The feeling of floating detachment persisted long enough for Aspen to trudge past the gleaming, sharp-edged monuments to finance that surrounded Bay Street station, board the subway, and ride the several stops to their transfer. However, they could feel the terrible grief starting to claw its way into their chest as they exited at Bloor-Yonge to change lines. They did their best to keep that awful feeling at bay as they navigated the crowds, but the tears escaped anyway – hot and painful and humiliating.

When the train arrived, Aspen slumped into one of the few available seats, feeling that if they had to be That Weirdo Crying On The Train, better sitting than looming over people and possibly crying on them. They turned toward the window, letting their hair hang forward to obscure their face as the tears kept coming, their shoulders shaking with the effort of remaining silent.

Getting off the subway and into their apartment was another series of small humiliations. Running into someone sprinting for the train, strange looks from people on the street, uncomfortable awkward silence in the elevator. By the time they were turning the key in the lock, Aspen was desperate for a few hours’ peace in an empty apartment so they could really fall apart before William came home.

It was a rude surprise to discover, instead, that William was home already, still wearing the too-expensive slacks and tailored shirt he’d worn to work that morning, his short blond hair still immaculately coiffed. Even worse, he had a podcast on – something with two insufferably pedantic men whose names Aspen’s brain deleted every time they heard them – while he cooked loudly with every light in their tiny apartment on.

“You’re home. Why are you home?” they blurted out.

William didn’t look up from cooking as he tipped a cutting board of chopped vegetables into the large stir fry pan. “Making you a nice dinner,” he said, pouring in some sauce and mixing everything together. “I know I’ve been doing a lot of overtime lately, and I wanted to make it up to you.”

“Oh.”

Somehow this made Aspen feel even worse.

William shot Aspen a smile, an expression that quickly turned to concern as he took a second longer look and apparently didn’t like what he saw. “Hey,” he said quietly, blue eyes darkening with concern as he moved the pan off the burner and turned off the stove. “What’s up? What’s wrong?”

This wasn’t what they’d wanted. They hated being a mess in front of William, which is why they’d wanted time to fall apart alone before he got home. Instead, William was guiding them to the couch, his hand warm on their back, and there was nothing in the universe that could stop them from absolutely losing their shit.

“Babe. Babe, talk to me,” he urged softly.

“Aunt Marcy died,” Aspen choked out. “She had an aneurysm in her kitchen this morning. She’s gone.”

Speaking what had happened shattered the last of their control, releasing horrible wracking sobs that were all the more violent for having been suppressed. And even though they hadn’t wanted it to happen this way, it wasn’t terrible when William wrapped them in his strong arms and held them without saying anything further. They clung to his shirt, burying their face in his shoulder, and cried until there were no more tears to cry.

Finally, Aspen pulled away and went to the bathroom to clean up, grimacing at the haggard-looking red-eyed lunatic that goggled back at them from the mirror.

“What now?” William asked, leaning on the doorway.

“Mum is executor on the estate. They were always really close and Aunt Marcy never married or had kids. I’ll be flying out to BC to help her with planning and arrangements, and Becks will be joining us as soon as she can.”

Aspen had left the question of William’s involvement unspoken, not wanting to put pressure on him, but he heard it anyway. “Things are too busy at work for me to take more than a day, and it takes most of a day just to get out there.” He sighed gustily. “I can fly out for the funeral if it’s on a weekend,” William said, his tone matter-of-fact.

Aspen felt stung by the complete lack of apology but did their best to swallow their disappointment. It felt stupid to be disappointed about something they’d known would happen. “I understand,” they lied, scrubbing their face with a cold washcloth as much to hide their expression as to avoid seeing his reaction.

“What do you want right now?” William asked softly. Aspen was surprised at the surge of anger they felt when they recognized what they’d come to think of as his Performative Ally Voice – which they couldn’t ever remember being directed at them before.

Aspen had to clench their teeth against the first several replies that almost escaped their mouth. They wanted some show of genuine emotion, not some manipulative parroting of Positive Masculinity TokTik. They wanted him to take time off work and fly out with them. They wanted him to be willing to accept literally any level of personal inconvenience to support them and their family.

Finally, when they were sure they had their voice under control, “space.”

William’s smile was both picture-perfect and completely insincere. “No problem. I’ve got some errands that need running, I can do those now.” He returned to the kitchen long enough to put a lid on the stir fry and check that the stove was off, then grabbed his keys. “Be back in about an hour,” he said before closing the door.

Mechanically, Aspen went around the apartment and turned off all the lights, then staggered to the bedroom to collapse onto the bed, feeling crushed by the enormity of how completely and agonizingly terrible their life had become. They were trapped in a dead-end job they hated, working for a company that chewed people up and spit them out. Just like they were trapped in a broken relationship with a man they no longer loved and barely even recognized anymore. And now Aunt Marcy, the woman who had introduced them to their love of witchcraft and supported them through every step of their journey, was gone.

✯ ✯ ✯

Aspen’s heart was in their mouth as they walked down the ferry ramp at the Victoria terminal to meet their Aunt Marcy, who had invited them out early for Christmas before the rest of the family showed up. Traveling a week before Christmas was unpleasant enough without the added stress of getting deadnamed and misgendered (they hadn’t yet found the energy to tackle the monumental task of updating any of their documentation), which had left them feeling nervous about how cool their Boomer aunt would be about respecting their new name and pronouns.

“I know.” Aunt Marcy winked. “Merry Christmas.”

✯ ✯ ✯

Aspen didn’t realize they had fallen asleep until they woke up to William returning and promptly turning on all the lights and his damned podcast before he resumed cooking. Muzzily, they picked up their phone to text Aunt Marcy about the day they were having, then dropped it when they remembered that she was gone. For a moment, it felt like their lungs were full of broken glass.
When the moment passed, they started a group chat with their mum and sister.

