35 TFB: Cartwheels of Stars
"Wise men say/Only fools rush in/But I can't help falling in love with you…Like a river flows/Surely to the sea/Darling, so it goes/Some things are meant to be…"
-Kina Grannis (cover), Elvis song "Can't Help Falling in Love With You"
9 pm, Vera Manor Garden, April 8th, 2046, Seattle, Washington
Phoebe interjected. "Every Cinderella needs a fairy godmother. Let us be yours," her large, expressive eyes entreated Matilda.
"Okay," whispered Matilda, as the three began scheming and dreaming once more.
10 am, Two Weekends Later, Matilda's Bedroom, Madalena Village, Epicenter Pico No. 23
Her eyes blinked once, then twice, absorbing the humid sunlight streaming in through her balcony window, the pungent scent of cilantro, cinnamon, cloves, and plumeria wafting in from her relative's balcony. Had it really been two weeks since the fearsome Portender had been successfully vanquished, bringing both sets of Charmed Ones together in the process? Indeed it had, she mused to herself as she rubbed the crocheted dark olive green coverlet with the tips of her toes, rolling herself to a seated position on her goldenrod-colored bedsheets that had been a fixture in her bedroom for as long as she could remember, its cheery color brightening the pallid walls.
The plants—all five of them—from the tallest two-foot zebra-like leaves to the tiniest, her pineapple-leaf succulent—were at the foot of her bed, as if nothing had happened at all. Two weekends ago, she had found herself at her aunt's funeral, mourning her loss with the rest of the clan. After, Wyatt had promised he would put forth the effort to plan a proposal worth her time, with the implicit assumption that the dust needed to settle a bit in order for things to properly progress.
Both had taken two weeks' worth of leave from their roles at Purgatory Corporation in the aftermath. Matilda had previously taken for granted seeing Wyatt daily during her morning commute from Gateway Station, walking past the artwork in the nearby park, traversing Stanwix, and ending up on the 88th floor, just in time for the morning's agenda meeting. Her heart was often heavy nowadays, digesting the details of Aunt Abi's death and waiting for whatever would happen in the weeks to follow.
Wyatt's Great-Aunt Phoebe had taken to popping by Epicenter Pico No. 23 every now and then via the Vera Manor laboratory she-shed portal, which Matilda's mother Macy interconnected to Halliwell Manor with surprising ease. Or perhaps not so surprising, Matilda mused to herself as she threw on a loose-fitting tank top and gym shorts, opening the door to the balcony, given both sets of Charmed Ones' powers and parallel histories.
10:20 am, Matilda's Balcony, Madalena Village, Epicenter Pico No. 23
The cold ash-colored marble cobblestones of the balcony chilled her feet as she traversed the threshold, sliding the door halfway closed behind her. The skies up above the enclosed balcony shone a flawless turquoise, the promise of yet another perfect day in paradise. So it would seem, were it not for her own raw, aching heart. She sat cross-legged on the thin rug before her and set about calming her mind, an exercise recommended by Morgana herself to quell anxious thoughts.
She checked her phone for easy meditation steps and accompanying background music.
1. Sit comfortably. Done and done, Matilda thought to herself, making sure the surrounding potted palm fronds weren't jutting into her elbows. She placed her arms outward in every direction. All clear. She checked for the next step: 2. Close your eyes. Noticing there were steps three and four, she reviewed those as well. 3. Simply breathe naturally, and finally, 4. Focus your attention on the breath and on how the body moves with each inhalation and exhalation.
It seemed counterintuitive to close one's eyes and be expected to somehow know steps three and four. I mean, we're not all mind-reading empaths, Matilda rolled her eyes. As for music, she began thumbing through YouTube.
10:28 am, Matilda's Balcony, Madalena Village, Epicenter Pico No. 23
Ok then. Close eyes, breathe, focus on the body. Matilda slowly closed her eyes and began her meditation, playing the "Shamanic Music, Meditation Music Relax Mind Body, Relaxing Music, Slow Music" she had found on YouTube. Two million hits meant it had to be good, right? Matilda's breath gradually eased as her shoulder muscles slackened, listening to the low melodic hum of the bamboo flute that reminded her of a distant tropical forest…
Her arms transformed into wings as she found herself soaring above a lush rainforest, in hues vaguely reminiscent of Frenchman Paul Gaugin, with an aquamarine waterfall, a rose pink dried-grass treehouse hut on elevated stilts thirty stories above the soft, dirt-hewn ground, and palm trees aplenty. She counted eight…nine…ten varieties of such palm trees and a myriad of tropical plants besides, as she observed the electric blue foreground shadowing, the lightening bugs that illuminated the once-frightening darkness that had subsided its reign of terror and curled up much like a panther, entering its own little world of dream-filled slumber. The glittered edges of the watery horizon hinted at what Matilda knew her mother called "bioluminescent waves"—a phenomenon causing the waves to glow neon blue, a result of naturally-occurring algae. Her mother hadn't the same sense of wonder at shining objects, preferring instead to rely on her scientific expertise to explain away chemical remnants of magic.
