It was, expectedly, a ruckus that woke Aya from her sleep. A cacophony of noises, clangs and bangs, that would not be tolerated in any other household, save for a frathouse. Certainly, somewhere uncivilized. When Aya was younger, her coven put on quite the act to convince her that they were polished, respectable people. But the cost of her childhood had been paid two years ago with a rude awakening: witches didn’t give a fuck. The sounds of Frankie beating a fast pace on her treadmill in the room above Aya’s was an unwelcome reminder.

As a night owl, pushing herself out of bed at 7:30 was a pain Aya just couldn’t get used to, even more painful when her sleep had been interrupted. Searching the floor, Aya snatched up her abandoned PJs from last night, electing to wear a proper outfit after having a proper meal. She trudged down from her second-floor room, the daily kitchen-commotion brightening her mood a bit. Phoebe and Wren were expert witches – and extremely novice chefs.

Phoebe was working with the mixer, set to a brutally fast pace, her eyes alight with expectation that immediately dimmed as she glanced into the bowl. She rushed past Wren to grab milk from the other side of the island, nearly causing her partner to cut her hand open as she chopped an onion with fervor.

“Feeb! We talked about this.” Wren’s voice was filled with exasperation, but she couldn’t glare at the other witch. She kept her teary eyes on the excess of prepared vegetables in front of her as she reminded Phoebe, “Next time, I’ll pass you what you need.”

“You know I don’t like to interrupt your own work.” Phoebe had poured a hefty amount of milk into her mixture, new splashes soon to stain her already messy attire. They were the epitome of the odd couple in the space, with not a blonde hair out of place or spot on Wren’s clothing. At least Phoebe’s dyed-pink hair would be noticeable in any food. Where Phoebe sprawled her ingredients all over the kitchen, Wren’s were crammed onto only half of the island. And where both of them complimented each other in their love, they were equally terrible at any kind of food making. Even worse when they had tried using their powers to do so.

Aya cleared her throat with undue effort. The two older witches raised their heads from their tasks. Phoebe raced toward her.

“Oh, thank God you’re here,” she breathed, already pulling Aya to the disaster zone. “I don’t know what this is, but I know it’s not muffin mix.” Glancing down at the bowl, Aya let out a chuckle and concluded the same.

After scrubbing her hands clean, she made space on the counter across from her, directing to Phoebe, “Bring all the dry ingredients you used over here.” Aya looked again at the bowl. “And what kind of muffins were you trying to make?”

“Blueberry!” Phoebe chirped.

“Bring the blueberries, too.”

A smirk began to blossom on Wren’s face but halted when Aya’s attention turned to her. “And what are you making?”

Wren’s eyes flickered around the counter before admitting, “Scrambled eggs.”

Aya reserved her chuckle this time as she took in the food on the cutting board. “This will be enough to feed our fam three times over. Why don’t you check to see how many eggs we have? We can save some of the veggies for dinner.”

With her mission, Wren strode to the refrigerator for the egg carton. Aya saw that they laid open by the stovetop but turned back to what Phoebe had gathered. Phoebe dutifully handed each ingredient over as Aya called for them, and the mixer was turned on to a slow speed by the time Wren came back to the island with a bowl, a whisk, and a nearly full carton of eggs.

After another 10 minutes, the three of them sat at the kitchen table with a plate of scramble, the muffins baking in the oven. As much as Aya hated getting out of bed, she never regretted it after being able to help the two witches who had given her so much love and aid over the years. With their comforting presence, Aya brought up the topic she had refused to acknowledge since waking up.

“So,” her tone brought two alert pairs of eyes to her eyes, “I had a dream last night.”

 “Oh.”

“Shit.”