She’d done everything she could think of-- gotten rid of all the dust on the furniture, swept the floors, beaten the rugs, washed the windows-- but as Amelia stood in her sitting room, her hands tucked in the back pockets of her trousers, she couldn’t help but feel like she was forgetting something.
It was all performative, all of this. Needing her house to look domestic and welcoming when, for the last few months, it’d been everything but. Chances were that her guest wouldn’t even realize that, though-- the house only felt this way to Amelia because she’d lived there for nearly twenty years. She stooped over to fetch a candle out of a cupboard, straightening with an
oof and a hand braced on her own leg. If she wanted her house to feel warm and inviting then a candle was the last thing left she could think to do. Something sweet, maybe a little woodsy.
@Maryana Nikolaeva had seemed wonderful in their brief correspondences and in the original ad she'd posted, and Amelia had to admit she was predisposed to like her. A curious mind, an adventurous spirit, a professor of Magical History-- all things she thought she could perceive in the young woman, and admired very much.
Even when she opened the door she could sense herself affecting a more motherly voice. “Come in, come in! It’s so nice to meet you,” she said. “Let me take your things--”
It was a short tour-- like she told Anya, “It’s not a huge place, but we’re happy here.” Comfortable furniture, pleasant lighting, open windows. She’d taken down most of their photos after the divorce, but slowly she was replacing them on the walls-- a picture of Carina scowling at the camera, of Amelia and her brother and sister recreating an old childhood photo, of Amelia beaming behind the counter the day they’d opened her store. Until she’d started putting photos up again, she hadn’t realized how sad the house had felt in their absence.
She showed her the sitting room, the kitchen-- “I’m not much of a chef, but I’m functional enough!”-- and her workroom. Just then it smelled strongly of eucalyptus; Amelia waved vaguely at the cauldrons in a row, the shelves of empty jars, dried flowers and vials of oi, and closed the door again, in case the scent was too much for her guest. “If you’re interested, I can show you my store later,” she promised, picking up a candle and smoothing her thumb over the
Lux Aeterna label. “It’s far better organized.”
“You can stay in here,” she finished, once they’d gotten to the guest room. She’d gotten the sheets washed already; the bed was neatly made. If Amelia said so herself, it was a perfectly picturesque room. Well-matched colors, a vase on the bedside table, a framed drawing Carina had been proud of at 4 and mortified of ever since.
“I’ll be downstairs,” she said, retreating to the doorway and propping her hands on her hips. “I can bring you up some tea, some scones…”
As she was about to disappear back downstairs, she added over her shoulder-- “If you’d like, you can come down for lunch! My daughter will be home soon, I’m going to make sandwiches.”
this is pretty short but it's out there!