Her mother's scientific reasoning of yore helped Matilda realize in that moment that the forest could only be located in the western corridor of the Americas—likely anywhere around California's coast, all the way down to the myth-filled Mexico, alebrijes and all, she had heard about in her childhood storybooks. What significance was California to her? That was easy—Wyatt, she thought as she alighted on the treehouse's straw roof. The tropical landscape must be from her memories living in the Azores Islands all her life, mixed with the Seattle forests where she went hiking, whenever she had a free moment around Vera Manor.
The comforting lull of the bamboo flute dipped lower by an octave, continuing its ambient melody that permeated the fertile woodland. Do I stay or do I go? Matilda wondered, as she stretched out her wings once more. She realized that she had been led here by the powers that be. To make a decision, perhaps? She had no idea. Was it even a choice, having been thrust into this artistic vision? Being led seemed more apt as she sprang from the grassy roof and soared above the treehouse, once, twice, then three times, then landed atop the damask-hued balcony facing the wooden-stilt door. She stared into the darkness of the room ahead, knowing that her current aviary form meant she wasn't strong enough to push the door open. Just to say she had though, she attempted to push through and the door surprisingly gave way.
Immediately, an envelope dropped into her hand—
11 am, Matilda's Balcony, Madalena Village, Epicenter Pico No. 23
Her eyes sprang open, as she felt waves of calm fall upon her. Had she really meditated for nearly half an hour? A new record, Matilda mused, as her fidgeting, restless nature ran counter to the very tenets of meditation itself. She really ought to tell Morgana—
And she realized she held an envelope in her hand.
The same one from her meditation, just minutes ago. What the hell? Matilda loosened her grip and surveyed its outsides. Completely blank—except for her name, written in simple, hand-scrawled calligraphy.
Matilda, it read. Looking around the room, she found no trace of any other human presence.
"Creeper," she muttered, biting her lip to suppress a grin. Wyatt must've orbed and snuck up on her.
Opening the envelope, she found an invitation to a dance, to be held at Vera Manor Garden in roughly two weeks' time. Ok then. This was really happening, wasn't it? To reassure herself this wasn't a figment of her imagination, she snapped a photo of the envelope and group-texted it to Phoebe and Aunt Maggie, both of whom were exercising their empath abilities in Vera Manor's attic. Guess what I got today, her text read, as she clicked the airplane icon, denoting "Send."
7 pm, One Week Before the Day Of, Maggie's Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington
Maggie and Phoebe helped Matilda dress for her dance with Wyatt that would occur a week later. "How about this "Lace Trim Floral Print Twill Dress" I found online?" Matilda asked the pair, regarding a below-the knee olive green eyelet dress that seemed the perfect amount of casual-chic. And it had pockets, like every other outfit she wore. Phoebe gasped in horror as Maggie cringed, uttering the shrillest of shrieks punctuated by an eerie silence.
"Please tell me you're kidding," Maggie stared at Matilda's saved selection on her phone.
"Matilda, you want to be the belle of the ball, not the pumpkin stem—" Phoebe gently admonished as she eyed what she perceived as a severe affront to polyester fabric. "No, no, no. Allow us." She and Maggie seized Matilda's phone and perused several websites' worth of custom-made dresses, occasionally glancing above the handheld device to scrutinize Matilda's skin tone, facial features, hair, and estimated dimensions. "Seriously? Matilda silently groused as the two older women continued their fashionista investigations.
"Also, doesn't Uncle Jordan mind we've taken over this space? It's his bedroom too…" Matilda remarked.
"Oh, he doesn't mind," Maggie airily replied as she flipped through a bevy of BHLDN gowns, each prettier than the next. "He's with Harry and Leo watching football in the living room."
7:15 pm, Maggie's Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington
"OMYGAWD…I found it!" Phoebe yelled, startling Matilda and Maggie, who had taken a break from dress hunting. "Ombre glitter long dress, teal, by Venus," Phoebe recited aloud, showing the screen to them both.
"Those colors…" breathed Maggie. "Amazeballs." The two turned to Matilda, who seemed somewhat less impressed.
"But does it have pockets?" the auburn-haired witch skeptically inquired.
Maggie paid via automated payment online and threw a handful of glamour powder atop the screen, causing the three to be enveloped in a cloud of hazy green smoke.
"It does now," Phoebe answered, as the dress appeared in her arms, hidden pockets and all.
8 pm, Day Of, Vera Manor Garden, Seattle, Washington
Matilda peeked over the edge of the glass-enclosed Vera Manor Garden patio doorway. Her dress fit perfectly, according to Phoebe and Maggie, both of whom disappeared to who knows where. Here goes nothing, she posited, her hands shaking as she reached for the door—
And found it being opened for her, by none other than a certain well-dressed gentleman.
