Aspen Fahey is a non-binary aspiring community witch and failed witchfluencer living in downtown Toronto. When their aunt dies and leaves them her house and witching practice on beautiful, idyllic Vancouver Island, their life unexpectedly turns into a Lifetime movie: early thirties enby leaves the big city (including their toxic partner and the job they hate) to move to a beautiful small town, has meet cute with beautiful stranger before running into The One That Got Away.

- - - -

Part 1: Inheritance
Chapter 1

Good morning, Pamela.

Aspen stared blankly at their computer as they considered and discarded several possible responses to the new support ticket. Feeling decidedly undercaffeinated for this level of stupidity, they took a large swig of their coffee, grimacing when they discovered it contained cold remnants of coffee from yesterday. “Ugh. Gross,” they grumbled, questioning every life decision that had led them to accept a magical support job at HexaTech – the largest magical services provider in Canada.

Back when they’d done their witch apprenticeship, they’d had big dreams of doing community work and using their magical talents to make a difference, not knowing that the public sector in Ontario was both massively underfunded and next-to-impossible to enter. Gig work had sucked because they often spent more time networking and looking for clients than they did working. They’d tried to make a name as a witchfluencer™ (and had even had some modest success) but even though it felt like success was always just around the corner, witching as a stable career remained perpetually out of reach.

Unfortunately, since running away to a start a new life as a swamp witch wasn’t an option, they were going to have to find a way to respond to this latest ticket while keeping the implied ‘you fucking idiot’ from being too obvious in their response.

Good morning Pamela.
Despite the name, cursed memes are not actual curses. Someone sending you a cursed meme does not mean that you have been cursed.
Hope that helps.

~Aspen Fahey

They hit send before they could add anything they’d regret later and headed to the kitchen. Tariq was there, dutifully emptying the coffee pot of its last few dregs. Unsurprisingly, the previous person had left just enough to spare themselves the responsibility of putting on a new pot.

“Morning, Tariq,” they said, sighing grumpily as they opened the coffee maker.

Tariq looked up from rinsing the pot. “Not a good morning, I take it?”

“S. H. I. T,” Aspen said with a bright corporate smile. “So happy it’s Thursday!”

“That bad?”

“Pamela.”

Tariq chuckled. “You’ll have to tell me about it over lunch.” He paused and looked a bit guilty. “Look, I have to make a quick phone call, do you mind…?”

“Babysitting the coffee? No prob. Go do the thing, friendo.”

“Amazing, thanks, pal.” Tariq ducked out of the kitchen and into the nearby stairwell that provided the closest thing to privacy on this floor.

As leaving the coffee unattended would be a mistake (in the cutthroat world of corporate magical services, coffee was an ‘every witch for themselves’ kind of situation), Aspen leaned against the counter and pulled out their phone and saw that their sister, Becks, had sent a photo of herself and her wife with their two dogs out for their morning walk.

Becks
Try to get SOME sunlight today, siblet.

Smiling affectionately, Aspen opened their camera, turned it to forward facing, and considered their look – which was appropriately ‘business magical’. Medium-long lavender hair hung over storm-grey eyes rimmed with dark eyeliner – tastefully winged – and set off by dark purple lipstick. Their (appropriately conservative) dress (it has pockets!) was navy blue with silver stars, worn over black tights and galaxy-print boots (flats. At 6’2”, Aspen always felt self-conscious in heels).

They fussed a few stray hairs into place before raising their mug - “I survived another meeting that should have been an email” - in an ironic salute and sending a return selfie.

Aspen
You know that sunlight would ruin the professional pallor I strive to maintain. ;p
(Also, don’t call me siblet.)

Aspen was pleased when they immediately saw three dancing dots.

Becks
ASPEN.

Aspen
Don’t start, Becks. We can’t all be the picture of disgusting lesbian domestic bliss.

Becks
Rude. I know you don’t mean it because there’s no way you could call these faces disgusting.
(and how else am I supposed to lord my status as eldest over you? in a way that's gender neutral, no less?)

Aspen smiled at the closeup photo that followed of Harley and Ivy, their two golden retrievers, giving the camera big doggie grins.

Aspen
(Ugh. Fine.)
I mean, it is a little disgusting that you’re so successful and financially stable. We’re
millennials, aren’t we supposed to be unhappy and poor forever?

Becks
You wouldn’t have to live in a shoe box if you’d come out to Alberta.

Aspen
LISTEN.
William’s new job is going so well we might splurge and get an entire closet.
But we don’t want to go too crazy.
Also I refuse to live anywhere it can snow in June.

Becks
You’re a terrible Canadian.

