L. arrived at her parents’ home feeling the tightness of trepidation in her gut and throat. Bracing herself to hear her mother’s misgivings about her latest ventures, she walked up the brick steps and knocked on the pristine white door.
“Come in, L,” her mother trilled in a Southern drawl from down the hall.
L. took a deep breath and walked inside. This had never been home for her, L.’s parents having bought the Tudor style house about five years ago. The place was spotless, ready for a spread in BETTER HOMES AND GARDENS.
“Hello, Mom.”
“Hello, L., my dear. How are you?” The question felt rhetorical, a mere formality.
“Honestly, I’m doing really well, settling into finishing some final papers and looking forward to working with some clients at a clinic,” L. replied as confident-sounding as she could.
Her mother Lorenda looked at L. blankly for a moment, then smiled wanly and blinked. “Well, alright, then. You’re really sure about this plan?”
“As sure as the moon will be full in two days, yes, I am, Mother.”
Lorenda extended her left arm out from her side, indicating the nearby sitting room. “Let’s have some tea, hon. Earl Grey or green tea?”
“Green tea, thanks.”
They walked into a spacious, yet cozy room filled with antiques and tasteful paintings. The Van Gogh above the fireside mantle did look lovely there.
The Practical, Fanciful Pagan 