan Barnavelt and Isaac Izard had been practicing stage magic for a decade now and they'd come to Europe a few times. Of course, the magic population was more prominent in the old world rather than the new one and a few took offense to the act. Florence had gotten the pair, and Jonathan individually, out of a few scrapes and now it was his turn to return the favor.
So, you moved to New Zebedee, into a bland, empty house. You could see the pained expression on Florence's face as you two stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the grey house. "We can paint it," you offered.
Her light blue eyes cast sideways and found your own eyes. "Purple?" she asked optimistically.
You almost cried at the question. Your daughter had loved purple, and while it was Florence's favorite color, since the funeral, it was all she wore. It seemed it would be a part of your new theme. You nodded once at her request, going inside. You both had brought a few things so you didn't have to completely stock the house. Mostly, Florence had her magic items and you had a few sentimental knickknacks. The rest of the house came from furniture stores or flea markets. The purple drapes, the tablecloth, and the bedding were all purple and all had been made by hand by someone with a stand in an outdoor space. The furniture had to be bought normal and Florence begged Jonathan to change its color. She still couldn't practice magic, no matter how hard she tried. And she tried.
You tried too. Not to do magic because you'd never had an affinity for it, no matter how much Florence encouraged you. No, you tried to move on. You would never forget your daughter, the reminder in an urn and in your locket. You supposed that was part of the problem. You couldn't let go so you couldn't move on. Life was just missing a spark, that laughter and mischief you missed.
You couldn't get out of bed. It was a lovely bed, in a lovely room, decorated by Florence as most of the house had been. But this house, this room, still reflected your memories, even if you never had any of your child in this home. So you laid there. You felt the numb wetness trickle down the side of your face. You felt it flow over the bridge of your nose from the puddle between your eye and that bridge. It soaked your sleeve, which was propped under your head. You missed her.
Florence was still majorly affected, shown by her magical and decorative practices. Your daughter loved her mummy's magic. She did her best not to show it, though, quipping with Jonathan, helping Isaac with his own practices. But she still felt how you looked. She wanted to be upbeat so you could be as well, but that wasn't working. She saw you laid on the bed, crying silently. More like wallowing. Stepping into the room, she knocked on the door uselessly. It was her room as well. She slowly approached the bed when you didn't answer. "Darling?" she called out gently. She came to sit behind you, as you were facing the end of the bed and staring at nothing. She set her umbrella down and reached her hand to hold your shoulder. No reaction. She didn't know what to say. She felt as you did, but she was more experienced at pulling herself up by the bootstraps. Instead, she chose to lay behind you, holding you tight, and briefly joining you in your mourning. She wasn't sure how long it took, as long as you needed, of her holding you, but she soon felt your shoulders shake and more wetness flowed. You sobbed quietly but soulfully. Florence felt you grab onto her arm and she knew she'd made the right decision. Of course, she too was teary-eyed, seeing you feel everything so intensely. You couldn't seem to escape it. You were cursed to grieve for the rest of your life. "Oh, my darling," she cooed. "My little mommy." She nuzzled your temple.
"I miss her so much!" you admitted emotionally.
The lavender clad witch bit her bottom lip and held back the onslaught of tears, for you. She just rubbed your shoulder, unable to speak now for fear of cracking under the weight of her own grief.
"I don't think I can do this," you also confessed, sobbing again as you admitted your weakness.
"You can. You will. We both will." Your wife was so decisive but she couldn't control nor predict this. How could you heal knowing the part of yourself you'd given the world, poured so much love into, was gone forever to never return or smile at you again. Oh, what you'd give for one more smile. "Because I couldn't bear losing you on top of her." Florence sat up and bent over you to kiss your forehead. "I can't lose you too," she mumbled grittily. She littered your entire head with gentle kisses, trying to imbue you with the love she felt for you. She needed you to take enough to stay alive. "Please don't leave me," she begged you, her own tears bursting free.
You rolled over enough to take her in your arms and the two of you sat together, holding one another while your pain flowed free. At least you both understood each other. So you just sat there and tried to heal, if only a little. Snakespeare eventually found his way onto both of yours laps and you shared a quiet laugh over that.
*
The pain broke at some point and it wasn't all you felt. You weren't sure when it was because you still hurt. Your heart ached 95% of the time and Florence and you both shared that. You both tried to get out of the pain by going to the neighbor's house. Jonathan and Florence were hilarious. You weren't sure when they started being so mean to one another for fun, but it was funny. Isaac and Selena were a sweet couple in their own. Selena was constantly sitting or standing against her husband and he fed into it.