Aspen
So I hear.
Sorry.

Behind them, the coffee maker gurgled as it finished its cycle. Aspen poured coffee for themself and Tariq and did their best not to glare at the two coworkers who ‘just happened’ to come into the kitchen as soon as the coffee was finished. Vultures.

Aspen
Caffeine has been acquired, so it’s back to being a good little worker bee for me.
Give Rachel my love.

Becks
<3 <3

Aspen ran into Tariq exiting the stairwell as they trudged back to their desk. “My savior!” he exclaimed, gingerly accepting the hot mug.

✯ ✯ ✯

The rest of the day dragged with the usual mix of boredom and stupidity. After closing out a few more support requests, Aspen found themself enlisting Tariq and a few others to chase imps around the executive boardroom when a ward meant to repel demonic influence ended up summoning it instead. When that was finished, it took Aspen and Tariq nearly another hour of poring over the baseboards with hand-held UV lights to discover where two of the ward’s spell sigils had been scuffed – probably by the cleaners. And after that, Aspen spent half an hour trying to explain basic spreadsheet functions to Angelo, their incompetent manbaby of a boss, before they finally gave up and formatted the spreadsheet for him.

Finally, at 4:50, Aspen packed their laptop up early and slunk out of the office and into the wet, grey slush that was downtown Toronto in late February. The streets were jammed with people and cars all trying to escape downtown, and Aspen ended up getting a soaker when they stepped into a puddle trying to avoid a kamikaze electric scooter. Then it was only seven stops on an overcrowded subway, a transfer through heaving crowds, and six more stops on another equally overcrowded train. Three blocks on foot to reach their disappointing postage stamp of an apartment, finally stumbling through their door at six, only to find the apartment dark and empty.

Dammit.

Sure enough, there was a message from William, sent eleven minutes ago.

Working overtime. Eat without me.

Aspen resisted the urge to call Becks to complain, as that would inevitably lead to one of Becks’ lectures about William.

Even if he'd complained about Aspen's inconsistent contributions to their shared finances during the years their witch career failed to launch, they wouldn't have been able to chase their dream at all without his support. Which meant that Aspen felt obligated to defend William when Becks started tearing into him, even though they both knew that things with William weren’t great and hadn’t been great for a long time.
Aspen and William had met at a protest ten years ago, when Aspen had been finishing their second year of classwork for their apprenticeship and William had been in the first year of his undergraduate degree. Aspen had been captivated by William’s passion for magical law and his eloquence about the need for laws reflecting the magical traditions of Canada’s sizeable immigrant population. They’d started dating shortly after and were living together a year later.

William was also a big part of why Aspen had taken the job at HexaTech in the first place. Even though he’d never said anything, they’d felt obligated to do more to pull their weight as their witching career continued to falter and bills from law school continued to accrue interest. Giving up their dream to work at HexaTech was a sacrifice Aspen still felt keenly, but it felt like William didn’t even notice Aspen’s unhappiness. He was still absorbed in the triumph of getting a permanent offer from the firm he’d articled with. Worse, in two years since he'd passed the Bar, he’d slowly been transforming into the soulless management dickheads that Aspen hated at work. Getting ahead in his career had become the most important thing in his life, with Aspen a very distant second.

Leaving them stuck in a city of three million people and somehow still profoundly alone.

Aspen was trapped. Even if they could find a place, they couldn’t make rent on their own. And as much as they hated Toronto, they weren’t keen on the transphobia that would come with moving to Alberta or some other similarly rural province where it was still possible for millennials to afford decent housing. Their only other option would be to admit defeat and move back to live with their mum in the nearby Rust Belt suburb of Oshawa.

Hard pass.

Aspen’s stomach growled, asserting that William was a problem for Not-Now Aspen, whereas Now Aspen still needed to solve the problem of food.

They stared blankly at the contents of the fridge for a least a minute before giving up and pulling out a few slices of processed cheese. “Depression meal it is,” they sighed, putting on a kettle of water for ramen.

✯ ✯ ✯

At two o’clock the next afternoon, Aspen’s phone vibrated insistently across their desk. The call was from Becks, which was concerning, as she was just as much of a phone-hating millennial stereotype as they were. With trepidation, Aspen answered the call.

“Hey, Becks,” they said quietly. “Give me a second to get somewhere I can talk.”

“No prob,” Becks said, sounding decidedly off.

“Okay,” they said once they’d slunk into the dubious safety of the stairwell. “You wouldn’t call first unless it was an emergency, so what’s going on?”

“Aspen…” Becks sounded like she’d been crying. “Aunt Marcy’s dead.”

