Debbie paced nervously in front of the coffee table, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor as she muttered anxiously under her breath. Silas sprawled lazily on the couch, exuding an air of carefree confidence, while Rocco, a sleek tabby with piercing green eyes, sat perched on Silas's lap, his tail flicking in sync with Debbie's increasingly frantic steps. Silas, completely unfazed by her turmoil, scratched behind the cat's ear, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "Deb, would you chill out?" he drawled, his voice smooth and mocking, cutting through her anxious energy like a hot knife through butter. "I'm sure Isaac will be okay with you being a witch. I'm totally fine with it." Debbie whirled around, her eyes narrowing as she shot him an exasperated glare. "Silas, I'm being completely serious! You know how people can react. Witchcraft isn't exactly a casual chit-chat topic over dinner."

With an exaggerated sigh, Silas continued to pet Rocco, who seemed oblivious to the brewing drama. "Alright, alright. If you're that worried, let Rocco deliver the news," he suggested, mischief glinting in his eyes. Before Debbie could protest, Silas scooped up the cat and held him out toward her, adopting an absurdly sweet voice that sounded like it belonged to a children's television host. "Who could possibly be upset with this adorable face? Just look at him, Debbie! He's the perfect little ambassador for good tidings." Rocco's ears flattened against his skull, and his tail lashed violently as he fixed Silas with a fierce glare, almost as if he were channeling a great feline wrath. Debbie groaned, her frustration bubbling over as she threw her hands in the air. "Silas, put him down before he curses you in your sleep! And for the love of all that's magical, stop using that ridiculous voice!" With a chuckle, Silas relented, dropping Rocco back onto his lap. The cat immediately turned his back on both of them, his posture radiating disdain as he groomed his paw, dismissing their antics with an aristocratic air. "See?" Silas said, a playful glint in his eye. "He's already rehearsing his speech." Debbie shook her head, resuming her restless pacing with renewed fervor. "Unbelievable. I'm trying to have a serious conversation, and you're just... doing that."

"Hey, I'm just saying," Silas replied, shrugging nonchalantly as he leaned back into the cushions. "If Isaac can't handle a little talk about magic, maybe he doesn't deserve all those wedding spreadsheets you're obsessing over. I can always tell," he remarked, a smirk curling across his face. "And if he doesn't believe me, I can turn him into a mouse for a few hours." he added. "Absolutely not," Debbie interrupted sharply, her glare slicing through the room like a knife. She pointed a finger at him, her tone radiating authority. "You listen here, you muscular-sized bully—you leave Isaac to me. You're worse than Rocco!" Rocco, still perched on Silas's lap, let out a disgruntled meow, clearly displeased to be dragged into the conversation. "Silas," Debbie said, her pacing slowing as she stopped in front of him, "I understand you're trying to use humor here, but can you be serious for one minute?"

Recognizing the shift in tone, Silas sighed and gently set Rocco on the floor. The cat gave him a pointed look before sauntering off to the corner, clearly annoyed at his displacement. "Alright, Debbie," Silas said, his voice steady and more serious now. "Let's talk about the truth. You really did find yourself a catch. Honestly, I like the guy—he's smart, and he can hold his own against my sarcasm, which is saying something. But if he can't accept you being a witch, you've got to ask yourself—would he really be right for you? If he reacts strongly and can't handle it, then you're better off without him." He paused, his smirk returning faintly. "You can always erase his mind afterward."

"Silas!" Debbie exclaimed, though the corners of her mouth twitched like she was fighting back a smile. "Relax, relax," Silas said, holding up his hands. "I mean it, though—you probably don't have anything to worry about. One of Ma's friends is mortal and has known about our family for years, and she's never told anyone outside the family. If Isaac's the guy you think he is, I don't see why it would be a problem." Debbie's shoulders relaxed slightly, her pacing replaced by contemplative stillness. "Maybe," she said quietly, "I could have Aunty Grace with me when I tell him. But the wedding, and—" Silas raised a hand, cutting her off before she could spiral further. "No excuses, Deb. You've got to tell him now—before things get out of hand."

"Alright, Silas," Debbie said with a resigned sigh, stopping her pacing. "I'll talk to Aunty Grace about discussing the issue. But promise me one thing—" She pointed sharply toward Rocco, who had perched himself back on the couch, his tail flicking lazily. "You keep that over there with whiskers away from Isaac." Silas raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as he glanced down at the unapologetic furball sprawled across the cushions. "What? You don't trust my little diplomat? He's got charm, Deb, just not… finesse." Debbie glared, her tone firm. "Silas. I'm serious. If Isaac so much as sees him sneeze at the wrong time, he'll think witches keep cursed familiars around to do their bidding. I don't want Rocco sabotaging this." Rocco let out a loud, judgmental meow, as if personally offended. Silas chuckled and ruffled the cat's fur. "Don't worry, furball, she's just jealous."

Debbie groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Just keep him out of the way." Silas pushed himself up from the couch, brushing stray cat fur off his shirt as Rocco sprawled on the sofa, eyeing him lazily. "Alright, Deb," he said, stretching his arms, "enough pacing. How did the cake tasting go?" Debbie paused mid-step, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Oy, Silas, where do I even start? It was a total balagan. Ma insisted on taste-testing everything. I swear, the way that yenta was acting, you'd think she was the one getting married. At one point, she told the baker the frosting wasn't 'elegant enough for a high-class wedding.' Who says that?!" Silas let out a snort, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. "Ah, classic Ruth. Feh. When the big day comes, we might have to turn the cake into marble—less chance of her eating it before the guests arrive." Debbie chuckled, shaking her head. "It got worse. She started critiquing the sponge texture like she was auditioning to be a food critic. And then she demanded an extra slice of the chocolate ganache, because she 'had to be sure.' Silas, she practically inhaled it! I thought the poor baker was going to quit on the spot."

"Sounds about right," Silas said with a chuckle. "You know Ruth—she doesn't just eat cake, she analyzes it. I bet she's already drafting a spreadsheet of frosting ratios." Debbie laughed, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "Honestly, Isaac can never find out. If he knew how much drama went into choosing the wedding cake, he'd probably ask for a plain one just to avoid the chaos." Silas rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he muttered, "Oy gevalt. Imagine him sitting through a Ruth-led cake debate. The poor guy wouldn't last five minutes."