Still, their house was lively. And Jonathan was like a child. Obviously, he wasn't like your child; you didn't have that sort of relationship with him. Still, laughter was free and wild, and it was nice being around other people.
"Choke on a frog," you heard your wife command.
Halting your reading, you looked over at her, scolding her on instinct. "Florence!" In the home of a growing child, you weren't supposed to say things you didn't mean so it was habit for you. Obviously, she had outgrown that.
She spun towards you, her multi-lensed glasses making her look silly. Her eyes bugged and the lenses made them look even bigger. You didn't even remember you were reproaching her. "It's just Jonathan!" she defended herself, holding her purple sleeved arms out to the boy trying to pull the fire from a lighter.
You half laughed at both her glasses and his young expression, shaking your head and returning to the book. Florence awed at you for a moment before the boy tossed a jarb back.
"I'd give you a nasty look, but you've already got one."
Florence looked genuinely excited, turning back to him. "Gold star," she complimented.
You smiled behind your book. The pain wasn't quite so painful in moments like this. You and Selena cooked while Isaac and Florence mentored Jonathan. He truly was coming along. "If Jonathan had his way, we'd be eating your wife's cookies for supper, you know."
"If she could still practice, they'd be nutritious enough to," you quipped. Selena laughed. You continued to chop. "But in all seriousness, this is her recipe. She's a good cook. She's even better with magic."
"Knowledge more than practice," Selena quipped cattily.
You gave her a sharp side-eye. "It all starts with knowledge which I would say is more important." She just tilted her head, mocking the way you defended your wife. "I don't see you instructing Jonathan," you snipped back. That shut the little shifter witch up. You were happy to be going back to your own home after dinner. Even with the built-in tension, the gloomy atmosphere, you were always ecstatic to be alone with your wife. "That... was not terrible," you admitted, hugging Florence.
You felt her chest rumble and her hand flowed down your back, holding you just as tight. You could feel both of you were calm with closed eyes, soaking in some contentment. Yet, the pain always presented its ugly head. Florence took your hands and led you to the bedroom. She stood before you when you sat on the bed. Florence was serious when the situation called for it but she had always been the type of person to keep a mood light. She didn't like bringing dour subjects up if they weren't already or if it weren't necessary. Another consequence of having a young child. So you could tell by the thoughtful look on her face that she felt this was necessary. "I ...had an idea," she presented. Smiling, she took your hands again. "What if... we had another child?" She waited only a moment for your response, as if you would have an answer that soon. "Wouldn't it be nice to have another pair of feet pattering on the floor? We could have another chance in a different world.... The war is over and... I've gotten you pregnant before."
You wanted to have a serious conversation about this, but there was one point she had yet to address. You leaned over and took the candle off of her nightstand. "Light it."
Florence looked at it sadly, suddenly remembering her pattern with magic recently. She took on a more concentrated expression, one you remembered well from her days at the University of Göttingen. The wick turned red like an ember and soon a burst of light flew off the candle entirely, aiming for the mirror then bouncing off of that. You and Florence both laid down to get out of its way so it could land on a part of the carpet.
You quickly jumped up and stomped it out, thankful you hadn't changed into home clothes yet. However, you took the opportunity now. "I love you, and I love that you care that much about me that you'd offer than. And if you really want another child, I'd be willing to, for you. But... I don't want another chance. I want her," you croaked out. "And in her absence, I want to pretend she is off to college already, and we raised her and she lived."
You heard her step up behind you in the closet. You felt her wrap her arms around you, one cradling your belly. She bowed her head into your neck and you felt her tears as she heard yours. "You're scared we'll lose the next. The rest isn't feasible. It's unhealthy to pretend. Our daughter was killed. Before her time." She moved her hands just enough to nudge you like you'd been shook.
"I don't want her to be."
Florence rested her face in your hair. "But she is, darling."
"How could I ever love another child like I did her? She's... She was perfect and she'll stay that way, never growing into a woman who makes mistakes, never-"
She rested her cheek on yours. "You'd love another child... differently. For the person who would grow to be, for their own perfections."
You grabbed her shoulders behind you. "Later, love. Later," you urged, not wanting to talk about another child when you could still hear the laughter of your own. Florence obliged. Of course, this was all just talk unless she could perform magic again. She would never ask another sorcerer to help with something so intimate and neither of you would sleep with a man for the chance you'd get pregnant. You'd both been traumatized enough.
