Jon and Richard were, very gently, extricated from the sewing room. “The witches need to convene.” Endora gave each of them a wink as she closed the door and left them in the hall.
“Well,” Richard said as he straightened his shirt, “I haven’t eaten yet this morning. Would you join me fore some breakfast, Jon?”
The boy nodded meekly and once again was lead down a hallway, emerging into a grand kitchen, full of shining white marble and stainless steel.
“Sit,” Richard gestured to a line of three barstools set up at the kitchen island, “We’re having omelettes and soup.”
“Soup?” Jon questioned.
“I always start my day with a two-egg omelette and a cup of soup.” Richard turned two burners on at the stove and produced a frying pan and a medium-sized pot. “It’s a habit that’s served me well.”
Jon nodded in deference and sat down on one of the barstools.
“How old are you, again?” Richard asked as he began his work at the stove.
“I’m 18,” Jon answered. “I’m in the same class as Sarah.”
“Hmm,” Richard mused, whisking some eggs. “So graduation’s coming up. What college do you want to go to?”
“I mean, I applied to a few state schools. That’s really all my mom said we can afford.”
Richard clicked his tongue. “I didn’t ask where you’d applied to, I asked where you want to go.”
“I’m sorry?”
“What school excites you, boy? Where do they teach your favorite subject? What new city do you want to experience?”
“I guess I never really thought about that. I just, I don’t know, want to finish school and move on to the next step.”
Eggs met teflon with a sizzle. “Well, then the decision is easy. You’re going to Cornell.”
“What?”
“It’s my alma mater. It’s where Sarah’s going. And if you don’t really have a preference, then why not?”
“Because I haven’t applied? Because I don’t know if I can get in? Because it’s an Ivy League school, and I’ve got a community college savings account?”
“When your father-in-law is an alum, it opens a lot of possibilities that were closed before.” A flip of the pan, a generous sprinkling of cheese.
“What do you mean by father-in-law? Are you saying you buy all that soulmate garbage?”
“I’m saying,” Richard slid a perfect French omelette onto a plate, “that Endora may be many things, but she is rarely wrong when it comes to matters of the spirit. And I’m saying,” he ladled some soup into a bowl, “that a very successful businessman has decided to invest in you.” Richard placed the plate and the bowl before Jon before returning to make his own omelette.
“Alphabet soup?” Jon asked, looking down at the bowl the was offered to him.
“Call it a comfort food,” Richard responded. “It reminds me of when I was young. Now eat up, you don’t want to reject a man’s food when you’re wearing his pajamas.”
Jon speared a bit of egg with a fork. “So did Sarah’s mom help you get into Cornell?”
“Hmm?”
“Well, if it opens possibilities when your father-in-law is a Cornell alum, it’s gotta open up even more when your mother-in-law is a witch, right?”
“Susan never wanted to use magic to give any of us unfair advantages,” Richard said gravely as he poured more egg into the pan. “That’s why it was easy for her to give it up. And Endora wouldn’t have anything to do with me at all until Sarah was born. She blamed me for stealing her daughter’s magic. No, I got into school on my own, and I built up my company on my own.”
Another omelette slid onto a plate, and Richard sat down wit his plate and his bowl next to Jon.
“But magic can be fun to have sometimes.” Richard dipped a spoon into his alphabet soup. “Even though Susan can’t cast her own magic, it doesn’t mean she can’t use a few magical artifacts here or there. You learn to roll with it.”
The two ate in relative silence, until Richard looked up from his bowl and turned to Jon. “Ah, see? This bowl, it’s slightly enchanted. Every morning I have my bowl of alphabet soup, and every morning, no matter how fast or slow I eat, no matter what spoon I use, no matter what I do, I’m always left with these five letters at the end.” Richard tilted the bowl to display it to Jon. The letters were S-U-S-A-N. “It’s just nice to see every day, to remember who is important to me.”
Jon laughed. Of all of the things he had seen magic do in the last few days, this one felt so harmless. So quaint. Richard McMillan ate alphabet soup every morning because it magically formed his wife’s name when he was done. Jon absentmindedly placed his own spoon into his soup bowl to scoop out the last bits of his own breakfast. But when he put the spoon in his mouth, it was empty. It hadn’t picked up any soup.
Jon looked down into the bowl in confusion, then in shock, as he saw five letters staring back up at him: S-A-R-A-H.
