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The trouble with owning an estate, Glinda thought, was that everyone insisted on asking for her opinion. About everything. Curtains. Hedges. Whether the horses looked “spiritually content.”
She didn’t have a moment to slow down until the clock hit noon. By then she’d already saved the estate from financial ruin twice, and hadn’t even eaten.
Her morning had begun with three ledgers stacked accusingly on her desk, each one full of numbers so nonsensical they seemed almost personally offended by the concept of arithmetic. Her father’s previous work, of course.
By ten o’clock she had recovered a missing investment portfolio, uncovered a secret stash of unpaid land taxes, and an order for seventeen dozen candlesticks that no one could explain. By eleven she had sent a sharply worded letter to the estate’s former solicitor, another to the bank, and a third to her father demanding—respectfully—that he never, ever touch a ledger again for the rest of his natural life.
And somewhere between instructing the farmhands to rearrange the milking stalls “so they look less like a penal institution” and arguing with the head dairyman about delivery times, she had simply forgotten to breathe.
So when the clock chimed noon, she nearly jumped.
“Noon? Already?” she exclaimed, staring at the long list of tasks still waiting to be done. “Oz above. Maybe this was a mistake.”
She glanced toward the doorway, half-expecting someone to appear needing something else—guidance, signatures, moral judgment about the horses again.
Instead, the hallway remained suspiciously quiet.
In the moment of respite, Glinda leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. The sunlight coming through the tall windows made everything look very serene—papers in tidy stacks, ink pot gleaming, the hearth crackling merrily—but she alone knew the chaos lurking beneath.
How odd it was, to be sitting in her father’s office.
She hadn’t spent any substantial time inside it since she was very small—back when she still fit under the great carved desk and would hide there, tugging at her father’s boots and asking endless questions about columns and sums and why the numbers in the ledgers all looked the same.
He used to let her sit on his knee and pretend to “advise” him, and she would point to random figures and declare “This one is wrong.” Which delighted him.
Then she got older, and someone sober-minded—most likely her mother—decided it was no longer becoming for a lady to concern herself with matters of the estate.
Glinda looked around her father’s office now, tapping her quill against the wood with growing disapproval. “Honestly,” she muttered to herself, “this room is a travesty.”
The ceiling beams were handsome enough—good bones, very sensible angles—but everything beneath them offended her sensibilities. The wallpaper was a faded beige that suggested neither commitment nor courage. The curtains drooped like they had given up on life entirely. The desk, though grand, was a monstrosity of heavy walnut with one too many stains of spilled whiskey.
“Dreadful,” she muttered aloud. “Positively funereal. Who designed this? Who looked at these walls and said, ‘Yes, boring and bland is exactly the mood we want for administrative work’?”
“And this molding,” she whispered, horrified. “This poor, unfortunate molding. Whoever approved this should be flayed. And the paneling! Lurline’s mercy. It’s too heavy, too gloomy—no wonder Father never caught the embezzlement, he was probably half-asleep from boredom.”
She stood, pacing now, getting warmed up.
Her eyes landed on the bookshelves. Overstuffed. Uneven. Listing slightly to the left. A crime against symmetry.
“This office needs brightness. Elevation. A skylight. Or at the very least, a window that doesn’t make me feel like jumping through it.”
She stopped at the far wall, tapping it with a fingernail. She made a mental note—no, three—to draw up potential sketches: lighter wainscoting, reorganized shelving, cleaner lines, and definitely the skylight.
She was so engrossed in redesigning the entire space in her head that she didn’t notice someone else was in the room until a familiar voice spoke from the doorway.
“Glinda?”
“Elphie!” Glinda turned to her, smiling. “What do you think, dearest? I’ll have to change the desk too, obviously. Create a proper workflow—perhaps a lighter oak. Or poplar. And wouldn’t a skylight be positively revolutio—”
Elphaba crossed the room in three long strides and kissed her.
