He squeezes my knees. “Are you kidding me? A group of witches wrote us a personalized spell. We’re doing it. But obviously you have to take the lead. You’re the one with witches in your family.” He leans back, taking his hands with him.

He’s right, the aunts wrote the spell for me. I’m not at all sure this is going to do anything, but I’m more than willing to take the chance. Maybe if I don’t quite look at Mason, I’ll be able to keep it together? I hold up the spell again. “Okay, I guess we start with centering. Close your eyes.”

I close my eyes and settle my hands on my knees in the spots where Mason’s hands had been. But then I’m thinking about Mason’s hands on my legs, and the soundtrack of all the night insects chirping fills my ears. Focusing might be impossible in this situation.

We sit in silence for maybe a minute, and after a while I actually do begin to feel centered. My head is stacked over my spine, and the world outside this circle seems to melt away. I open my eyes and peek at Mason. His eyes are closed, his lips curving up slightly in that way that makes me wonder what it would be like to kiss him. Phenomenal. Magical. Life-changing.

I have to get it together.

“Okay, I think we’re ready,” I say. His eyes flick open and I light the candle, then carefully tear out two pieces of paper from the blank notebook I bought during our spell-ingredient gathering. “Now we write down things we’ve lost. Obviously, I’ll write about Sage’s final last letter, but the spell says to write about as many things as possible.”

He taps his pen against his leg. “Like things? People?”

“I think all of it,” I say. We’re quiet for a moment, both of us hunched over our papers. I write Sage’s letter, then wait for more ideas. They start small, spanning all different years of my life. My first denim jacket. The bracelet Chloe gave me before the wedding. Fluff Bunny. Algebra textbook. But then they start to morph from physical objects to more intangible things. My home in Brooklyn. Feeling like I belong. My parents’ marriage. When I get to twenty, I stop. That has to be enough.

Mason is scribbling too. The chime candle is burning quickly, and when I realize it’s burned nearly halfway, I clear my throat and gesture to it. “We’d better get going.”

He nods, recrossing his legs. “Okay, you first.”