The words hit like a hammer to the center of their chest. “I. What? How?”

“Aneurysm. This morning. No warning, no nothing. Just. Gone.” There was a long moment of shocked silence during which Becks sniffled. “Mom’s a mess, so I’m calling everyone.”

Aspen stared at the wall, trying to connect with the sadness they should be feeling about the sudden death of their favorite aunt, the witch – and only other magic practitioner in the family – who had encouraged Aspen’s interest in magic, given them their first lessons (and later career advice), and was now gone. But all they felt was numb.

“Thanks for doing that,” they finally managed.

“Mom is executor, apparently. She said she’s going to fly out tomorrow to start making arrangements and that she could pay for your ticket if you wanted to fly out with her.” Becks tactfully didn’t mention William, which saved Aspen from saying that they’d check if he could come – they already knew that William wasn’t going to take any time off for something as trivial as a dead aunt. “I’ll come out and help as soon as I can, since. You know.”

“It’s the only way to keep her from doing literally everything by herself? Yeah. I remember.” They blinked, trying to think through what felt like a brain full of mud. “Uh, tell mum not to book a red-eye. This whole thing is awful enough without getting up at three in the morning to get to Pearson, you know? Tell her I give her permission to not get the absolute cheapest flight.”

Becks laughed weakly. “Sure thing. I’ll get her to message you with details.”

There was another moment of uncomfortable silence before Aspen cleared their throat. “I should let you make those other calls,” they said softly.

“Yeah.”

“Love you, Becks.”

“Love you too, Aspen”

Aspen hung up, then stared at the wall for several minutes trying to figure out what to do next.

Why couldn’t they cry? Aunt Marcy had been the first family member Aspen had come out to, and one of the only ones (besides mum and Becks) who had quickly started using their new name and pronouns without any need for correction or explanation. Not to mention that without Aunt Marcy, they might never have worked up the nerve to deal with their gender feelings on their own.

They were in shock. Obviously.

Okay. So what next?

Go home. Early Twenties Aspen would have worked the rest of the day before going home, unwilling to let personal problems affect their work performance, but thankfully Thirties Aspen had more self-respect.

They drifted back to their desk, feeling distantly confused that their coworkers didn’t stop and stare as they passed. Surely a tragedy of this magnitude would have left some visible sign? And yet, their passage went unobserved and unremarked.

It took only a moment to pack up their laptop and grab their purse. On the way out, they stopped by Tariq’s desk, knocking quietly on top of the cubicle divider to get his attention.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I’m not feeling well,” Aspen answered quietly. “So I’m going home.”

“Oof. That sucks – I hope you feel better soon. Any work stuff that needs taking care of?”

“Maybe? Like. It definitely won’t happen, since month-end is Monday and he never turns these in on time, but if Angelo decides he wants to do the month-end report early can you fill it out for him? The template is in the shared Reports directory, you’ll just have to pull the numbers out of his email.” Aspen grimaced. “Sorry, I know it’s a pain in the ass…”

Tariq grinned and shook his head. “Seriously, don’t sweat it. Like you said, it won’t happen, so go home and get some rest.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. See you Monday.”

Aspen nodded guiltily, then made their escape.

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.

As it turned out, they needn’t have worried.

“Aspen! Sweetheart! You made it!” Aunt Marcy pulled them into a crushing hug before holding them at arm’s length. “You look good,” she pronounced.

Aspen couldn’t help frowning at their old clothes and running their fingers through their short brown hair – which was currently in the “complete bullshit” stage of growing out. “Uh. Thanks.”

Aunt Marcy took their suitcase and tossed it into the trunk of her car with her usual brisk efficiency. “Come on, then. I know you just got here, but we’re on a bit of a schedule,” she said cryptically.

Aspen assumed that she had just made reservations somewhere for a late lunch. They absolutely were not expecting to be dragged in for a fitting appointment at a wig shop. Or the appointment to get their makeup done that came after that. Or then getting dragged to four different stores at the mall to try on clothes.

Which is how they had ended up standing in a fitting room trying not to cry at the person who looked back at them. Still tall, yes, but elegantly tall - with long lavender hair, impeccable silver and purple eyeshadow with matching purple lipstick, and a simple long-sleeved black dress. It felt like such a fucking trans stereotype to say that they felt like they were seeing themself for the first time but. Well.

There they were.

“Everything okay in there, sweetheart?”

“Just. Just give me a sec,” Aspen said, blinking rapidly to clear their eyes, not wanting to ruin their makeup.

They had to fight down tears again at the way their aunt’s face lit up when they stepped out of the dressing room. “You look marvelous, darling! How do you feel?”

