The sun was shining bright that Friday afternoon, and Ama decided, as she did most days, to take her paperwork and recipe-making and writing outside, to her special veranda outside the potion café. On the veranda was where her two children, Kofi and Afia, typically met her for their afternoon potion tradition, something which had taken place most every Friday since Kofi moved out and Afia began attending university.

Though her daughter still lived in their flat catty-corner to the café, Ama did not see too terribly much of her. Afia’s sleep schedule was erratic at best, and sometimes she’d be up scribbling on a thesis or paper for class when Ama awoke in the morning to open the café, but she wasn’t sure whether Afia had just woken up or had yet to fall asleep. In her experience, it was just as likely one as the other.