Hospitals aren’t anything like what they seem like in the movies. They’re cold, and lonely, and they always smell like death. In the mental health ward, everybody treats Gray like a crazy person. It’s Yule. Thankfully, Gray’s already been given permission to go home and celebrate with their family, as long as they agree to try one new food. It’s not that easy. They’ve been given a food journal, to keep track of what they eat, and if they try anything new. Gray doesn’t think this is likely to happen, as much as they’d like it to. Gray wants to get better. It’s just to hard to give up old habits and try new things.

        Gray is discharged from the hospital after their first meeting with a specialist. They know it’s the woman’s job to know their business and give them advice, but it still feels encroaching. Gray is used to being enigmatic, mysterious; they definitely don’t know how to be known by people: even their own family isn’t privy to their many secrets. Returning home, they see the decorating has already begun: an important part of any Sabbat. Rome hangs lights and sets candles around the home, while their fathers set out fruit and nuts and stars. It’s a big commitment, Paganism, but Gray enjoys it. In a few months, they’ll be eligible for their Second Degree Initiation, and then they’ll be like Rome.

        Most coveners have to be eighteen to be eligible to join, but an exception can be made for the children of coven members. Gray’s father is High Priest, ; this is the only reason the teenager was allowed to become a covener. Outside of the family, there are nine others, and these constitute Gray’s only friends. Rome keeps saying he’ll leave the coven and start his own after receiving his Third Degree Initiation, since he’ll have become a High Priest by then. Gray doesn’t want him to leave; he knows this. But everyone also knows it’d be his own decision. Rome doesn’t care much for school, but he cares a lot for Wicca. He studies a lot, and he teaches a lot, and this makes Gray envious: they’re not a fast learner.

        Rome tosses a wreath at the teenager. “Yo, Buzzy, help me hang decorations.” Gray doesn’t remember when he began calling them that-  but it was years ago. They don’t even really remember where the nickname came from. Yule will be celebrated with the whole coven, in the home of the High Priest. For second-in-command, Lyron has many responsibilities, and he enjoys it this way.

        Gray drops their school backpack on the floor under the kitchen table, which is adorned with hanging lights and solar system decorations. “Fine.” Gray’s favorite part of decorating the altar, a task that’s usually saved for them. There’s a rule within the coven: no information relating to it can be shared with any outsiders. Gray isn’t necessarily bothered by this; who it there to tell, anyway? They know it gets hard for Rome, though, the man’s an open book. It takes all his self-control sometimes to not share information with his fraternity – especially when they start asking questions.

        When Gray was adopted, they were named Vanko: a small, green-eyed toddler boy with abnormally large ears. They have no recollection of their birth mother, and no desire to meet her. 

        The High Priestess, a woman named Avalon, is friendly and open, joining the celebrations with her wife and children in tow. Avalon and Callie are in their middle ages: forty or fifty years old, and have been together many years. It’s a shame, though, the issues they had attempting to marry and start a family. The women have two daughters in their twenties, who sometimes comes around even in between Sabbats, to say hello or to check in on Rome and Gray. “Hi, friends,” Avalon says, poking her tanned face through the doorway. Long ago, Abbe had told them not to worry about knocking, and so they rarely do. “How’s everyone doing?”

        Now that the decorations are finished with, Gray knows it’s time to prepare for the arrival of the rest of the coven. If they have to be social, at least it’s at their own house, where it’s easy enough to hide out in their bedroom if they feel overwhelmed. Aside from Gray, the youngest covener is Wynn, an eighteen year old boy trying to reach his First Degree Initiation. He arrives with his older sister, Blair, a mysterious and determined woman. Gray thinks she’s quite pretty. And Blair has become a good friend to them.

        “Sup, guys?” Wynn sets a basket on the table, to be used later, when Yuletide festivities begin. Gray recently overheard their fathers discussing Wynn, how he’s nearly ready to be Initiated, and they wonder if he knows about this. “Good evening, Misters Mundle and Wizzo.” He tries to be polite, of course, to the High Priests and Priestesses, although it’s nearly time for them to resign. This is something that was discussed previously, something Gray knows their brother will be unhappy about. Being the child of a High Priest has its perks, and Rome won’t want to lose these. But it’s up to the coven leaders to decide when they will pass their position onto somebody else, and Lyron has already been High Priest for several years. According to he and Avalon, the next qualified coveners to take over are Sage and Remi, a married couple in their thirties.

