Page 110 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

“Listen to me,” he says, his voice slipping into something a little more dominant—a little more intense. It’s lighter than his attempt a couple days ago, though. Testing. “Needing a few days to process information like this is not the same as treating me like a punching bag. Lillith, your mental health struggles are not an assault on my person. Requiring care is not the same thing as abusing someone.”

I sniffle, a few more tears falling onto my cheeks. “I—It’s not?” I ask.

His brow crumples as he brushes more tears away and tucks my hair behind my ears. “No, baby. Of course it isn’t,” he says. “And fuck whoever in your life who made you feel like it is.”

My mind flickers to Nan, and my heart cracks in half all over again. The...There were very few times she didn’t get fed up with my moods. It occurs to me that reading my Mother’s journals might provide even more context for Nan’s quiet brand of impatience. It occurs to me that my view of Nan might change even more. And not necessarily for the better.

I heave out a sigh and lean into Damien. He doesn’t miss a beat, immediately wrapping me up in his warm, strong arms.

“I need to read the journals,” I say softly. “But I feel so overwhelmed. There are three of them and they’re all packed with writing. I should have just talked to her ages ago.”

“It will feel like that for a while,” he says. “But it won’t always. Remember, she cast a spell so you didn’t think to look for her. And that’s not your fault.

“As for doing all that reading... I’ve actually been talking to Wren and Bastion about all of that.”

“You have?”

He tucks my head under his chin and nods once. “Yeah. We’ve been trying to figure out how to help you out. I’m usually fucking useless, of course, with no magic. But I did mention that maybe we could split up the reading for you—give you some spark notes until you’re ready to read them with your own eyes.”

I blink against his chest, tilting my chin up just as he leans back to look down at me.

“Stupid idea?” he asks, chagrined.

“No... I think... that would actually be really helpful,” I say. “I would trust you guys to tell me what I need to know and leave out the parts that might be overwhelming.”

“Yeah?” He asks, his crooked smile effusive. “Did I do something right?”

I laugh and poke his side. “Like you haven’t already done dozens of things right,” I say. He captures my hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles, and his eyes are filled with so much love that it almost hurts. “You said... that you’ve been talking to Bastion?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Guy is annoyingly decent when you get to know him a little bit. Don’t get used to me calling him by his name though. He’s still a fuckin’ prick.”

I snort a laugh and nod. “He didn’t seem... like... weird or mad or anything?”

“Is there a reason that he should be?”

“I uh... delivered some bad news to him recently,” I say. “It has to do with the future of The Buried City.”

“Does this have to do with you not being able to have kids?” he asks me.

My stomach drops immediately. “He told you?”

“It came up,” he says. “I think he’s just stressed about—”

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out before he can finish. “I’m so, so, so, sorry.”

“Baby, that’s like seven apologies in the space of twenty minutes. We gotta slow that down to maybe, like, once every never.”

“But. I didn’t—kids have never come up. I wasn’t keeping it from you,” I say.

“I know you weren’t,” he says, his brows dipping into a frown. “Which is why I’m confused about why you’re apologizing so much.”

“Because—because maybe you want kids,” I say. “But to be fair, I may have never been able to carry my own pregnancy to term. The meds—and I always seize when I puke so morning sickness—”

“Shhh, Lillith. It’s fine,” he says. “You’re right. We’ve never discussed kids, and I don’t really think we need to rush to have that conversation right this second—but let me put it to you this way so you don’t have another thing to spiral over. I think it would be cool to be a dad, but that’s not an experience I absolutely need to have to feel fulfilled in my life. And when it comes to being a dad, having a carbon copy of you or me doesn’t really matter that much to me. There are lots of kids who need parents out there. We don’t have to make our own.”

My growing dread evaporates like the marine layer in the summer heat. “Really?” I breathe out.

“Really,” he says. “I was a foster kid, remember? It’d be weird for me to get hung up on the idea of biology.”