Dinner for Two

The gazpacho was perfectly chilled; Jackson was putting the finishing touches on the salads (vinaigrette with almonds); and the scent of herb-crusted cod with lemon butter and asparagus filled the air. Buffalo Springfield was playing in the background; “Out of My Mind”. Aunt Jane had always said her music list only had two settings “1964-1975; and deep cuts only”. The woman may not have been Jax’s biological aunt, but some things you inherited by life experience rather than genetics.

A quick glance in the oven showed the roasted potatoes were coming along nicely. All her favorites; but what else could a grandson do for the woman who had not only been his parental figure, but one hell of a teacher?

A quick wave of his hands, and the plates and cutlery were neatly arranged at the table where so many meals and stories had been enjoyed. Funny; that’s the same thing that got me sent here in the first place. Jax smirked.

If his coworkers and other colleagues were there, they would be surprised at the difference in Jackson’s appearance. Gone were the Leon Montana shades, gaudy medallion, and the colored streaks in his dark hair. The tall skinny chaos mage was clad in a navy-blue button-down shirt and khakis; his hair devoid of any unnatural colors.

Some time later, Jax had just finished bringing the entrees out to the table when Lisa entered the dining room. Despite being in her 70s, Lisa Cross had always had a youthful spirit. She hadn’t started going gray until she was in her late 60s (or as Agnes had joked, “right around the time you moved in, kiddo”). She and her roommates had raised Jackson, taught him to enjoy life, to laugh, and especially not simply HOW to cast spells, but WHY.

Dressed in a simple long-sleeved dark dress, a pendant hung around her neck, shaped like a question mark. Jackson had once inquired about it, and Lisa mentioned it was a parting gift from when she left the DAA. The older woman’s long hair, usually about as tangled and untameable as a rabid hyena, she’d managed to have it arranged in a simple French braid.

Jax didn’t even say a word; stepping forward, he and his grandmother simply hugged each other like they hadn’t seen each other in years.

“Happy birthday, Grandma,” he murmured.

“It’s so good to see you again, Jackie-boy,” she remarked. She and her roommates had been the only ones to ever call him that; to most of his friends and colleagues, he was always Jackson or Jax.

Taking seats opposite from each other, the two mages grasped hands as Jackson gave a quick prayer of thanks. Ladling the gazpacho into their bowls, the birthday dinner commenced, as “Candidate” by David Bowie started playing softly on the speakers.

His grandmother had always kept a “dry” house, so Jax poured them each a glass of white grape juice. The duo enjoyed the food and conversation, laden with various private jokes and stories. Jackson told her about the upcoming Story Hour he and Sophie had planned for Belle’s Books and Candles, as well as the steady progression with the project he was currently working on with the university’s Department of Paranormal Studies.

“You and Jared always were too dang smart for your own good.” His grandma snarked.

“I’m just a fast reader, like Michael is. Jared, and Mike’s sister; they were BORN geniuses. Heck, Brenda was probably correcting physics textbooks when she was still in the delivery room.” Unlike some of the geniuses at the Department, Jackson had a tendency to keep his intelligence on the down-low. Despite being a true master when it came to both computer hacking and chemical engineering, far too early, Jax had learned that being the smartest person in the room often meant being the loneliest.

Jared, on the other hand, was the golden boy of the Paranormal Studies team. High-school graduate at 12; two PhDs by his sixteenth birthday; one of the best scholars of demonology in the state; the list continued beyond that.

“Have you spoken to Sandra recently?” Lisa suddenly asked.

“Not in almost four years. She’s working at that hospital in Seattle now.”

“Sorry. It’s just sad you guys couldn’t make it work out.”

“Well, after a year, we sat down and talked, and realized we’d gotten married JUST to be married. That’s not really a good reason to stay together. Oh, and I heard from Jane and Agnes. They’re currently helping get a mages’ school set up in Coradine.”

“Terrific. They were always better at the classroom and theory stuff when it came to magic at Greycliff. I was more of the field experienced type.” Despite the age difference, Lisa had quickly become friends with the younger girls at the witches’ school they’d all attended.

“And I paid a visit to Elaine two weeks ago. I left flowers.” A touch of bitterness crept into Jackson’s voice as he mentioned the name.

“Oh Jack, I really wish you wouldn’t refer to her like that.”

“Why not?” Jackson’s normal jovial voice started to get defensive. “She and Henry may be responsible for me being alive, but they sure as hell aren’t my mom and dad.”

