Milk instead of tea

Rita was standing at the counter of a big supermarket, squinting at the tiny print on a package of sausage, when a loud, cheerful cry exploded right next to her ear:
“Rita Komaro? Is that you?”

She jumped in surprise, dropping the sausage. The hefty thing smacked onto the floor, bounced once, and rolled to the feet of another customer. Rita lifted her gaze and found herself facing a woman in a chic outfit and a fashionable haircut. Behind the wide, white-toothed smile, there was something naggingly familiar.

“Natalie? Natalie Fisher?” Rita stammered.
“The one and only!” The woman’s smile spread even wider. “Only I haven’t been Fisher for eight years—it’s Kavetska now.”

She stepped forward, and the two classmates hugged with delight.
“Rita, you haven’t changed a bit. I knew you right away,” Natalie said brightly.
“And I almost didn’t know you,” Rita admitted, impressed. “You’ve changed so much—you look amazing!”
“Well, you… not so much.” Natalie frowned, her eyes sweeping critically over the plain jeans, scuffed sneakers, and the little granny-bun perched at the back of Rita’s head.

“I only ran to the store… just for a minute…” Rita stammered in self-defense, shoving her hands behind her back so Natalie’s eagle eye wouldn’t catch the frayed cuffs of her old shirt.

“Sure. The store,” Natalie snorted. “Come on, surprise me! Next you’ll tell me you weren’t even going shopping—just taking out the trash, when you suddenly remembered there’s no bread at home. And normally, of course, you dress and do your makeup like the Queen of England. No, Komaro, you really haven’t changed.”

“But I really wasn’t planning to!” Rita burst out, blushing. “That’s exactly what happened!”

“Of course,” her old classmate nodded. “And the last time you saw a hairdresser was before our graduation.”

“You haven’t changed either,” Rita sighed, bending down to rescue the runaway stick of sausage and set it back in place.

She tried not to bristle at her friend’s bluntness—she knew Natalie too well. That disarming frankness was nothing new, and there was never malice behind it. For all her sharp tongue, Natalie was, at heart, kind.

“How long has it been, anyway?” Natalie finally stopped picking at her classmate’s appearance and furrowed her brow in thought.

Rita did a quick bit of math in her head.
“Eleven years.”

“Right!” Natalie’s eyes lit up. “The last time was when you were in your second year at college and I came home on break… Eleven years! Unbelievable! Back then you were going to marry that—what’s-his-name? Denny?”

“Benny,” Rita corrected her.

“Ah yes, Benny,” Natalie remembered, then leaned in with hungry curiosity. “So—spill it! Did you marry him? How’s life? Any kids? How many?”

“Married and divorced a long time ago… no children.” Rita tried to keep her tone light, but her voice wavered in spite of herself.

“Honestly, what are we doing, standing here like a pair of lampposts?” Natalie exclaimed. “Come on—let’s find a café, sit down, and catch up properly.”

With brisk efficiency, she hooked her old classmate by the elbow and steered her toward the exit of the supermarket.

“No, not a café,” Rita said quickly, suddenly self-conscious about her shabby look. “Better come to my place. I live just around the corner.”

“Perfect,” Natalie agreed at once. They grabbed a cake and a bottle of wine, and the two women headed off to catch up on the last eleven years of their lives.

Two hours later, in Rita’s spotless little kitchen, the last decade had been recounted and dissected in full. Rita listened with envy as Natalie described a happy marriage, two children, and only trivial annoyances—a son who struggled with reading, and a clueless plumber who’d flooded their freshly renovated bathroom.

Natalie, in turn, listened with mounting unease to Rita’s sparse confessions: her marriage to Benny had collapsed within a year, every other suitor either avoided her or revealed himself to be a scoundrel, and only her work brought her the faintest sense of satisfaction.

“So… what you’re telling me…” Natalie scowled, drained the last of her wine with a noisy slurp, and slammed the glass onto the table. “…is that sitting alone in a dusty library is the only happiness you’ve got? And you’re not even thirty?”