“Like… me?” Aspen twirled and laughed at the way the skirt flared out around them. “I just wish my feet weren’t so damned big, because everything else is perfect.”

“Hold that thought,” Aunt Marcy said, eyes twinkling, before rummaging in her bag and pulling out a pair of dressy black flats and handing them over. “I got your mother to tell me your shoe size and ordered these online.”

Aspen gave their aunt a stunned look as they accepted the shoes, which fit perfectly. “I can’t… you… when you said you wanted to help me with my magic, I had no idea…,” they flapped their hands, too overwhelmed to know how to finish that sentence.

“You would have gotten here on your own. I just helped you get here a little faster.”

Aspen beamed. “It would have taken me months… maybe years to have the nerve to do all this on my own.”

“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.”

Aspen hadn’t realized just how many decisions had to be made in planning a funeral. They’d been in their last year of high school when their father had died after a brief battle with pancreatic cancer, and their only memory of the funeral planning was of their mother refusing to let anyone help, to the point that she nearly worked herself into a state of nervous collapse.

Aspen was under no illusion that their mother, who was taking the role of executor very seriously, would yield control of any of the most important decisions. Instead, Aspen and their sister simply concentrated on the myriad of small, tedious tasks that needed doing – such as writing the obituary and putting together photos for a slide show at the funeral home – before their mother had time to stress about them not getting done.

They found the appointment to peruse the funeral home’s showroom of coffin and urn options (which they had no real opinions about) particularly surreal, and Becks clearly felt the same way. At one point while their mother was dithering between two nearly identical urns that would hold their aunt’s “cremains”, Becks and Aspen walked over to boggle at the most “deluxe” coffin on display, which was larger than the last car Aspen had owned.

“Unbelievable,” Aspen muttered. “If this was in Toronto, someone would be trying to charge a thousand bucks a month in rent for it.”
Becks grinned and assumed her best imitation of the pose from the car salesman meme as she slapped the top of the coffin. “This bad boy can fit so many corpses in it.”

It was a terrible joke, but the inappropriate setting made it ten times funnier. The two siblings ended up crying from trying and failing to laugh quietly, and Aspen couldn’t help but be relieved when mum threw them both out into the waiting room.

“Remember how Dad would always get us in trouble by telling us jokes in church?” Becks asked with a grin as she flopped into a monstrous armchair upholstered in a hideous pastel floral print.

“And how Mum always got mad at us for laughing, and not at Dad for telling jokes in the first place?” Aspen grinned and sat next to their sister. “Some things never change, I guess.”

“Right? Dad was always such a shit-disturber. It never seemed fair that we got in trouble and he didn’t.”

“Maybe Mum just knew it was pointless to try to get him to stop.”

“Maybe.” Becks sighed.

There were several moments of morose silence as they both contemplated their surroundings. “It's not fair,” Aspen finally said in a small voice.

“Yeah.” Becks sniffled and reached for one of the omnipresent boxes of tissues.

✯ ✯ ✯

Aspen and Becks forced their mother to take a break for lunch before diving back into planning for the funeral and visitation decisions that had to be made that day, since it seemed that pretty much everyone in the family was arriving on the Island either today or tomorrow.

“Can you blame them?” Becks had quipped. “It’s an ironclad excuse to take off work and escape winter before tourist season starts.”

Still, it seemed like they made about three million calls that afternoon getting everyone in their large family on the same page – an exercise made even more irritating given that their aunts and uncles would only respond to phone calls, the Millennial cousins would answer literally anything but a phone call, and the youngest cousins would only answer to Snaptalk.

By the end of the day, Aspen was so overwhelmed and exhausted that they crawled into their bed at the TravelBNB as soon as they were finished with dinner, in a futile attempt to beat back the migraine that was boring into their eye sockets.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Becks asked sweetly from the doorway.

Aspen refused to rise to the bait. “No. Absolutely not. I am not making any more decisions today. I will call him tomorrow.”

Becks gave them an inscrutable look. “Noted,” was all she said.

✯ ✯ ✯

Aspen slept terribly and woke already feeling anxious – a feeling exacerbated by the fact that William hadn’t so much as asked them if they had arrived safely, let alone asked how things were going. Or even messaged at all.

Becks barred their entry to the kitchen, where she and Mum had started folding programs, her expression severe as she handed Aspen a large mug of freshly brewed coffee. “Call. Him.”

Any protest Aspen wanted to make was cut off by the equally severe look their mother gave them. “Okay fine,” they huffed before going back upstairs.

The phone only rang twice before William picked up. “Hey, babe. What’s up?”

