A Long Time Coming Breathing, Isis actively had to remind herself, was a very important process. Nerves fought to paralyze her chest, but she was interested in remaining conscious and alive, even if the struggle left her hands shaky and her legs weak. She stood on the porch of a middle class home, the people within expecting her any minute, good people she had known practically her entire life and owed even more. But it had been a long time, and it was that gap inspiring the trembling of her hand as she reached to knock on the door. She managed contact, an uneven strike resonating off the metal, and she took a deep breath.
The door swung open, and before her stood Shirley Reed, a rosy-cheeked woman whose plumpness had only increased over the years. She wore thick-rimmed glasses, adjusting them to allow her beady blue eyes to fully take in the sight of her visitor. Her thin-lipped mouth twisted into a grin before opening to shout over her shoulder. “Maurice! She’s here!” Then, without another word, her flabby arm reached out, gripped Isis by the shoulder with surprising force, and pulled her inside.
Contrary to his wife’s thickness, Maurice Reed was a narrow man whose only angles came from his bony frame. He too wore glasses, with a defined bifocal line crossing before light brown eyes. His posture was indicative of his age more than anything else, even his barely-there grey hair that poked up randomly across his spotted head. “Nice to see you, kiddo,” he grinned at her, an arthritic hand finding her shoulder and guiding her to a chair the moment Shirley had released her.
“It’s nice to see you guys too,” Isis smiled warmly. “And if you don’t mind getting right down to it, can I talk to you about Sonora?”
*****
Nevaeh Reed had never met her birth mother. When her mom told her that the woman would be visiting for the first time, it was decided that Nevaeh didn’t have to come down and talk to her if she didn’t want to. It was a weird situation for a ten year old to be in, to say the least. She had always been told how much her birth mother loved her and wished things were different, but somehow, never meeting her or hearing from her made her question that. But now here she was, ten years later, taking an interest in Nevaeh’s education. Or something.
Apparently her birth mother worked at some magic school and wanted Nevaeh to come next year. Maybe that was why the woman hadn’t showed up until Nevaeh had done some substantial accidental magic. Either way, it felt pretty crummy to only care now that she was a witch like her.
Her birth mother was downstairs now. Even through her shut bedroom door, she could hear them. Nevaeh happened to have quite excellent hearing. Credentials were being mentioned in a voice she didn’t know and then pondered in the voices she knew to be her parents. Her real parents. The ones who took care of her all of her life. She listened to them and to her birth mother, pacing a single, familiar path around her bedroom.
She was so painfully curious about this perfect stranger who gave her life. She was also so horribly afraid that this woman would not like her or would tell her all the reasons she gave her away, reasons Nevaeh desperately wanted to know and also was completely terrified to learn. It was all very confusing and difficult and annoying and scary. It sucked.
But in the end, curiosity won out. Slowly, silently, she opened her door just enough to slip out and started down the stairs. Unfortunately, she forgot about the creaky third stair, and as it gave away her position, she instantly froze under the inevitable gaze of the three adults in the living room.
*****
Creak.
Isis found her voice gone the moment she heard the noise. She looked up to find a young girl almost all the way down the stairs, and her heart skipped a beat. “Nevaeh.” The name felt so different on her tongue when its owner was present, even though it rang through her mind constantly.
Nevaeh didn’t speak but, exposed, finished her trek down. Shirley and Maurice seemed surprised but knowing as she walked right up to Isis, timid fingers reaching for her face. It was only then that Isis remembered that her daughter had very limited vision, so she guided Nevaeh’s hand, gently running it across her eyes, her chin, her cheek, anywhere she seemed to want to touch to form an image. Her hand retracted, and for a moment, the air was still and tense. Then, with tears in her eyes, Nevaeh tossed her arms around Isis’s shoulders and collapsed into her, an embrace that was immediately and tightly reciprocated.
The girl’s head turned in the direction of her adoptive parents, and she spoke quietly, “I think I want to go to Sonora.”