Crashed for a bit but I’m awake now. What’s the story on flights?

✯ ✯ ✯

Flying out wasn’t as terrible as Aspen had expected, but previous history with Pearson – Canada’s largest and busiest airport - set the bar pretty low. By mutual agreement, Aspen and their mum avoided all topics related to Aunt Marcy while they were traveling. Becks didn’t roll into the TravelBNB they’d rented in Victoria – none of them were up to dealing with Aunt Marcy’s empty house just yet – until late Sunday night, after catching the last ferry of the night to the Island.

Which is how Aspen found themself awake at the unholy hour of 6:30AM Monday morning (the Ontarians were still on Eastern time), blearily drinking coffee and trying to ignore their anxiety about William not having texted since they left as the three of them settled in to make funeral arrangements.

“So. As you know, your aunt made me executor on her will.” Their mum looked decidedly guilty as she shuffled awkwardly through a thick file folder of papers. “And. Uh. There are some things we need to talk about.”

Becks looked up from her laptop and raised an eyebrow. “Spit it out, Mum.”

“Well.” Aspen shared a sardonic look with Becks as Mum delayed by taking a large sip of coffee. “The main asset was the house, which Marcy has left to… Aspen. With some conditions. Sorry, Rebecca.”

For a moment, Aspen felt as if the room had suddenly tipped sideways.

Their shock must not have shown, because Becks just snorted and rolled her eyes at their mother. “Why are you apologizing, Mum? I already have a house, in a different province no less. What am I going to do with a second house? Obviously, Aspen should take the house if they want it.” Both women turned to look at Aspen. “Do you want it?”

Yes? Obviously.

“What are the conditions?” Aspen asked weakly. As their mum flipped through the folder, Aspen’s phone lit up with an unwelcome number. “Oh hell. It’s my dumbass boss. Give me two minutes? If I don’t take this now, things will be a lot worse later. Sorry.”

Their mum waved her assent and continued to look through the folder while Becks shrugged and returned to writing the first draft of the obituary.

“Good morning, Angelo. What’s going on?”

“I’ve sent three texts and two emails,” Angelo huffed, clearly already In A Mood. “Why haven’t you answered?”

Aspen rolled their eyes and invoked their best Being Polite To Idiots voice. “Time zones. I sent an email Friday evening that I would be in BC this week because my aunt died.”

“But what about the month-end report?” Angelo asked, sounding aggrieved.

“Tariq told me he’d asked about it on Friday.”

“And I told him that I’d get you the numbers this morning.” Translation: at 12:30, and Aspen would have been expected to skip lunch to get it in before the 1pm deadline. “So who’s going to finish the report?”

“I don’t know, but I am taking the five days of unpaid bereavement leave allowed by company policy after giving the required notice in writing. So I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.”

Angelo grumbled some insincere condolences and hung up.

Aspen rolled their eyes again. “Okay, I have to square away a thing really quick, or my boss will keep being a man-baby about it.”

“You’re not seriously going to help him, are you?” Becks called after them as they went to the bedroom to retrieve their laptop.

“Oh hell no.” Aspen sat back down, logged into their laptop, and made a disgusted noise at the three emails and five Stack messages from Angelo. “I’m sending him an email summarizing our conversation and copying HR.”

“Can we get back to the house now?” Mum asked pointedly once they were done, arching an eyebrow over the top of her bifocals.

“Oh. Um. Yes?”

“So according to Marcy’s lawyer…” their mum started reading directly from a print-out of an email. “Marcy has left the house to Aspen on the condition that they relocate to Parksville full-time and open a witching practice within sixty days. Because of the family relation and because she registered Aspen as her apprentice with the BC College of Witches before they turned eighteen, a simplified process exists to transfer her witching practice to Aspen, as long they’ve kept up their certification with the Ontario College of Witches.” Mum looked up from the email to give Aspen an inquiring look. “You have kept up your certification, haven’t you?”

Aspen blinked. “Yeah, I have to for my job.”

“Good.” Mum looked back down and started to read from the email again. “Once the transfer has been processed, you’ll be paid a salary by the BC College of Witches according to several options. Your Aunt had opted for population-based compensation over fee-for-service, but you can change that later if you like. This compensation only covers service to residents and local businesses, so you can and are encouraged to charge tourists or other non-residents, at your discretion.

“If you decide not to accept, the house is to be sold and funds used toward living accommodations for a new witch to be selected by the BC College of Witches.”

“So the free house comes with a job I’m utterly unqualified for,” Becks joked. “Can’t imagine why Aunt Marcy didn’t leave it to me.”
Mum ignored Becks and gave Aspen a piercing look. “Do you want to accept?”

Again, Aspen felt the strange lurch of their entire world shifting sideways. Forty-eight hours ago, they’d had the worst day of their entire life, and now they were being presented with the solution to literally all their problems. Or at least everything except…

“Maybe?” Aspen took a gulp of their coffee in a futile attempt to avoid eye contact with Becks, who was watching them judgmentally over the rim of her mug.

“Did you want to go call your partner and talk about that?” Mum asked a little too casually.

The prospect of having that conversation before tackling any of the million decisions they’d be making that day seemed impossibly daunting. What happened if (when) everything went wrong and they still had decisions about obituary, burial arrangements, and funeral to make?

“William’s always very busy at work,” Aspen lied. “I’ll call him when he's done for the day.”

“Yes. Well.” Their mum sniffed, her expression ostensibly neutral but still managing to convey disapproval. “Thankfully that’s earlier here.”