It was not a polite kiss. Not a greeting kiss. Not even a good afternoon, darling, please don’t redesign our brand-new estate kiss.
It was a you-have-driven-me-mad-all-morning kiss.
Full, sweeping, breath-stealing—Glinda made a very tiny, very undignified squeak before she could stop herself. When they parted, she swayed forward slightly, catching herself on Elphaba’s shoulders, dazzled and pleasantly disoriented, her thoughts scattering like startled pigeons.
“Oh,” Glinda said faintly, staring at her with wide eyes. “Goodness. Hello, my darling.”
Elphaba’s lips curved into a soft, private smile she only ever wore for Glinda. “My sweet. Hello.”
“What—what was that for? Not that I’m complaining. Do you really like my ideas for the office so much?”
“I couldn’t follow along.” Elphaba rested her forehead against Glinda’s, still holding her cheeks. “I was calling your name for nearly a minute,” she murmured, kissing her once more for good measure. “You didn’t hear a thing. I thought drastic measures were required.”
“I see.” Glinda cleared her throat. “Well. Yes. Effective. Very effective. Highly recommended. I—uh—where was I?”
“The skylight,” Elphaba supplied helpfully.
“Yes, well, I—wait, no, that’s not—Elphie, why are you looking at me like that?” Because she was, indeed, looking at her with that soft, warm expression that always made Glinda’s knees think about retiring early.
“I have something for you.”
Glinda blinked. “For me? Now?”
“Mhm.” Elphaba reached into the pocket of her skirts—which Glinda knew to be very deep—and withdrew a slim, beautifully bound ledger book.
Not one of the estate’s battered old monstrosities. This one was new. Polished. Dark blue leather, soft-looking even from a distance, with subtle gold embossing along the edges. And in the center, elegantly stamped: Glinda A.
“Oh, Elphie.” Glinda took it from her hands, already smiling. “Is this your clever way of saying I should increase my productivity? The nerve. The absolute nerve of you. But thank you—”
Inside, on the first page, it read: For my favorite perfectionist. – Elphie.
It almost felled her on the spot. Truly.
But she held the tears back. It was noon, for Lurline’s sake, and she would not be an afternoon tragedy. A woman had to have standards.
“You romantic idiot,” Glinda said, voice nearly breaking.
Elphaba just chuckled.
The rest of the pages were crisp and thick. Lined neatly. The first ones were sectioned for dairy yield, feed orders, veterinary expenses, and revenue forecasts—exactly what she needed, exactly how she’d wanted it.
“Elphie, this is the most extraordinary gift anyone has ever given me.”
Elphaba laughed some more. “It’s a ledger.”
“Exactly!”
Her laughter melted into a softer smile, and she cupped Glinda’s face with infinite reverence. “Happy birthday, my sweet.”
Glinda stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”
Elphaba blinked. “Happy birthday?”
Glinda blinked back. “To whom?”
“To—to you?” Elphaba said, puzzlement making her brow furrow.
“But what are you talking about, dearest?”
“Glinda—today’s your birthday.”
Glinda placed a hand over her heart. “Elphaba, that’s impossible. Absolutely impossible. I would have remembered something as significant as my own birth.”
“Would you?” Elphaba asked, her eye flicking meaningfully to the mountain of paperwork, the ink smudges on Glinda’s cuff, and the half-eaten piece of toast abandoned on the corner of her desk from four hours ago.
Glinda followed her gaze. “…No. But I would have remembered this, surely.”
“You didn’t,” Elphaba said, amused, brushing her thumb along Glinda’s cheek. “You were more concerned with skylights just a moment ago.”
“Skylights are important, Elphaba.”
“I’m sure.” Elphaba’s mouth twitched. “It’s the twenty-fourth, Glinda.”
“The twenty—? Elphaba!” Glinda straightened up where she was standing. “Why did no one tell me? Why wasn’t I informed? Why was there no parade? No streamers? No dramatic unveiling at breakfast?”
