Witches Behaving Badly by Kim Richardson

Author:Kim Richardson [Richardson, Kim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2025-02-27T00:00:00+00:00

14

Iwoke up the next morning grumpy, still orgasm-less, and now annoyed that I’d been abandoned. Again. My bed felt cold, empty, and honestly a little betrayed, like it missed Marcus too.

I vaguely remembered him getting up early, leaning down to kiss me, and whispering, “Going to the office.” In my half-asleep state, I’d groaned something unintelligible that was probably a mix of “Don’t go” and “Bring back breakfast,” but he was gone before I could fully form a coherent thought.

And then it hit me. Again. The guilt. Annie. Dead Annie. The woman who’d apparently liked Marcus enough to have his child but just not enough to mention it. Or, you know, to keep breathing long enough to explain herself. I hadn’t told him. I’d fallen asleep last night, putting it off like it was an appointment I could just reschedule for next year. Now it was eating away at me.

I groaned and flung the blankets off, glaring at the sunlight streaming in through the windows like it had the audacity to be cheerful. “Fine, universe,” I muttered, swinging my legs off the bed. “I get it. I suck.”

After a quick shower, I brushed my teeth and pulled on a gray yoga outfit that miraculously still fit without the assistance of Martha’s magical spray. Small wins.

I trudged downstairs, fully prepared to face that meddling doula. What I wasn’t prepared for was the sight of Dylan and Vara standing in the kitchen, their tense body language making it obvious they were in the middle of an argument. Dylan’s arms were crossed, his small face warped in anger, while Vara loomed over him, her hands on her hips as her mouth moved in a tight, rapid rhythm.

I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Dylan’s expression was enough to make me pause. He wasn’t just annoyed. He was furious. And something about the way he clenched his fists at his sides sent a ripple of unease through me. For an eleven-year-old, he had an intensity that was unnerving.

“What’s going on here?” I asked, stepping into the kitchen. “Are you two fighting?”

Vara turned, her face immediately shifting into that calm, overly pleasant mask she always wore around me. “Nothing to worry about, dear,” she said with a dismissive wave. “I was just teaching Dylan some manners.”

My eyes flicked to Dylan, who looked like he wanted to launch himself at the doula. “Should you be doing that?” I asked, keeping my tone even but firm. “That’s up to Marcus. Not you.”

For a split second, Vara’s calm demeanor cracked. Her eyes widened in shock, and her mouth opened like she was about to protest. Please say something so I can fire you, I thought. Do it. Give me one reason.

But Vara, the professional—or maybe just good at pretending—clamped her mouth shut and spun away. Without a word, she walked over to the cupboard, pulled out my giant prenatal pills, and poured a glass of water.

“Here,” she said, handing them to me with a tight-lipped smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

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