“Well… yes…” Rita sighed, shamefaced. “I suppose that’s how it is.”

“Komaro, have you lost your mind?” Natalie roared so loudly that a pigeon, dozing on the windowsill, flapped off in panic.

She jabbed a finger at the shelves stacked with books to the ceiling.
“Books are fine—your education, your intellect, all that,” Natalie’s eyes flashed with outrage. “But none of it shows. What does show?”

“What?” Rita echoed meekly.

“That ghastly outfit that makes your bust three sizes smaller and your waist four sizes bigger than they really are. That mangy mop on your head you call hair. And those glasses—fit only for Professor Trelawney from Harry Potter.

Rita wilted. She longed to say that of course she understood the importance of dressing well and looking after herself—but lately she simply hadn’t the heart. Too many disappointments. And really, who cared about her disappointments?

Natalie did, apparently.

“Fine,” Natalie said, her tone snapping into brisk command. “Clothes, hair, makeup—that’s nothing. We’ll give you an emergency beauty ovrehaul and have you shining like new in no time. But the rest…”

“With what rest?” Rita asked blankly.
“With what’s in your head.” Natalie’s disapproving gaze swept over Rita’s skull.
“What do you mean?” Rita asked nervously, her hand flying to the back of her head.
“Exactly what I said. You’re a librarian, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“Then you’ve read loads of books, haven’t you?” her old classmate pressed, like a prosecutor.

“Well…” Rita faltered. Who could say what was a lot or a little? Compared to Natalie, probably plenty—but compared to Einstein, she was miles behind.

“A lot,” Natalie declared for her. “And what’s come of it? Nothing.”

Rita held her tongue, and her classmate rushed on, animated:
“And do you know why? Because you’ve been reading them all wrong.”

With a sharp sweep of her hand, Natalie sent the coffeepot crashing to the floor. As Rita knelt to gather the shards and mop up the brown puddle, Natalie snapped:
“I’ll bet you spent your time buried in novels about knightly love and loyalty—dreaming up princes on white horses. What you should’ve been reading were practical things.”

“What do you mean, practical?” Rita asked, genuinely puzzled, letting the jab at her romantic daydreams slide past.

“How to Snag a Man in Two Weeks—for Dummies,” Natalie declared, flinging her arms so wildly that Rita barely caught the sugar bowl in time. “There are shelves of books like that now!”

“Natalie, that’s complete nonsense!” Rita protested.

“Ninety percent of it is nonsense, sure,” Natalie conceded. “But even in those silly books you can pick up a tip or two. If you don’t want a For Dummies guide, then grab something more serious—The Joy of Cooking, for instance. Or The Art of Conversation. Or How to Dress for Your Body Type. There’s no end of books to help a modern woman land a husband.”

“Then maybe Spells and Love Charms,” Rita sighed, nodding at the little table by the sofa. “There’s one sitting right there.”

“Why not? Spells aren’t a bad idea,” Natalie perked up. “Now you’re thinking in the right direction. So, what did you find in it?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Rita waved her off. “I only brought it home from work to mend the torn cover—not to read.”

“You silly thing,” Natalie chided. “If you believe in a spell, it’s bound to work. Now give it here.”

“Natalie, you can’t be serious!” Rita protested. But her old classmate was already swooping down on the sofa, clutching the thick, battered book with both hands. The back cover came off entirely, but she didn’t so much as blink.

“Okay, let’s see…” Natalie muttered, plopping into an armchair and flipping through the ragged pages. “A spell for a barley harvest—nope, we’re not farmers. How to hex a goat. How to un-hex a goat—well, that’s fair: you curse it, you fix it. A spell against a wicked man… now that makes more sense.”

Rita giggled.

“Now this is useful,” Natalie declared, burying herself in the book again. “…How to attract money—finally, some real wisdom! I’m copying this one down. Let’s see… take two handfuls of fresh spelt… Wait, what on earth is spelt?”

“It’s some ancient grain,” Rita giggled. Natalie looked utterly ridiculous, poring so solemnly over such absurd old recipes.