Elphaba burst into laughter. “I tried to tell you at breakfast. You walked directly past me, announced that the estate’s entire workforce was conspiring against you, and told me I had to check on that cow that had ‘duplicitous eyes.’”
Glinda just frowned. “That was this morning?”
“Yes,” Elphaba said fondly. “Happy birthday.”
Glinda sank against the wall with a gasp, clutching her brand new ledger to her chest. “This is terrible. This is humiliating. This is—this is—”
“A summary of who you are?” Elphaba suggested, kissing her temple.
Glinda’s heart was being very inconvenient at the moment, lurching in swooping motions, trying to escape through her ribs and fling itself at Elphaba’s boots.
Glinda sighed. “Very well. If today is my birthday, then I shall celebrate it by not crying in an office.”
“Wonderful idea.”
“Thank you for the present, darling, truly,” Glinda said, setting the ledger on the desk. “I love it.”
She turned to Elphaba, meaning to say something else, something gracious and civilized and very birthday-person-like—but Elphaba’s hands had already found her waist.
“Do you?” Elphaba murmured, tugging her closer. “Love it, I mean?”
It made Glinda laugh, and she looped her arms around Elphaba’s neck. “You’re very good to me,” she murmured, brushing their lips together. “Suspiciously good.”
Elphaba pulled her flush against her, smiling so charmingly. “I have my moments.”
“You certainly do.” Glinda kissed her, warmth curling through her chest. Elphaba responded immediately, deepening the kiss, her hands tightening just enough to draw a delighted gasp from Glinda.
“I could kiss you all day,” Elphaba whispered, kissing along Glinda’s cheekbone, her jaw, the spot just under her ear that made Glinda see stars
She let out a soft, pleased sound, tilting her head to give her better access, fingers curling in the fabric of Elphaba’s collar. “Elphie—”
The door burst open.
“Mum! It’s your—ew!”
Liir froze in the doorway, eyes wide with horror, arms outstretched as if to physically stop anything from happening. Killyjoy was behind him, happily wagging his tail, and behind him tumbled a snowfall of six seven-month-old dogs—ears too big, paws too clumsy, enthusiasm too unregulated.
Glinda and Elphaba jerked apart like two teenagers caught behind the barn.
“You’re kissing in the office?” Liir demanded, nose scrunched.
The dogs immediately overtook the room, skidding across the floor, knocking into the bookshelves and circling their legs. One attempted to climb into Glinda’s chair. Another attempted to eat a ledger. A third tried to sit on Elphaba’s boot.
Oh, dreadful. Glinda cleared her throat. “Darling boy, hello. Is there a reason you’ve brought all the dogs inside?”
“They followed me!” Liir protested, flustered and red-eared. “Anyhow—I came to give you a birthday present but now everything is ruined because you two were”—He shuddered violently— “doing things.”
Glinda sniffed, regaining her dignity by sheer force of will. “We were just being a little affectionate on my birthday.”
“That’s worse,” Liir said.
“We’ve done much worse than just kiss,” said Elphaba, because she didn’t care that Liir was still a little boy. And she didn’t even care when Glinda made an scandalized noise. “You shouldn’t barge in without knocking, brat.”
“This is an office.” Liir scoffed. “You’re doing unseemly things.”
One of the dogs—Bedtime—padded across the floor, knocking into everything she could, including Glinda’s shins, and tried to eat her skirts.
“Can we move this out of my father’s—” Glinda snatched her skirts free. “Out of my office? Thank you very much.”
When the dogs started to grow up, and it became painfully clear that Liir had no intention of giving any of them away—and fully intended to care for every last one—Glinda had worried it would all be far too much to manage.
But she needn’t have worried.
“Alright!” Liir called. “Everyone, follow me!” And as soon as he went out the door, the pack followed.
