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The tea spilled fatefully, regretfully all over her most cherished possession and almost sent Matilda into nervous tears.
“Dammit!” She cried out to a house empty of anyone but her, none around to hear the frustration.
Her face plunged between her palms for a moment and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut to try and focus. Even Verla, who was more poltergeist than roommate at the best of times, was in no way responsible for the mishap and Matilda had only herself to blame. When the worst of the guilt had hit her hard and then faded away, there remained only the clarity of urgency and Matilda set at her self-inflicted task. It was bond to happen sooner or later.
For as many generations as there had been a line of Bishops walking about this world, mothers had passed down to their daughters the old spell book which gathered all the wisdom that distinguished their family from the lot, a heap of ancient knowledge which the ages had only added onto, one curse, one recipe at a time. It was a beloved tome which Matilda had browsed with her mother countless times in her childhood, and with her grandmother before her. It was how she had learned how to read, how to cast spells, how to brew draughts. In times of distress, she read it for reassurance, and for inspiration at the best of times. There wasn’t a time in the year it wasn’t of help − and she had damaged it through mere inattention. If she didn’t feel so pathetic, she would have laughed bitterly.
“Oh, that old thing?” Her mother said when Matilda called to confess the accident. “Sweetheart, I’ve almost set it on fire once. You’ll have to ask your father, he loves that story. No, don’t you fret, it’s an easy fix. I’ll walk you through it.”
Matilda’s heart could have leapt out of her chest as relief lifted her up and she smiled hopefully.
“Really?” She asked. “The pages are all spongy and I’m afraid of smudging the writing.”
There was mirth in her mother’s voice as she replied, chipper as ever.
“You can’t have thought this was the original spell book from thousands of years ago,” she teased as Matilda reconciled with the fact that she had, up to this point, just about assumed exactly that without really thinking it through. “Tillie, I’ve had to rewrite it four times in my lifetime. Pat it dry, find a pretty notebook to replace it, and we’ll get it sorted.”
“A notebook?” Matilda enquired, as she left a towel on top of the pages to try and absorb as much spilled tea as she could. “Any will do?”
“Any you like,” her mother replied, before letting out a short gasp. “Oh dear… My cauldron seems to be overflowing. Literally. Gotta go. Call me back in ten, love, we’ll get it all fixed up! Love you!”
And before Matilda could get a word in, her mother hung up on her, leaving Matilda befuddled and a little frustrated. Sighing, she stood and went about the apartment to find for a replacement. As misluck would have it, she was more attached to technology than a witch ought to be, even at this day and age, and it took some time for her to rummage through their things in the hopes of finding a suitable replacement. She was just about to decide to go buy one when at the bottom of the lowest drawer of their nightstand she found a tall and elegant-looking Moleskine notebook she did not remember purchasing. She frowned.
“Verla?” She called out. “Is this yours?”
But it only took the first page for her to get it right. In brightly colored pens, the opening page would not have been out of place on the fridge belonging to parents of a kindergartner. Beside the label claiming its owner, it featured what seemed to be a self portrait which enhanced muscles that were already by nature in no way lacking. She smiled to herself and sat on their bed, staring at the drawing.
Abraham Van Brunt’s Most Precious Diary 2023
(which I will fill every single day from hentsforward hencest hemstforward now on)
He had drawn himself as a valiant knight, bearing a cape as red as blood floating behind him and wielding Ichabod’s sword, in a manner so childish she could not help being endeared. Of course, she knew this was a private book. She should be closing it immediately and put it back where she had found it, and yet why was it still in her hands?
List of facts Matilda told me about her (DO NOT FORGET)
- she hates tomatoes
- she has a birthmark somewhere shaped like a skull (still haven’t found it…)
- gay cousin eloped to Vegas
- T-shirt size: M
- blood type: yes
- afraid of mice
- takes spiders outside (no killing!!!)
On and on the list went for more than a double page and Matilda read bewildered a list of snippets of her own self she had slipped into conversations which had been carefully caught and collected. She had never expected this, yet now that she thought about it, she realized that never before had she needed to tell Brom something twice. She supposed she had the diary to thank. Her curiosity more than piqued, she turned the pages.
As a compromise to herself, she decided only to skim through. Some parts were plain text, Brom pouring out the thoughts of the day, and she skipped those entirely, as they belonged only to him, though in passing her eye caught her own name many times and she yearned to know what it was exactly that Brom wrote about her. Still, it was a diary, and she was already reading far too much − she grant him at least this.
List of gifts to get Matilda (Christmas, Halloween, birthday, no special occasion)
Workouts Ichabod could follow along
Places for our next honeymoon (try to find a place with less snakes)
My favorite things about Matty (part 12)
Tips to be a better ally to women including the ones you’re not married to
Positions to try with Matilda (women on top?)
List of gifts for Ichabod/the babes
Baby names if Matilda ever wants kids
It was overwhelming. From the moment they had been married, Matilda had learned soon enough how affectionate Brom could be, how loving and supportive, but to feel it in her daily life and to see it so plainly laid out before her eyes in all details was a very different experience. There was less subjectivity about it, less room for doubt. She was filled to the brim with it and it tasted sweeter than sweet. How on earth was it that fate had pushed the two together this way? And how had the pretense morphed so naturally into a truth she felt every day? Every page she dared to take a peek at was bursting with love for her, and every page she skipped still bore her name. She felt warm with a love for Brom that was becoming easier and easier to acknowledge.
Through the wall, she caught the click of the front door opening and her heart started to pound. Thinking fast, she slammed the notebook shut and dropped it back into the drawer she closed with her foot as she left the room in quick strides. Her cheeks and neck felt like they had caught fire and she hoped he would not notice.
“Hey-ey,” Brom greeted her warmly. “There’s the most beautiful wife in the world.” He made to embrace her, but paused as he noticed the spell book on the table. His brow knitted with concern. “Oh, man, you spilled something on that? Do you want me to blow-dry it so the pages don’t stick together?”
Matilda had all but forgotten about the spilled tea. At present, it was the last thing she was thinking about and as she walked up to him without a word, Brom too seemed to lose the thought when she wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned up to press her lips against his. He startled − it was a bolder greeting than either of them were used to, though not unwelcome − but responded to the kiss eagerly, a hand at her cheek. When they parted, he was beaming with joy.
“Wait, what’s up?” He asked.
“You’re the best husband in the world,” she told him in a low voice, half disbelieving she was allowing herself to be so soft on him, even without an audience, “And I love you.”
He scratched the back of his head as his pure happiness blended into a hint of self-consciousness and Matilda tightened her hold on him to reassure him, gripping the back of his sweater. She could not stop smiling.
“Man, you found out about the cemetery tour trip I was planning for your birthday? I was trying to surprise you. Look, I think that even if you know about it in advance, you’ll still enjoy looking at all the…”
She kissed him again. And then another time. She did not think she could get her fill of him. She should not have snooped, she knew that, yet now that she had, she loved him more than ever, even more than she had a few minutes ago.
“Hon, your magic book is wet,” he reminded her.
She smiled.
“I have to call my mom about it.”
The book would get fixed or copied again into a new notebook, she was certain. And even if it didn’t, most of it could be salvaged still. She would not miss out. All the days of her life, there was magic in it. The spell book was but a fraction of it.