“Hmm… where would we even get that?” Natalie frowned. “Oh well, we’ll sort it out later. Look—this is what we need: love spells!”

She jabbed her finger at the next page, eyes gleaming.
“Hmm, hmm… nope, not that one… let’s see… ah, here it is!”

Natalie actually bounced on the sofa with excitement.

“Listen, and repeat after me,” Natalie proclaimed solemnly.
“My true love, bent by fate…”
“Well, I only hope this true love won’t be too bent by fate. Sounds like a second-hand bargain,” Rita laughed.
“Oh—wait, not bent. Sent by fate.” Natalie squinted at the page. “The letters are half worn away—hard to read. And quit cackling! This is serious.” Do you realize what a unique thing you’ve got in your hands? And right at the moment we ran into each other! That’s no accident. This could be a turning point in your life, and here you are giggling like a schoolgirl!”

“All right, all right,” Rita said with a conciliatory smile. “Just stop shaking that ‘unique’ book so hard or there’ll be nothing left of it.”

“Repeat after me,” Natalie raised her voice.
“My true love, sent by fate, appear, come near, with a wild eye shining clear…”

“I don’t want a fiancé with a wild eye!” Rita choked, laughing.

“No one asked your opinion,” Natalie sniffed. “Maybe it won’t be his wild eye—it’ll be yours when you see him. Now stop interrupting. Let’s see… ‘With a wild eye shining bright, call yourself my husband tonight!’”

“‘Don’t you frown, don’t you sneer—swear you’ll love me true and dear!’” Rita chimed in, and both women burst out laughing.

“You’re impossible, Komaro,” Natalie gasped once she caught her breath. “And hopeless at rhymes. ‘True and dear’—what kind of rhyme is that?”

“Fine then: ‘Disappear!’” Rita shot back.

“All right, Rita,” Natalie said, wiping the smile from her face and frowning sternly. “Either you repeat this spell right now, or I’ll tear your head off. You don’t have to believe in it—but I do, and that’s enough. So you’re going to say it, understood? Do it for me!”

“Fine,” Rita said with a good-natured smirk, obediently repeating the lines of the old incantation. “There. Happy? Now can we get back to the kitchen and…”

She never finished her sentence.
BANG! A muffled crash echoed above their heads—something between a roll of thunder and the toll of a bell, with an ominous edge to it. The chandelier on the ceiling flickered out for an instant, then flared back to life.
Both girls jolted in unison.

“It was just a door slamming somewhere,” Rita said quickly after a moment’s hesitation.
“A door?” Natalie echoed doubtfully, casting a wary glance at the ceiling.
“Of course,” her friend confirmed with a confidence she didn’t feel. “Come on—let’s finish our tea.”

But they never made it back to the kitchen. The moment they rose from the sofa, the doorbell rang out loudly. The two friends exchanged a startled glance.

“Wow!” Natalie’s eyes widened in admiration. “Do you think the spell is really working?”
“Nonsense.” Rita gave an impatient shrug, though deep inside a chill of fear stirred.

Ding-dong! The doorbell shrilled again, insistent this time, and a low female voice called from outside:
“Rita, are you home? It’s Mrs. Jenkins!”

“I told you—nonsense. It’s just the neighbor,” Rita sighed in relief and hurried toward the hallway.

The moment Rita cracked the door open, Mrs. Jenkins charged into the apartment like a pirate boarding a ship. The usually neat neighbor was a wreck: her gray curls had come loose from their lofty coiffure, her housecoat was crookedly wrapped across her ample chest, and under one arm dangled her plump tomcat, Mattie, the old lady’s pride and joy.

“Rita, it’s a disaster!” she cried hoarsely, stumbling to the sofa and collapsing onto it with her massive frame.

The squashed Mattie gave a pitiful little yowl as his hindquarters thumped against the hard seat.
“What is it, my boy?” his mistress crooned sympathetically. “You understand everything, don’t you, my sweet?”