“He’s like magic with those things,” Glinda muttered. The only dog that stayed behind was little Bedtime, happily hopping along besides Glinda.
“You are too, my sweet,” said Elphaba, smiling.
They stepped out onto the porch, Bedtime prancing at Glinda’s heels with all the pomp of a royal guard. The afternoon light lay over the fields like a warm hand, making the grass look velvety and the barnhouses freshly burnished. A soft breeze rolled through, scented with hay and rain-brushed soil. Oz, Glinda loved this place. She truly did.
The dogs scattered the moment they tumbled outside, barking and chasing one another across the yard and most likely looking for their mother, though Fae rarely gave them the time of day.
Liir and Killyjoy stayed at the top of the steps, waiting. Liir had something hidden behind his back, rocking on his heels with the energy of a kettle about to whistle. His smile was enormous, gap-toothed and glorious, all his front teeth in various stages of erupting.
Glinda ached for him.
“Mum,” he said, bouncing a little. “I made you something.”
“Oh, darling,” Glinda breathed. “You did?”
“It took me forever,” he added importantly, “and I used glue—real glue—and paint. And I didn’t let anyone see except Kiljoy. Not even Mama. ”
Elphaba sniffed as if it offended her. “Well then,” she said, stepping beside Glinda with a raised eyebrow, “let’s see what all the industrial materials were used for.”
Liir thrust the object forward.
Glinda accepted it, slightly startled. It was a—cardboard penholder. Sort of. Mostly.
It had once been a small square box, but Liir had painted it with such enthusiasm that the layers of gilt-blue streaks had given it the texture of geological sediment. And glued—firmly, inexplicably—to the bottom was a full-sized horseshoe, which Glinda could tell was going to make the contraption tilt and wobble every time it was put down.
“Do you love it?” Liir bounced on his toes.
“What’s with the horseshoe?” Elphaba muttered.
“Darling boy,” Glinda said, voice overflowing with emotion. “It’s magnificent. I love it, I do.”
Liir beamed up at her. “Truly?”
“Yes! Look at these colors! And this… this structural uniqueness!” She angled it gently—whereuopon it nearly toppled out of her hand because the horseshoe was quite heavy. “My word! It has personality!”
“It’s for your desk,” Liir explained. “So you can put your pens in it when you’re doing numbers and stuff. And because you always forget your things. So now you won’t.”
Elphaba laughed. Glinda, however, paused. Forget her things? Was that… a pattern? Truly?
“Thank you, Liir,” Glinda said. “It’s easily the most extraordinary present I have ever received.”
Elphaba leaned in. “You said that about the ledger five minutes ago.”
“I have room in my heart for multiple extraordinary things,” Glinda declared, wiping at a suspicious bit of moisture forming under her lashes. “Oh, Liir. Thank you. Thank you, thank you.”
“And—” With a little flourish that looked so much like one of her own gestures—Lurline, it almost undid her—Liir produced a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “I got you something else! Because Mama only got you one thing.”
Elphaba scoffed. “Are you trying to one-up me, brat?”
“Hush, Elphie.” Glinda took it with so much enthusiasm she nearly ripped the damn thing. Though she knew what it was going to be—Liir had become so beautifully artistic again these past few months. A habit he’d lost completely during their tumultuous months at Colwen Grounds, and one she was beyond relieved to see restored.
So yes, it was a drawing—earnest, colorful, chaotic in the charming way only children’s drawings could be. The three of them stood together: Glinda in a gown with no fewer than twelve ruffles, Elphaba tall and scowling in her angular, sensible clothes, and Liir between them, holding both their hands. Behind them were cows and horses with enormous eyelashes, the house with wildly inaccurate proportions, and eight dogs—each unmistakably distinct—were rendered with far more detail than anything else on the page.
“Oh,” Glinda whispered, her throat tightening immediately. “Oh, Lurline. Oh, Liir.”
Liir beamed. “Do you like it!?”