        On the wall, there is a photograph of Calixte, her face beaming and young. Every friend of the family knows about Calixte. “Good evening, Wynn.” Lyron waves an arm, narrowly missing a string of hanging lights. “And don’t be so polite; we’re all on a first-name basis here." 

        Gray’s favorite part of Yule is the burning of the log. It constitutes the gatherers sitting around a bonfire, attaching pieces of paper to the log, and burning away all their bad habits or thoughts. Gray enjoys the symbolism of it, even though they don’t usually follow through. This is something they’ve been trying to improve on: actually better themselves with each new year. Rome does this a lot, and it always seems so flawlessly easy for him. Everything he does seems easy. While the coven gathers, Yuletide music plays softly, this makes it easier to meditate. Each year, Lyron and Abbe contribute to a charity of their choice as a Yule gift. This year, it was the Goddess Grove. Around the bonfire, Circle of Ember prays: some to the Goddess, some to the Horned God. Gray just wants to get more in touch with nature.

. . . . . . . . . .

        Grace has never been on a date before. It’s not that she’s never been interested, because Grace is a romantic. These days, it’s so hard to find decent men. Most find out about Grace’s disability and are scared away, or infantize her, or become somehow very infuriating. And Grace hates this. She’s an almost-nineteen-year-old woman, not a two year old child. Needless to say, Cujo accompanies Grace everywhere – and some people are strange about this. She doesn’t look disabled, they say, so why should she get special treatment? Many seem to forget that, although blindness is completely real and common disability, it isn’t the only one. Anyway, Grace hates being called disabled. The way people say it, it’s like they think she’s lesser, or incompetent, rather than just a normal girl with a brain condition. 

        As she waits at her small table in the café, Grace runs through a mental script of things to say. It’s her first blind date, and she’s nervous the man won’t like her. It’s a friend of her sister’s, Ambrose Penner. Bronte’s taste in men is usually promising, but she doesn’t know Grace very well these days, and she seems to forget that Grace comes with a dog. Cujo lies on the floor underneath the table, his vest freshly washed and ironed. Cujo is a Samoyed dog, six and a half years old. Ambrose Penner is a lawyer, and, from what Grace has heard, a hard-ass. She’s a little nervous to meet the man, who might be intimidating, but Bronte says there’s nothing to worry about.

        A tall man walks into the café, his face buried in a book. Grace prefers tall man, as she’s five foot ten and enjoys wearing heels. Of course, Bronte knows this. It’s about the only thing she knows about her sister these days. “Excuse me,” says the man, about six foot three with a bearded face, “are you Grace?" He has skin of a medium shade, and a well-tended beard. She’s always been taken by metrosexuals. “I was told to look for the pretty girl with a dog, and so here we are.” Most men rely to heavily on pick-up lines, in Grace’s experience. She prefers a more natural conversation, one a little less forced. “May I sit down?”             

        Cujo looks suspicious of the man, his ears on edge. This usually happens around strangers, especially men. Grace isn’t sure why. “Yeah, that’s me.” She taps her fingers on the table, a nervous habit. “Go ahead.” He seems far less harsh than he was made out to be, but Grace supposes a first impression can be manipulated. “Hi, Ambrose. Nice to meet you.” She hasn’t heard much of the man, but she’s heard enough to have agreed to the date. “How are you?”

        On occasion, a seizure will be triggered by stress, or worry. When Ambrose Penner sits down at the small table across from her, she loses control of her muscles. Cujo is always ready to help, alert at her side and growling at anybody who tries to come near. “Sorry,” Grace says afterward, though she’s very disoriented and has bitten her tongue, “I have post-traumatic epilepsy.” This is something she’s come to expect, explaining what’s wrong with her to everyone she meets. The more she says it, the more she feels broken. The more this happens in public, the more embarrassing it becomes. Grace hates the stares, the whispers, the sight of random people running over to her aid. People think they know how to help, but they don’t.

