Knocking on Mom’s door, I shifted my backpack as I stood on her porch. I’d brought my mirror, just in case. When Mom opened the door, I almost dropped my bag. She wore sweatpants—the gray, baggy kind that were three sizes too large. Her nose was red and swollen, her hair pulled into a sloppy ponytail. Was I at the right house?
“Hi, Mom,” I said, my voice a little too cheerful as I tried to hide my shock. “Brent called. He wanted me to check on you.”
“Check on me?” Mom asked, her brow creased. “I’m fine. Why on earth did he call you? He should have known better. I’m okay. Just a little head cold.” She rubbed her temples.
Her eyes were sunken, and the wrinkles in her skin had deepened. She wasn’t just in pain, she was suffering. With the amount of time she’d spent in Faythander, the erased memories had to be overwhelming.
I had to help her. But first, I had to get through the door. If she suspected I were here to be charitable, she would never let me in, so maybe I needed to turn the tables.
“The truth is,” I said, “I’m sort of hungry. And I’m sort of out of money, too.”
“Oh, Olive.” Her voice took on a completely different tone. “Why didn’t you say so? Come inside. I can make sandwiches if you’d like. Or something else? There’s leftover takeout, or I’ve got some chicken breasts that I’ve been meaning to broil… ”
She continued listing off food choices as I followed her through the house. I felt like a complete moron for begging at my mother’s doorstep. I also felt like a complete moron because my sad story of hunger and poverty was partially true.
Mom busied herself in the kitchen while I took a seat on the barstool. I’d settled on a ham and cheese sandwich, but she’d decided it wasn’t enough and had to cook a broiled chicken dinner with a garden salad and rolls. We chitchatted for a while. She wanted to know about my breakup with Brent. She didn’t act too surprised that I’d dumped him, but I did get the inevitable you’re-not-getting-any-younger speech. And the he-was-a-great-guy-blah-blah.
Mom sat at the island counter with me in front of plates of steaming-hot food. As we ate, I almost forgot why I’d come here in the first place.
“Mom,” I finally spoke up after a lull in the conversation. “Please tell me truthfully, are you feeling depressed?”
She grew very still and pinched her lips shut. It seemed that if she moved, she would break her composure. “Did the sweatpants give it away?” she finally asked quietly, not meeting my eyes.
“That and a few other things.”
Her shoulders sagged. “I can’t…” Her voice wavered, and she took a deep breath. “I can’t for the life of me figure out what’s wrong. I don’t know why I’m down. I shouldn’t be. I’ve got a lovely home. A beautiful daughter. I’ve got enough savings to keep me financially secure. I have hobbies that I love. I don’t know what’s happening to me. A couple of weeks ago, I was fine, but now… ”
Tears formed in her eyes. I found the tissue box and handed it to her. I’d only seen my mom cry a few times, and seeing it now came as a shock. I wasn’t sure how to handle it.
“Mom,” I said gently. “Let me help.”
She shook her head. “How?”
“It’s what I do for a living. You know that, right?”
She looked up at me, her sea-green eyes damp with tears. “You think I qualify as one of your patients?”
Yes, I do. On so many levels. “It’s possible.”
“But I’ve never been to that fairy world you talk about. I’m normal. I don’t have compulsions or delusions. I’m usually fine. I’m not… depressed. Not normally.” Her breathing came out in choking sobs. “Oh no, no, no. It’s not true. It can’t be true.” She stood abruptly and stumbled toward Father’s old office.
I hated to see my mom like this. I’d sworn the spellcasting would be my last resort; it could possibly do more harm than good. But how much longer could she hold out?
I grabbed the mirror case out of my backpack before entering Father’s office. As I stepped through the arched doorway, I noticed that Mom’s collection of fairy-world memorabilia had grown, if that were possible.
Mom sat in the office chair, facing the windows. Beyond the glass was her garden. The water fountain, trellises, and stone walkways gave her backyard the ethereal feel of a fairy tale. The evening sun turned the sky a deep amethyst as it sank beyond the horizon. The sunlight glinted through the window and fell over her shoulders. Even tangled and unwashed, her hair was a deep copper that matched the sunlight. I sat on the window seat and faced her.
She attempted a smile as she held a tissue to her nose. “I’m sorry, Olive. I’m fine—really, I am. I just need some rest, and I’m sure…” She sobbed, her shoulders shaking, then closed her eyes. “I just need some rest.”
I searched her face, knowing the spellcasting was inevitable, but I didn’t want to do it. It was complete selfishness on my part. Mom and I had never been close, but at least we’d tolerated one another. After I released her memories, would we even do that?
“Mom,” I said gently, “there’s something I have to tell you.”
She opened her eyes.
“You may have already started to suspect it, but Father wasn’t an officer. In fact, he wasn’t even human.”
Between sobs, she let out a muffled laugh. “Oh, really?”
“Yes. He was an elf from Faythander.” I pushed back my hair to reveal my slightly pointed ears. She’d been spellcasted to believe I had a slight birth defect, but I wasn’t
