I have no intention of letting that happen.
“Finny?” my mother calls from downstairs. “Do you want waffles?”
I manage to eat four and have to wave off a fifth so I can finish the sausage links she cooked. My dad shakes his head and grimaces when I clean my plate and
lean back in my chair, hands resting on my stomach.
“You still eat like a horse,” he comments.
“I know how long we’ll be out there today. How’s it looking?”
He takes a swig of his coffee and watches my mother’s hips sway as she cleans her counter. “It’s going to be tight,” he admits. “Not much rain lately, so I don’t think we need to worry about mold or sprouting. But it was dry when they flowered. Vick said he wasn’t seeing many beans per pod when he last checked.”
“Hopefully we have better luck.”
My mother swoops in, prepared to take our plates, but I beat her to it. “Sit down, Mom. I know where the sink is.”
She rolls her eyes and promptly ignores me. Instead of relaxing, she refills my dad’s coffee. Once I’m back at the table, she joins us. My dad always says he knows where I get my stubborn streak from. Quiet rebellions, he likes to call it. My mom’s the master of them.
“How’s school?” she asks. She loves hearing about my classes and the new magickal spells I’m learning, even if I never quite confess how badly I do with them, or their catastrophic physical toll.
“Good,” I say. “On track to graduate in June.”
“With a master’s degree. I’m so proud, honey. And your friends? Those nice roommates of yours?”
Dammit, I really wish I had a bit of Roark’s glamour right now, anything to hide my blush.
Of course, she notices. “Finny?”
“They’re fine.” I play with the seam of the tablecloth. “Actually, one of them may be coming to visit this weekend. If he can make it.”
“Which one?” my dad asks, his voice getting the edge of a growl.
I swallow. “Roark.”
God bless them, they don’t launch into a lecture. My dad takes a sip of coffee. My mom blinks a few times, but recovers faster.
“He’s the...prince?”
“Yes.”
“The one you said you were getting along better with?”
My ears are about to go up in flames. “Yes, Mom.”
“Did you invite him to visit?”
Why did I clear my dishes? There’s nowhere to look except my lap or the empty table or my parents’ faces.
“He offered his help. I told him he could visit if he can make it. Things at Court are a little rocky right now.” Like, civil-war rocky, but my folks don’t need to know that. Just like they don’t need to know about my magickal reality until I find the right words to explain it.
“Oh. That was nice of him.”
“He may not make it,” I say, praying she hasn’t already started planning a new and improved menu.
“I understand. But it would be so nice to meet him.” She rises and, out of years’ worth of training, Dad and I stand, too. “I’m just going to go work on my shopping list. Lunch is in the fridge if I’m not back in time.”
Dismissed, my father and I trudge outside. He waits patiently while I tug on my boots and hat. We’re nearly to the barn when he says without warning, “You’re using condoms, right?”