“Sorry,” I say. “I’m a doctor, and this might be a patient needing my help.”

“Don’t worry,” Meadow says, still busy enjoying her bloody steak.

That’s when I realize we didn’t even get down to the part of telling each other what our jobs are. I mean, what do witches do for a living? Besides being divorce lawyers, of course.

Speaking of the devil, I check my messages, and see I have a string of incoming texts from Tegan.

SOS

Mom wants to take me to an AA meeting open to “endangered” teens

Can you get me out of it?

I shake my head as I reply. Medusa sure took the vodka incident to heart.

No can do, sorry

And I’m not saying it’s necessary, but it won’t do you any harm to go

No harm?

I’ll be scarred for life after this

I can’t suppress a smirk; the daughter has a dry sense of humor she hasn’t inherited from her mother. And, at the cost of sounding sanctimonious, I reply:

Wrong deeds have consequences

You must accept them and the scars they bring

Then I add a smiley emoji so as not to sound too preachy.

I put the phone away and imagine the two of them, mother and daughter, walking into a grim underground room equipped with free coffee, donuts, and a lot of gloomy feelings. And the sad truth is that, right now, I’d rather be at an AA meeting for “endangered” teens with Tegan and Vivian instead of having to spend another minute on this date. I mean, at least they get free donuts.

Even knowing my acquaintance with Meadow is doomed and will be as short-lived as our dinner, I keep making polite conversation for the rest of the evening. But when the end of the meal finally arrives, I don’t know how to say goodbye. The witch and I aren’t going on a second date, that’s for sure. But how can I break the news gently? Witches deserve to have their feelings spared like any other woman. Assuming Meadow is interested in a second date at all. Should I even say anything, or will the agency take care of everything? Jennifer, my Dating Specialist, said something about a follow-up call to collect feedback.

I take a sip of water, trying to decide how to say goodbye, when Meadow, with the most casual tone in the world, says, “This has been a wonderful evening. Do you want to go have sex?”

Half the water spurts out of my mouth, splattering on myself and my half of the table, but thankfully not reaching Meadow.

I use my napkin to dry my face. “Excuse me?” And just because I can’t have heard her right, I say, “You asked me if I wanted to go have sex?”