“Yes, darling, yes. So much.” She looked up at Elphaba, watery-eyed again. “Look, Elphie. Look at us. He made us look so happy.”
“We are happy,” Elphaba murmured gently, placing a hand at the small of Glinda’s back. “Aren’t we?”
“We certainly are.” Glinda sniffled loudly. “Liir, my sweet boy, I’m going to frame this. No—better—I’m going to have it professionally framed. With matting. And perhaps gilding.”
“Look how I drew you,” he said excitedly, pointing at Glinda’s drawn figure, whose hair was roughly three times the size of her actual head. “I made your hair really big because you always fix it like that when you talk to important people.”
Glinda gave a watery, delighted laugh. “Yes, well, I have to have presence. Can I give you a hug?”
He nodded, and she bent down to wrap him in her arms—it was supposed to be gentle, but it became enormous within half a heartbeat. “Thank you, Liir. Thank you, thank you, thank you. This is the best birthday anyone could ever have.”
Liir squeezed her back happily, but briefly. “I knew you’d like it.”
Look at him, Glinda thought.
Her boy, impossibly tall all of a sudden, his curls longer than last season, his cheeks less round. Still small, still soft, but growing. Growing so quickly she sometimes felt she was chasing after him in her own home.
She remembered—not that many months ago—nights when Liir would wake screaming from dreams he couldn’t explain, and Elphaba would sit with him on the floor, whispering so softly Glinda couldn’t hear the words but could feel her voice easing his breaths. Nights when Glinda wished she could soften the sharp edges of the world and keep him safe forever.
And mornings when he’d sit between them, sleep-heavy and blinking, clutching Elphaba’s sleeve with one hand and Glinda’s hair with the other, refusing to let either of them leave the bed.
He’d had fewer nightmares this year. Fewer shadows in his eyes. More laughter. More light.
He had grown into—grown out of the worst of it, just as Elphaba had.
Glinda turned her gaze to her, watching Elphaba watch Liir with that quiet, tender pride that became more evident every day. Elphaba had softened so much since moving to Frottica—eased, healed, as if love and peace and this ridiculous home full of dogs had settled something inside her that had always been restless.
Both of them, Glinda realized, finally feel safe.
The thought hit her with such force she had to lean against the porch railing.
“Mum?” Liir asked. “Are you alright?”
“I’m doing wonderful, darling.” She suppressed a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, reminding herself that he was here. “It’s lunchtime, isn’t it? Why don’t you freshen up and we can go somewhere nice in town?”
Liir snickered, eyes alight with mirth. He actually was looking at Elphaba. “You didn’t tell her?”
“Tell me what?” Glinda asked with a frown.
“We have plans,” Elphaba said, coy as ever. “Why don’t you freshen up?”
“Are you saying I need to?” Glinda looked down, and sure her hands were stained with ink but that hardly mattered. She was still dressed quite well, thank you very much. “Unless I need to wear something formal. Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise,” said Liir, because he got all of Elphaba’s coyness.
“A surprise for me?” asked Glinda. “Oh my. How thrilling! What should I wear, then?”
Elphaba stepped closer, gently brushing a smear of ink from Glinda’s thumb. “Just something you love,” she murmured. “We’ll be waiting.”
Liir nodded enthusiastically, curls bouncing. “And hurry!”
“Well, alright—but I’m getting scared.”
“No need to be scared.” Elphaba leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Trust us.”
Glinda did. More than she had ever trusted anything or anyone.
So she lifted the horseshoe-bottomed penholder, cradled it like a treasure, and headed inside with a happy little flutter in her chest.
Behind her, she heard Liir and Elphaba exchange conspiratorial whispers, but they were too clever for her to catch wind of the words.
Her family—her whole, improbable little family—plotting something bright and kind for her.
Glinda pressed a hand to her heart as she went back inside, smiling to herself.
I am loved beyond measure, she thought.
What a lovely way to grow older.