“How…” I stared at the delicious looking spread.
“He gets much bigger in his other form,” Austin said, grabbing some nuts. “And he probably had it all ready at the house. He clearly knows you never say die when the wine is pouring.”
“The house? How could he have…” I stared off in that direction. “I feel like I’m going crazy. Does he have super-human speed, or…?”
Austin gave me a funny look. “He has wings.”
I replayed what I thought he’d said. It still didn’t compute. “Sorry, what?”
“He has wings. He’s a gargoyle.”
“No, I heard you about the gargoyle… Where are his wings? Is that his other form?”
He was still giving me a funny look. “It’s those things hanging from his back when he’s in human form. They go to his mid-thighs? You mentioned them before, I know you can see them.”
“Wait…” My world was spinning. “You mean his cape?”
Understanding flitted across Austin’s expression. “Right, yes. You did call it a cape. Sorry. Yes, they look kind of like a cape in this form.” He sucked wine directly from the bottle, those very lush, very kissable lips curving over the lip.
“This is crazy. Wings! I mean…flight is freaking awesome! He is ten times cooler than I thought.”
Austin put down the bottle, then hesitated. “I’m an ass. Sorry, I forgot this was supposed to be a tasting. Do you still… Um… Mr. Tom can probably—”
“It’s fine. Just pour it. You’ve already put your spit in my mouth.”
Shadows chiseled out his striking features, a smile tickling his lips. He nodded and poured me a glass.
“Look, Jess, there’s something I haven’t told you.” He nearly drank from the bottle again, but I moved his empty glass closer. “It’s cooler from the bottle,” he said.
“No, it is not.”
“Says the square.” He filled his glass. “The Ivy House magic is like a shot of youth, I’ve heard. Earl would be restored to his prime. Niamh, Edgar. They’d both get a taste from the fountain of youth. As would you.”
I stilled in the moment, feeling my mildly aching back, an off-and-on present since I’d had Jimmy. My stiffening knees from sitting on the ground. Thinking of my age spots, light now but coming in strong, my sun damage, my wrinkles. Thinking of all the things that made me old. All the things that millions of dollars of advertisements a year told me I needed to fix.
Right now, these marks of age were slight, but they were building in potency.
Tears came to my eyes. Then sobs bubbled up out of nowhere.
Austin pulled me close. “Look, you need to do what’s best for you,” he said softly. “We’ll work it out. We’ll find a solution.”
I shook my head, feeling stupid. Hating that I felt stupid.
Because the truth was, I didn’t want the solution to midlife to be young again. I wanted to be accepted for being my age. I wanted it to be okay for a woman to have wrinkles. Graying hair. A few sagging areas due to child birth and the passing of years.
As a woman excited to start this new chapter, I wanted to feel…normal. Accepted.
But the truth was, I didn’t feel accepted. I didn’t feel acknowledged for my service in raising the next generation, for my active role in the community, or even for being human sometimes. I felt utterly ignored. I felt invisible or, worse, frowned upon. Most of the time, when I looked in the mirror, I saw only my flaws. I saw all the things that advertisements and social media said was wrong with me.
I wanted to focus on what was right about this version of myself, like the way I’d learned to take life a little slower and enjoy each moment. Like my appreciation for people’s differences, and for beauty found in unlikely places. For my friendships, new and old. I wanted it to be okay that I wasn’t worried about beauty anymore, or worried about looking young. I just wanted to look like me, however me looked in any given year.
I sighed, wishing Diana were here. I wanted to complain to a girlfriend. But all I had was Austin. So, in a gush I’d totally regret later, I unloaded on him. I told him exactly what I was feeling.
“Heard,” he whispered when I was done, rubbing my back. “I feel age, too, if that helps any. Dicks might get to be distinguished when they’re older, but shifters become vulnerable. Many magical types are the same way. Edgar was completely pushed out of his clan for being too old. He wasn’t wanted anymore. If I get slower, weaker, less agile, then my position is compromised. Many of us do actually know how you feel, but for me it’s less about looks and more about ability.”
“Isn’t that always the case, though? I mean, I know what you’re saying, but people tend to judge women on looks even if we’re successful. We’re not known for what we’re good at, we’re known for how we look. What we wear.”