Unfortunately, Lisa had hit a spot that, while Jax felt like he’d gotten over it, was still a bit sensitive. A little over a month after his eighth birthday, Jackson had his first outburst of unintentional magic, when he’d made the plates and cutlery at the dinner table levitate, and do a lap around the table. A couple of days later, his parents had dropped him off at his grandmother’s. They sent his things over the next day, and then forgot to pick him up.

For 11 years.

Apparently, Henry and Elaine Cross couldn’t handle having a monster for a child. Fortunately for them, a year after they “unpersoned” him, they’d been blessed with a normal daughter. Jax, and the three witches he lived with, kept track of the family simply out of concern, and apparently, Cathy had grown up as normal as possible; not a trace of magic in her.

Agnes mentioned she once snuck into Casa Cross while the three of them were out. Apparently, it was like Jackson never existed; as near as could be told, Cathy was completely unaware she even had a big brother out there; one saving lives and fighting monsters.

Jackson hadn’t even been allowed to attend Elaine’s funeral eight years ago. After having a drink and two chili dogs in her memory, he and Grandma had snuck into the cemetery after hours, so they could properly say goodbye to their mother and daughter-in-law, respectively.

Still, on the anniversary of her passing, Jax made sure to leave a bouquet of anemones at Elaine’s gravestone. He thought the man formerly known as his father either knew or suspected that Jackson was the one who left them, but decided to let that sleeping dog lie.

Over twenty years, and occasionally, that scar still flared up. He remembered shortly after turning eleven; in tears, he simply asked Jane “Why don’t they want me?” Jane couldn’t answer; she just held the younger boy in her arms, letting him sob it out.

“Jackson Zebediah Cross!” It was the tone that always grabbed the young man’s attention. “I am NOT going to let you wallow in sorrow on today of all days. I don’t know why your father did what he did, and quite frankly, I no longer care; but I know for a fact that Carl and I didn’t raise him like that.”

“You’re right. Sorry about that, Grandma.” Jax knew he was fortunate to grow up in this home (and it was a HOME; not merely a house). Lisa, Agnes and Jane had all been highly talented witches, and made sure that he learned that he wasn’t a monster; that having these gifts weren’t a curse. More importantly, while he might not have gone through any prestigious magical training like Springshore or the Sprague compound, they were able to arrange impressive home-schooling for him.

The rest of dinner was a lot more relaxing; Jackson sharing tales of his colleagues and recent adventures in magic; Lisa regaling her grandson with stories from her time in the DAA, or at least the ones she was allowed to legally share with him.

With a wave of his hand, and a wave of Lisa’s wand, the table was cleared, the dishwasher fully loaded. The duo stood up from the table, their hands grasping each other. As “Songbird” by Fleetwood Mac came over the speakers, they moved slowly, almost as though they were at a formal dance. Lisa may have nearly been a foot shorter than her grandson, but in many ways, he still looked up to her.

“I still miss you, Grandma. I just want you to know that.” Jax felt tears starting to well up, but did his best to keep his voice level as he told her, pulling Lisa in for a loving hug.

“I know you do, my little phoenix. But I’m not going to leave you; as long as you remember me, I’m not really gone. Just think of me as someone who won’t leave until she knows her work is truly done.” The candles on the table extinguished themselves, as Lisa Cross faded away.

It had been six years since she had died, and for the last five years, every year on her birthday, Jackson had come to her home to prepare dinner. He had never been able to determine whether or not she was really the ghost of his deceased grandmother, or simply magic causing his memories to take solid form, but some traditions were sacred. His only hope was that wherever she was, she was able to be at peace. On the day in question, if Agnes or Jane were in town, they would join him for the evening; but for the last two years, Jax had observed the day solo.

Pouring himself another glass of juice, Jackson finished his drink before heading upstairs to his old bedroom. In the hallway, he paused at one picture. He and the witches had decided to do a group costume for Halloween when he was 12; and Agnes had recommended they go Western. Naturally, Jane’s costume was a flamboyant number that the Three Amigos (as well as numerous mariachi bands) would’ve called excessive. He smiled at that fun evening’s memories.

The various decorations he’d had when he lived here were no longer there, but there was still a bed and dresser. It would’ve been so simple to teleport back to his apartment, and probably fall asleep watching reruns of Stingray, but like every year, Jackson stayed in his old room for the evening. After a couple of hours, he dozed off while perusing the 1992 Tobin guide.

The nightmare of that evening six years ago appeared in his dreams as usual. Why had he looked back when getting away? He was Jackson Z. Cross, not Lot’s wife; he really should’ve known better, and just kept running.