“Yes. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Vercari was all dried off. I threw the towel at Millicent’s head and fetched the baby’s nightdress.
When we’d had Vercari for a month and four days, Millicent’s brother came by. He didn’t dress any more like a witch than she did, although instead of her favored pink dresses he seemed to prefer to garb himself like a mundane merchant tinker or something, all over pockets and straps and dangling tools and herbs like he didn’t know how to enchant a belt pouch. Perhaps he didn’t, at that. He held the baby, he had trouble pronouncing her first name, he wanted to know who exactly I was, he found the situation with the conflicting claims on her very funny, he hugged his sister, he left. It was in all relatively painless.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Millicent asked, leading me through her illusion trees and managing to open the front door out of thin air. I rather liked the effect. Very secluded.
“We are all still alive,” I acknowledged.
“Do you really have no friends or family at all?”
“Besides you and Vercari?”
“Yes,” she said, turning a little pink. “Besides.”
I shrugged. “There are people I talk to regularly in the nearest towns who buy my fabric or extra zucchini. People don’t visit.”
“I must be a terrible lifestyle disruption.”
“You help with Vercari. You bake. You do the laundry. I don’t mind you.”
“Good.”
“Yes, quite.”
“I wouldn’t want you to mind me.”
“Yes, that was clearly in the forefront of your mind when you originally proposed moving in to resolve our dispute, the sincere hope that I would not mind you -”
“I needed Vercari. I can have more than one child and teach them all but if I ever give up a child I meant to keep I can’t claim any more. But it’s been - a while since then.”
“And you did wheedle your way in offering pastry and chore details. I am not complaining,” I said.
“Good.”
“Of course.”
“It’s only - I wouldn’t like it if getting Vercari meant antagonizing you. I’d rather we all - fit neatly.”
“Well, I’m certainly not going to kick you out because the moon won’t have you or some such nonsense,” I said, putting Vercari down for a nap.
“Earlier,” said Millicent, “the other week, you said -”
“Yes?”
“Never mind.”
“Did I say something that had you thinking we were not fitting neatly…?”
Millicent shook her head. “Never mind.”
“If you insist.” I prodded the fireplace, determined that it didn’t need another log, and went to where I was accumulating my pile of straw things.
“I mean it’s a general question, and I wouldn’t want to be misinterpreted.”
“And?”
“Well, when I was saying I couldn’t picture you with a lover…”
“Eh, you were probably right. I don’t meet people, let alone attract them.”
“And you said, ‘Him?’”
“I have no intention of trying to homemake babies. It sounds unappealing even if I could.”