Chapter Twelve - Head In The Shitter
Cyrene
For about a week or two, Dell sent messages that I ignored. It wasn’t that I didn’t like him, but that I needed time. I told him that over a text message. He asked to meet me and I refused. What was the point? If I saw him in person, all my resolve would break. Something inside me had changed, I could feel it. Whether it was the night in the glade with Dell or the shocking revelation of Minerva’s other life, but something was different.
Both things had made me think, especially what Minerva had said: “Let that sink in,” she had said, referring to her lecture. It was about time for me to turn my life around. Did I really love Dell? Had I fucked my life up too much? Minerva was right for the most part, I have spent too much energy on running away from who I am and now is time to focus on living and embracing. I need to slow down.
Besides, I think I am coming down with a fever. Erin has given me a month off, both as the head of GMA and as the head witch of the coven. And I need to spend this time alone, away from Dell, to figure out how I really feel about him. I needed to know whether I feel the same way about him by the end of the month or not. Dell said he would wait, but that he wouldn’t wait forever. I am going to slow down…embrace who I am and go with the flow. My head has been in the shitter for far too long, now is the time to get it out of it.
Over the next two weeks, I begin to embrace who I am. I clear some space in my storeroom and set the cauldron there. I clean up my broom and get another broom for cleaning the house—this broom is sacred, enchanted and I am going to respect it. I also start learning from the grimoire, brewing more potions, practicing more spells. During the cleaning process, I also find my wand—I had only used it as a teenager and then I’d put it away forever, running away from magic. Now, I decide to keep it in my purse, with me at all times. It is part of who I am.
When the month ends, I text Dell.
“Hi, I need to see you.”
“If you want to breakup or something, just do it on text,” he says.
“No, I need to see you.”
“See you as in urgent need-to-see-you-right-now or see you in the non-urgent way?”
“Stop screwing around, Dell. I just think we should talk, sort things out, before proceeding.”
“Okay then, whenever you want.”
“Free tomorrow?”
“Yes, supper at my place?”
“Perfect,” I reply.
The next day, at around three in the noon, I wake up still feeling sick, but decide to go ahead with my date with Dell. I put on the same dress I had worn during the fashion show as the showstopper, the dress that had Dell drooling. I had borrowed it from Erin earlier. I leave my hair open, just as Dell likes it. I don’t put much makeup on, just the glossy lipstick and eyeshadow. I throw on dangly earrings, high heels and an ancient necklace from my grandmother, one that is the family heirloom.
I leave early and stop by the pharmacy, describe my symptoms to the guy who gives me a few pills and suggests a test. I purchase the test but refuse to take it. It is a ridiculous suggestion, but he had insisted so I had bought it. I stuff everything in my purse and head to Dell’s house.
***
I knock on the door and Dell answers instantly.
“I cooked for you,” he says, swooping in and kissing me.
“Aren’t you optimistic?”
“Is there a reason not to be?” He asks, making a puppy face. I laugh and shake my head.
“You look beautiful,” he says and takes my hand. As the sunsets in the background, he leads me onto the balcony where he has set up a small table and two chairs. There are two glasses, a bottle of champagne and scented candles. He pulls out a seat for me and I take it. He sits opposite me.
“So, why did you need to see me?” He asks, reaching for my hand across the table.
“I think you have that figured out already, haven’t you?” He squeezes my hand.
Dell brings out supper, but it smells funny. He serves a dish with a steak and sautéed vegetables and baked potatoes. The smell is unbearably awful, but I don’t want to ruin our moment so I try not to show it.
“Try it, tell me how it is,” he asks.
I try the steak. It has a strange taste. Then I try the vegetables that taste even worse. The baked potatoes make me want to throw up. I almost make a joke about his cooking, but stop myself.
“It’s absolutely delicious,” I say. “You’re quite a chef!”
“When you live for over seven hundred years, you pick up skills,” he says, beaming.
I roll my eyes in my head. Seven hundred years and he can’t cook shit.
He is about to pop the champagne bottle when my head starts aching.
“Dell, I think I should go. I am not feeling so well,” I say after I finish eating.
“I thought you were going to spend the night here,” he says.
“So did I, but I really need to go.”
He insists that I stay, tells me he has plans, but relents. He drops me home.
Once he leaves, I remember what the guy at the pharmacy said. I do a calculation in my head, finding it hard to believe. “It can’t be,” I say aloud, shaking my head. Then the urge to throw up takes over me and I run to the toilet and throw up everything Dell had made me eat.
Then I take the test, light a cigarette as I sit on the toilet seat and wait for the results to show. My head reels again, zooming in onto the two pink lines I see. The urge to throw up takes over me again, bringing me back to the present and I vomit. Then I read the instructions and description on the test to confirm the results:
“One line means not pregnant.
Two lines means pregnant.”
I put the cigarette out, run to the pharmacy and buy three different pregnancy tests, just to be sure. I take all three of them but the result remains the same.
I am pregnant, with a dragon no less. And it is Dell’s fault.