“Hey.” Aspen’s stomach lurched unpleasantly. They took a sip of coffee to steady themself, forgetting that it was fresh, and immediately burned their tongue. “Fuck that’s hot.”

William chuckled. “You called to tell me your coffee was hot?”

“No. Obviously.” Aspen sighed. “We need to talk about something that came up in my aunt’s will.” There was a pause during which William could have said something and didn't. Ordinarily, Aspen would have approached the situation with more delicacy, but the sound of William typing in the background and his refusal to even try to carry his half of the conversation annoyed them into being direct. “Aunt Marcy left me her house. There’s some paperwork hoops to jump through, but I can have it if I relocate to BC within two months and open my own witching practice. Otherwise, it’s getting sold and the money will go to the BC College of Witches.”

“Wow.” There was a brief pause, but the sound of typing continued. “Unfortunately, the firm doesn’t have a BC office, so relocating isn’t an option. I’d have to job hunt and start over at a new firm.”

It was exactly what they’d known he would say, so why did they feel so upset?

“I’m aware of that.” Aspen clamped down on a surge of anger and did not give in to the urge to ask how much progress toward partner he could have made in two years of working at his current firm. “I get it.” They didn’t. “But I need you to take this seriously, because this is a house that comes with the job I’ve always wanted – being a real community witch and really helping people. No strings attached, no having to worry about networking or side-hustles or making rent.”

Finally, the sound of typing stopped. “Wait. You want to take it?” William’s voice was disapproving. “You already have a job. You have seniority in your department and your boss is a moron. If you wanted, you could be running your team within six months.”

“Why would I want that?”

“Why wouldn’t you? Why throw away a career that’s about to take off just to go live in the middle of nowhere to, what, reprise your failed attempt at being a witchfluencer by being even more basic and cottagecore than last time?

Aspen was briefly shocked into silence, unable to believe that he was being so callous when they were talking about a chance to live their dream, the thing that they had been trying and failing to make happen for years. And then, with a sudden, painful shift in perspective – like a dislocated joint snapping back into place – they could believe it. They’d known for a long time that William had changed into someone they no longer loved or even wanted to spend time with, they just hadn’t been able to face it.

“Well, I’m going to take it,” Aspen said firmly. “I’m not walking away from my dream job and a free house to go back to a job that I hate and never wanted in the first place.”

“What about me?” William asked peevishly. “You can’t seriously expect to make a long-distance relationship work across three time zones.”

For a moment Aspen couldn’t breathe. It took them a few tries to find their voice. “I don’t.”

There was a long uncomfortable silence. “You don’t what?” William finally asked, sounding genuinely confused.

Aspen took a deep breath to steady themself against the pit of churning misery in their stomach. “Look. We’ve been on different paths for a long time, and this is just the thing that’s finally making us deal with the fact that we want fundamentally different things from life.”

Another pause. “What are you saying?”

Of course he was going to make them be the one to actually say it. “That I think it’s best if we… That I think we should break up.”

“I don’t agree.”

“This isn’t—”

“You’re not making any sense, Aspen,” William continued, cutting them off. “You’re obviously upset about your aunt’s death and shouldn’t be making any major life decisions while you’re still in shock.”

“I’m not, though!” Aspen felt a surge of cold fury as William actually scoffed, but continued speaking, refusing to let him cut them off again. “I mean, obviously I’m a bit in shock, but that’s not the point. My feelings deserve to be part of this equation, even if you don’t agree with them.”

“Can’t you just come home and talk this through with me?” William asked, his tone long-suffering. “You owe me that much.”

“Owe you?” Aspen sputtered. “For what exactly?”

“For the years that I carried you and let you live with me while you were making a go of the witch thing.”
Aspen felt as if they’d been dipped in molten lead. Carried them? Let them live with him? The witch thing? What about the years that they had taken care of William during law school? Or that final semester, when they helped him pay rent so he could quit his job to prepare for the Bar? What about the fact that it had been William’s idea that they move in together? That he’d been insistent that it didn’t make sense to pay rent on separate apartments? What about the fact that Aspen had told him it was their dream to be a professional witch the first time they’d met?

“Aspen.”

“No. I don’t owe you anything, and I especially don’t owe you this.”

“Aspen.”

“Goodbye, William. We’re done.”

“Wait—”

“Best of luck in your career,” they snapped, indulging in a cheap parting shot before they hung up.

The enormity of what they’d done hit them right after. They’d just blown up their entire life.

Knowing that their mum wouldn’t see or respond for a while, Aspen embraced the millennial stereotype for texting as a method of avoidance and sent their mum a short text.

I’ll take the house.
Please don’t ask me to talk about it.

- - - - - -

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