The cat might have understood—but Rita certainly didn’t. She stared at her neighbor in bewilderment, wondering what on earth could have happened.

“I have to leave at once, and there’s no one to look after Mattie,” Mrs. Jenkins explained in a tearful voice. “Rita, you’re my only hope!”

“Me?” the girl stammered, glancing uncertainly at the fat ginger cat.

As it turned out, Mattie’s sex had been misidentified at birth, and he was saddled with the name Matilda for the first six months of his life. When the truth finally came out, his owner tried to rebrand him—but no respectable male name could be wrung out of Matilda. In the end, she threw up her hands and christened him Mattie. Mrs. Jenkins’s loving heart would not allow her to have him neutered, and before long the pushy, brawling nature of the growing tom—along with his obnoxious yowling—became notorious throughout the apartment block. Local cat owners tried in vain to protect their pets from him. Tireless in both amorous pursuits and street fights, Mattie eventually grew into the undisputed feline authority of the neighborhood—feared not only by other cats but by a few dogs as well.

Now, clamped tightly in his mistress’s strong arms, the ginger tom looked anything but authoritative. Half-suffocated and rumpled, he rolled his round eyes in panic and let out the occasional raspy meow, demanding his freedom.

“Well, I’m not really good with cats…” Rita said uncertainly. “But of course I can feed him while you’re away. Just leave me the keys…”

“No-o-o!” Mrs. Jenkins roared in despair. “Mattie can’t live alone in an empty apartment. He absolutely needs company. You must take him in with you.”

“Me-e-owww!” Mattie bellowed in chorus, as his mistress clutched him even tighter to her chest.

“With me? Well… if you insist,” the girl stammered, startled by the double outcry.

“Oh, thank you, my dear! I knew I could trust you with him,” the neighbor cried joyfully and released the cat from her arms.

Caught off guard, Mattie tumbled to the floor and, instead of meowing, gave an offended grunt.

Mrs. Jenkins sprang to her feet and rushed toward the door.
“I’ll be back in a week!” she shouted as she ran. “I’ll bring his food right now—he lo-o-oves salmonnn!”

The sound of footsteps and the neighbor’s voice faded at the far end of the landing.

“Ha!” Natalie snorted, having sat in silence all this time. “I like salmon too. Won’t it be a bit too rich for him?”

By then, ginger Mattie had recovered. He leapt onto the sofa, sprawled across the cushions as if he owned the place, and rewarded her with a look of pure disdain.

“The last thing you need is a cat,” her friend went on crossly. “Don’t you know? The moment a woman gets a cat, she’ll never get married.”

“How could I refuse?” Rita shrugged. “Besides, I’m not keeping him—I’m just taking care of him for a week.”

“Oh, to hell with the cat,” Natalie said airily, waving a hand. She lifted the old book from her lap and shook it with mock solemnity. “We’ve got far more important business. Here’s the deal: we’ve cast the spell, and whether you like it or not, it’s going to work. That much I promise you. And to make sure everything goes perfectly…”

She reached into her handbag and pulled out her phone.
“…I’ve got a couple of bachelors in mind…” she muttered, scrolling quickly through the screen.

“Taking matters into your own hands?” Rita smiled knowingly. “What about the spell?”

“Fortune favors those who help themselves,” Natalie replied with mock wisdom and gave the ginger cat a playful wink. “Right, my boy?”

Mattie wrinkled his nose in disdain and turned away with regal indifference, making it perfectly clear he couldn’t care less about anyone around him.

***

“No, I mean, of course he’s not Brad Pitt,” Natalie’s voice protested through the phone. “But he’s not hideous either. So he’s a little overweight—big deal.”

“And also balding, half-blind, and a bit dim,” Rita muttered with a scowl. “The first three flaws can be corrected, but stupidity at his age is beyond repair.”

“Oh, Komaro, you’re impossible to please,” her friend sighed. “That’s the third prospective groom you’ve rejected this week. One was stingy, another a bore, and now this one’s an idiot.”

