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Astoria frowns down at the chamomile tea. The bright orange cup is reminiscent of the Chudley Cannons, and more than a little nauseating.
“I want coffee,” Astoria complains, stirring the teaspoon fitfully. The metal rings as it hits the side of the cup. Luna just smiles patiently. It’s aggravating.
“The Healer recommending limiting how much coffee you drink,” she says, even as she takes a sip of tea from her own cup. Astoria’s frown deepens.
“Everything is just no, no, no.” Astoria sighs into the cup. The surface of the tea vibrates, spiralling out. It’s pretty, but still bland.
A sip later, and Astoria is still annoyed. “The Healer kept calling me a mum.” The word still chafes. “Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean people get to make assumptions.”
Luna takes a sip of tea, setting the cup on the table and resting her chin in her hands.
“People are used to listening to the Nargles over what other people are saying,” she says. “They make it hard to hear.”
“Well, it’s not my fault they’re not listening,” Astoria says. The baby is too small to feel, but the presence of a second kernel of magic, humming gently, is unmistakeable.
Luna reaches across the table to take Astoria’s hand. She’s humming softly, and the sound resonates with the magic.
Astoria’s fingers curl, twining with Luna’s, the other hand and forearm tucked along the curve of Astoria’s waist and wrapping in.
“Are you singing us a love song?” Astoria smiles. Luna’s eyes are bright.
“I’m just singing, and I love both of you,” Luna says. “Does that make it a love song?” She squeezes Astoria’s fingers, just a little bit.
“Yes,” Astoria decides. The magic pulses, like the baby is agreeing too. “We both think so.”
Luna smiles, and keeps humming.