        Ambrose looks concerned. “I know. Bronte told me. Are you okay?”  He stands slightly, his book sat on the table; Grace can finally read the title clearly. “Do you need anything?”              

        She feels humiliated, like a circus freak. “I’m fine.”

        “Man, that was wild.” Ambrose sits back down, rattling the booth with his large frame. “I mean, I watched a video of seizures before I came, but oh man, I did not expect that! Your whole body just got all stiff and fell over!” He sits back, shaking his head, as if living it once weren’t enough for Grace. She tries not to blame him – most people react strangely, or don’t know how to react at all. But anything is better than explaining what happened after the fact. Grace was there: she knows what her body does. 

        Already, she wants to go home. “Yeah.” Cujo rubs his nose into her hand, a gesture he’s learned comforts her. “Can we talk about something else?”  

        The first time Birch witnessed one of her seizures, he was driving. Grace had been out of it, confused, and would have expected him to shout at her or keep driving like anyone else. Instead, he’d pulled over, rolled Grace onto her side, and removed her seatbelt to watch until she was safe. Birch is always so calm in times of crisis, which is lucky for Grace. She admits he can be an asshole, but he can also be really sweet when he wants to be.

        Grace eats a simple salad. During her seizure, she spilled bits on the table, and feels bad about the mess. Ambrose watches her. “What happened, anyway? To make you disabled?” There’s that word again. It’s so incapacitating, so invalidating. It’s like all Grace is now is an epileptic girl; that’s how everybody sees her. Grace is a baker, a nature lover, and a good friend. But nobody cares about these things.

        She sighs. " I don’t really want to talk about it.” This guy sees her just the same as everyone else: an animal in a cage, to be stared at, questioned, quashed. Is it just her who feels this way? Grace wonders if it’s a valid thing to be upset about. “So, uh, Ambrose… how long have you been a lawyer?”

        He eats neatly, his napkin folded on his lap, his cuts delicate and precise. “Well, I’m not actually a lawyer yet.” He looks awkward, a bit,  eating his meal. “I’m graduating from law school this year, and then I can look for careers.” Grace knows it takes many years to become a lawyer. She wants to be a zoologist, and that only takes four. Ambrose, having gotten over his shock at seeing Grace’s seizing, smiles at her. “But your sister said you’re studying zoology. Do you like it?”

        Maybe the date started off a bit rocky, but it seems to be going in a promising direction, now. Grace hopes it won’t be a complete waste of time. “Yeah.” For an extrovert, Grace is not very outgoing tonight. “It’s my favorite subject. I love animals and wildlife.” If Grace could have any pet, it’d be a fennec fox. If they were legal, she’d probably have gotten one already. Ambrose better like animals. If he doesn’t, it could be a deal breaker.

        One day, after about a month of living together, Grace had left the bathroom door open while changing, and Birch had walked past. At first she hadn’t noticed; he hadn’t said anything, and he was gone so quickly she hadn’t even seen him. And then he’d started laughing, and it sounded rather awkward, and Grace realized he’d seen her boobs. She wasn’t embarrassed; even if Birch was straight she wouldn’t have been embarrassed. But after that, she was definitely more careful about closing doors.

        Ambrose slides his plate over, finished, and wipes at his mouth with a cloth napkin. “I enjoy animals as well. My daughter and I have several dogs.” He throws this out so casually, seeing nothing wrong with the statement. And of course, there is nothing wrong with it – except it leaves Grace bewildered and caught off guard. Grace hates being caught off guard.

        “Uh…” She doesn’t want to sound freaked out. But Grace is far too young to be a stepmother. “You have a daughter?” She feels a seizure coming on, again; she can always feel it. This time, she manages to drop her head before it comes, and remain mostly unnoticed. Ambrose says nothing about this.  

        "I do!” The man pulls out his phone, showing a photograph to Grace. The girl isn’t that old, and she isn’t that cute either. Grace doesn’t hate kids; she just doesn’t ……. love them. “Her name’s Maisie. She’s three.” This is news. He continues. “She lives with me full time; my ex is in prison for drug trafficking.” Grace swears; every word out of this man’s mouth is a surprise. “Anyway, do you want kids?”