“Six,” Rita corrected her sadly.

“Oh?” Natalie sounded surprised on the other end of the line. “And where did the other three come from?”

“Dropped out of the sky,” Rita giggled, a little embarrassed. “You won’t believe it—I’m starting to think our spell really is working. In such a short time, I’ve met every unmarried man in our building. One, as tradition demands, came by to borrow some salt. Another nearly ran me over with his car in the parking lot. And the third—I got stuck in the elevator with him.”

“Fantastic!” her old classmate exclaimed in admiration. “So—how did it go?”

“Nowhere.” Rita’s face darkened. “They were all just… not right.”

“Komaro!” Natalie raised her voice sharply. “Maybe it’s not them who aren’t right—maybe it’s you?”

“Maybe,” Rita admitted sadly, then tried to defend herself. “Don’t think I didn’t give it a real effort. I dressed the way you told me, did my makeup, and even listened carefully to the nonsense they spouted—nodding along like you said. But…” She let out a heavy sigh. “They all just felt so strange and unpleasant—just disappointing.”

“Of course they feel strange to you,” Natalie burst out. “You’ve been on your own too long—you’ve gone wild. You just need time to get used to it. Meet a man once and that’s it? Don’t be ridiculous. You need to see someone at least three times. Now, tell me—which of those six was the least objectionable?”

“The least?” Rita repeated, a flicker of hope in her voice. “I don’t know… Let me think…”

“All right, you think about it. In the meantime, I’ll set up another date with the not-so-bright one. Maybe on the second try he’ll seem smarter to you. He liked you, by the way.”

Ginger Mattie leapt down from the windowsill, fixed Rita with a disapproving look, and let out a loud, imperious yowl in his feline tongue to announce that it was dinnertime.

“What’s all that racket?” Natalie asked in surprise.

“It’s the neighbor’s cat—he wants his food.”

“Oh, right—the one with the taste for salmon,” her friend recalled. “So, the neighbor hasn’t come back yet?”

“Not until the day after tomorrow, I think.”

“Well then, off you go, cat mama—feed your darling pet. I’ll call you this evening about the second date.”

Once Natalie hung up, Rita hurried to the fridge. She already knew that if Mattie wasn’t fed on time, he could put on such a performance that the neighbors would start pounding on the radiator in protest. She quickly emptied a can of cat food into his dish and returned to the sofa. Curling up into a ball, she sank into thoughts of her miserable, lonely life. Maybe her friend was right—maybe there really was something wrong with her.

Ginger Mattie tore into his favorite canned food with sharp teeth, but tonight it gave him no pleasure.

*“Why me?!” he fumed. “I was living my life, minding my own business, and then—bang, crash! How many old biddies have read that book before her, and nothing happened? But no—turns out some shabby little librarian had to stumble onto actual magical talent! And as if that weren’t enough, fate dragged along her fool of a friend from the dark days of her youth—curse her! If she hadn’t barged in, they never would’ve read that damned spell. And now what? Now I, an honest and free tomcat, have been doomed to become the destined mate of some frail bookworm. Where’s the justice in that?”

“She’s not that bad, really,” a cautious inner voice objected. “Once she tidies herself up, you wouldn’t be ashamed to sit next to her… She’s smart, too, and she’s got a nice figure…”

“Shut up!” Mattie snapped at his own inner commentator. “I’ve had cats that put this scruffy girl to shame!”

He sank his teeth furiously into another juicy morsel, his tail flicking with irritation.

“And where are those cats now?” the mocking inner voice retorted. “Since that spell, you don’t even want to look at them.”

“If only I were a dog—I’d be howling my head off right now,” Mattie gave a mournful meow, wallowing in self-pity. “The worst part is, there’s no reversing this spell. I went through the whole book—nothing!”

He absentmindedly licked the last traces of sauce from his dish and cast a disgruntled look at Rita, who was still sitting thoughtfully on the sofa.