"Wyatt?" Matilda exclaimed incredulously. Indeed it was. His dark curly hair had been neatly trimmed and combed back; he wore a pale grey dress shirt and dark slacks, along with a slate-colored tie to complete the ensemble. "You look like you stepped out of a Brooks Brothers ad…"
He laughed as he kissed her and reached for her hand. "Nice to see you too, Val." Together, they made their way to the cobblestone path beneath the trellised tealights, all of which were perfectly aglow this summer evening, with the distant sounds of chirping crickets, the ribbits of lawn frogs, and the rattle of a cicada or two. Once they had reached a certain spot, Wyatt knelt down on one knee and pulled a box from his jacket pocket. "Matilda Marcella Valensi," he began, his voice trembling, "you have been the mischievous, one-of-a-kind light of my life since the very moment I met you. Even though the prophecy spoke of me teaching you, you have taught me more about life than I could ever imagine. I love how you always keep me on my toes, and I want to share forever with you. Will you marry me?"
By now, both were beginning to tear up. "Are you shitting me—YES! YES!" Matilda squealed. The ring, she noticed, was a round diamond solitaire with two "Charmed" Celtic triquetras, one on each side of the diamond.
"To symbolize the uniting of both our families of Charmed Ones," Wyatt said by way of explanation as he slipped the jewelry on her left ring finger.
"It's beautiful," she replied, angling her hand this way and that, observing how the gem caught and reflected the light from up above. She shrieked and laughed as Wyatt suddenly whirled her around beneath the tea lights once more, her crimson curls flying in a blur.
8:10 pm, Vera Manor Garden, Seattle, Washington
Once the couple had calmed down somewhat, Wyatt kissed Matilda again. "I really should do something about that filthy mouth of yours," he practically growled in her ear as she shivered in delight. "But first—our first dance as an engaged couple?" Wyatt gestured past the tea lights; Matilda gave a start as she noticed a portable piano, behind which was Melanija Paradis herself, once again, as she began a cover of Kina Grannis' interpretation of "Can't Help Falling in Love" by Elvis Presley.
"Wise men say only fools rush in/But I can't help falling in love with you…"
Matilda's right hand clasped Wyatt's left as they moved to the melody of the ethereally entrancing music, a far cry from its original masculine croon. The tempo was far slower, reminiscent of Norah Jones' award-winning "Don't Know Why," Matilda noticed, as she nestled her head atop his shoulder. For over two and a half decades, I tried convincing myself it was better for everyone if I was alone, she mused to herself. That I didn't need a family. But I know now that I was wrong. And I know that you will always be there for me and I will always be there for you, because our fates were written in the stars from the very beginning.
8:11 pm, Maggie's Bedroom, Seattle, Washington
Jordan sat on their bed, typing out another appellate brief for the hearing set to occur in three days' time. His fingers paused over the keyboard as the piano melody filtered in from the nearby window.
"Like a river flows/Surely to the sea…"
He grinned to himself; it seemed that Matilda had accepted Wyatt's hand in marriage. He knew they would make the announcement the next morning over breakfast; there was no rush. They were perfect for each other, and he looked forward to the day they would eventually marry and Vera Manor Garden would be filled once more with a throng of magical beings, for a happier, more joyful reason this time around.
"Darling, so it goes/Some things are meant to be…"
"J-Jordan?" Jordan glanced toward his wife, Maggie, who slowly closed the door behind her, walked over as if in a daze, and sat down next to him.
"What is it babe?" he asked, noticing her peculiar expression.
"I-I thought Morgana was off her rocker—" Maggie began, her voice trembling. "We've tried for years—decades—and I'm forty-ish—"
"Babe, what exactly are you trying to say?" Jordan angled his head, puzzled.
She showed him a piece of plastic with two blue lines. "What—?" Then it dawned on him. "You're—?"
Maggie nodded. "I'm pregnant."
8:12 pm, Maggie's Bedroom, Seattle, Washington
"S-seriously? Like, really, really?" Jordan stammered as Maggie smiled, wiping away a few stray tears. He reached over and enveloped her in a hug, culminating in a slow, steady kiss. "You're going to be the best mom in the history of the universe, Vera—I just know it—"
"I'm gonna be that gray-haired pregnant lady," she inwardly cringed, referencing the Judd Apatow "This is 40" movie.
"Says who?" Jordan murmured, stroking his wife's dark locks of hair. "And even if you are, which you won't be, you'll be the sexiest pregnant lady ever. Says your husband, yours truly."
"Touché, Jordan, touché," Maggie answered as Jordan reached over to kiss her belly, flat now but which would blossom in the coming months.
"Hey, it's me, Jordan, your dad—" he began.
"Plus your mom—" interjected Maggie.
"And we've waited for you for a very long time."