        Grace doesn’t. She’d get married to a nice man and live in a nice house with some dogs, and that’d be good for her. “Uh….no.” This is something she feels is expected of her, being a woman. She’s expected to get married, and raise a family, and become a housewife. This is something she has zero interest in. “I’d rather have dogs.”

        Grace’s medication is supposed to help her feel better. It’s supposed to decrease the amount of seizures she has, and make her life more normal. At one point, it did. When she first started taking all her meds, they helped. But now they don’t. Now, Grace is sure she’s much worse off than she was to begin with. In a few weeks, she’s meeting with a neurosurgeon. She’s been approved for brain surgery, and it’s petrifying to think about. Grace has to weigh the pros and cons, and that’s the most anxiety-inducing part of it all. 

        Her first date passes normally enough, aside from some strange stories from Ambrose. Grace leaves the café after dark, tired and slightly unnerved, making conversation on the walk home. When Birch isn’t home, she’s alone, and this is something her mother and father were not too fond of at first. They know Birch, but they’re easily worried, and feared leaving Grace unattended would put her in danger. Plus, added her mother, Birch is eighteen years old and has no idea how to handle this sort of thing, so maybe it would be better if you moved back in with us? But Grace had insisted she was ready to stay on her own and continue attending college, and she had done so determinedly. Arriving home, she removes Cujo’s harness and leash, and he rests in his large bed in the living room.

        “Hey, Curls!” Birch sits on the floor in front of the couch, reading through some notes for school. “Did you miss me?” He’s concentrating on his notes, and doesn’t notice Grace sneaking up behind him. When she throws her arms around his neck, he drops his notebooks on the floor.

        "Damnit, Gracie!” He grumbles, pushing her away. He doesn’t mean this to be hurtful, Grace knows him well enough to know this, but is startled. “Stop sneaking up on me!”

        “Sorry.” Grace sinks to the floor, lying her head against the couch’s arm. “What's up with you, anyway? You've been really on edge all week." He’s more riled up, she’s noticed, than his usual apathy. “You okay?” Grace is pretty good at reading emotions; in fact she can even sometimes tell how a person is feeling just by looking at them. But it’s so hard to read Birch. 

        “Nothing.” He picks up his books, studies them again. He’s not a bookworm, just particular. Sometimes Grace can’t believe how little possessions her best friend has. His bedroom is small and nearly empty: containing only a bed, a recliner, a side table and lamp, and a small television. And he’s perfectly pleased with that! Grace imagines she would die of boredom. “I’m just busy.”

        “Yeah, right.” Grace seizes again, briefly, and then exhales. “You’re acting weird and paranoid. It’s not like you.” She knows he hates being questioned like this, and she does tend to pry. But Grace knows Birch loves her, because after all of her annoying spells, he’s still her friend. “Did something happen?” 

        It’s snowy outside, and pretty windy. She can hear the wind hitting the window. Birch sighs, setting his books down loudly on the beige carpet. “I hooked up with Rome.”

        This explains a lot. But it makes no sense. “You did what?”

        “ I hooked up with-”

        “Yeah, I know what you said.” Grace is bewildered, but she can’t say she’s surprised. If there’s anything Grace is good at, it’s detecting chemistry. “When? Why? I thought you hated him!"

        Birch scowls. “I do.”

        “Right.” He looks upset: angry, even, at having brought it up. Hate sex is a thing, Grace, she tells herself. Lots of people do it. She would never, but lots of people would. “When did you possibly do that? I have so many questions! Like….how was it? Tell me everything!” Birch doesn’t gossip much. That’s why it’s so exciting to Grace when he has something to gossip about. “God, I’m jealous. He’s so hot.”

        “Oh, shut up.” Birch is rolling his eyes. He does this a lot. “It was like four days ago, in the bathroom at the seafood place by the hospital. Just...keep it to yourself, okay." He returns to studying, as if he hasn’t just dropped the most shocking news of all time. He’s a character, alright. Grace will never understand him.