“I’ve tried everything,” the cat sighed. “I made every unmarried man in this building cross her path: knocked over a salt jar while Ross from 4B was cooking; risked my own life by darting under Mason’s car from the next building; and rigging that short circuit in the elevator when she was riding with Cooper from 7C—that was a whole operation in itself. I went above and beyond, hoping maybe she’d take a liking to one of them—but no. She found them all unpleasant!”

“What did you expect?” his inner voice chuckled. “You can’t fight a spell.”

Mattie licked his lips, confirmed that the dish was well and truly empty, and rolled his eyes heavenward in martyr-like despair.

“No help for it—so be it,” he thought grimly, then marched resolutely toward the sofa.

With a running leap onto Rita’s lap, the cat pressed his forehead gently into her palm and gave a loud meow.

“Finished eating?” the girl roused from her thoughts and stroked him lightly behind the ears.

Normally he would never allow such liberties, but this time he obediently stretched his neck.

“Mrrr-owww!” he demanded, plunking his front paws squarely onto the wretched spellbook.

“Careful, Mattie—those claws of yours,” Rita frowned. “I only just taped it back together.”

“Good Lord, life with humans is exhausting!” the cat groaned inwardly as he deftly nudged the heavy pages with his nose.

“Wow,” Rita breathed in amazement. “You actually know how to open books!”

“Spend enough time with you fools and you learn all sorts of things,” Mattie thought sourly, pulling a disgruntled face as he squinted for the right page.

“Maybe you can read, too?” Rita teased, amused.

“At least as well as you!” Mattie lifted his head with dignity and slapped a heavy paw down on the page.

“Hey, careful—” Rita tried to tug the book out from under him, but he planted his other paw on it and let out such an indignant yowl that she backed off. “All right, all right, don’t howl. What’s so special about this book? Smells like catnip to you?”

“Meo-owww!” Mattie commanded, and the girl obediently bent over the page.

“Transformation Spell…” she read aloud, then gave the cat a puzzled look. “What does that mean? What transforms into what?”

“None of your business! Just read already!” the ginger cat snorted impatiently.

“Inside each thing there hides a core,
smash the fake and show some more.
Give it new stuff, make it clear,
and let the brand-new self appear…”

Rita read aloud, then grimaced and shook her head. “Oh, for heaven’s sake—what rubbish… Mattie, you’re just like Natalie, making me read this nonsense. Mattie—where are you going?”

But the cat was no longer listening. He sprang to his feet and bolted for the kitchen. One leap—and he was already perched on the window ledge. From there, the cornice and the roof of the neighboring building were just a whisker away.

“Better hide in the shed,” he ordered himself, nimbly scrambling down a tree branch. “The last thing I need is to start transforming in front of a gawking audience.”

Half an hour later, the doorbell rang in Rita’s apartment. She opened the door to find a short, red-haired man of about thirty. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, both rumpled and ill-fitting, as if he’d snatched them straight off a clothesline. Clearing his throat, the man confidently delivered his rehearsed excuse:

“Sorry, I’m your upstairs neighbor. My towel ended up on your balcony. Could you return it to me, please?”

“Huh?” Rita stood there with her mouth foolishly agape, unable to tear her admiring gaze from the man.

“How sweet… and not strange or unpleasant at all…” flashed through her mind.

The redhead, getting no reply, stepped forward.
“The towel. On the balcony,” he reminded her.

“Yes, yes, of course!” the girl stammered, hastily stepping aside to let him in.

“First thing, I need to get rid of that book,” the redhead thought as he walked through the room. “Heaven forbid she realizes she’s actually pulled it off. A woman who’s discovered she’s a witch—that’s a terrifying power! …Ah, and I mustn’t forget to give Mrs. Jenkins a kitten. A ginger one.”

“No towel here,” he announced, cracking open the balcony door. “Must’ve blown down into the courtyard.”

“Would you like some tea?” Rita blurted, staring at him wide-eyed. “My name’s Rita. And you are…?”

“Matti—uh, kh, mmm… Matthew, I mean,” the red-haired man stammered, then sighed. “Milk would be better…”