got married. I bless the meal with a honeysuckle candle. In the language of flowers, honeysuckle represents the bonds of love. I make the candles from the honeysuckle that grows on the edge of our property. I feel it ties home, family, and love all together.” She waved the candle around a bit more, and then blew it out.
“That’s lovely,” I said and looked down at my hands resting on the table. I wasn’t a person who believed in things like that. It seemed too much like fairy tale magic. But maybe if someone in my family had been more magical, our bonds would have been strong enough.
I hadn’t noticed Marigold sit down at the table next to me. I jumped when she laid her hand on my arm. Her fingers were warm and dry. “I can teach you how to make the candles if you like. I’m due to make another batch anyway.”
I looked into her open face. “Sure, I’d like that.” I imagined my mom laughing as I waved one of those candles over her beef stroganoff. She’d tease me, but she’d let me do it. I wondered if you had to believe in it for the magic to work.
She patted my arm and stood. “Good. After Malcolm leaves, we’ll get to it. Unless you have plans for your afternoon?”
I thought back to Celia’s good-bye when we left the restaurant. “Tell mom I’m still at work, and I’ll be home to help make the lasagna,” she had said.
“No plans. I can stay.” I looked over at Malcolm to gauge his reaction to his mom and me hanging out. Freya and Finn would have been mortified if I hung out with their mom without them. Malcolm had finished grating the cheese and was leaning against the counter smiling though, so he must not be embarrassed by his mom.
“Fay, would you set the table?” Marigold asked me. “Just push all that fabric to the center. We’ll do our best not to spill on it.”
“Certainly.” Warmth spread through me at the request. I couldn’t really explain why it made me so happy, except that it made me feel like part of the family. “Where do you keep the plates?”
It hadn’t only been a lure; after the fajitas, Malcolm was true to his word and made ice cream sundaes. His mom gave him an odd look when he sprinkled a little cinnamon on mine. “That’s new,” she said.
He only shrugged and apologized to me for the absence of cherries. After a strangely humorous conversation about Marigold’s father’s funeral—He’d wanted to be buried in a purple polka-dot suit and an orange bow tie, and wanted Weird Al songs played continuously, to cheer up the mourners—Marigold shooed us away, insisting that she do the dishes so Malcolm and I could have a little time alone together before he went back to work. She said it just like that, too. Time alone together.
I followed him down a hallway to his room, missing the security blanket of his mother. He walked into his room, but I lingered at the doorway. “Are you sure it’s okay if I come in? Won’t your mom mind?”
Malcolm sat down on his bed. “She won’t care.”
My parents allowed Finn in my room. They even allowed him to sleep over when Freya did, though that was probably because we’d been doing it since we were seven years old, and we still lined up our sleeping bags across the living room floor the same way we did back then. I hesitated, suddenly understanding what it must have been like for my friends all these years. “I like your mom, and I don’t want to give her any reason to dislike me.”
He smiled and patted the bed next to him. “It’s fine. Come sit. I’ll show you around my room.”
I sat beside him, and we scooted back to lean against the wall, our feet dangling off the side of the bed. I still wore my tennis shoes, but his feet were bare. “Look, even your toes are hairy.”
“Do you like my hairy toes?” He wiggled them.
“Yes, I do.”
“I think that’s the best compliment I’ve ever
“That’s lovely,” I said and looked down at my hands resting on the table. I wasn’t a person who believed in things like that. It seemed too much like fairy tale magic. But maybe if someone in my family had been more magical, our bonds would have been strong enough.
I hadn’t noticed Marigold sit down at the table next to me. I jumped when she laid her hand on my arm. Her fingers were warm and dry. “I can teach you how to make the candles if you like. I’m due to make another batch anyway.”
I looked into her open face. “Sure, I’d like that.” I imagined my mom laughing as I waved one of those candles over her beef stroganoff. She’d tease me, but she’d let me do it. I wondered if you had to believe in it for the magic to work.
She patted my arm and stood. “Good. After Malcolm leaves, we’ll get to it. Unless you have plans for your afternoon?”
I thought back to Celia’s good-bye when we left the restaurant. “Tell mom I’m still at work, and I’ll be home to help make the lasagna,” she had said.
“No plans. I can stay.” I looked over at Malcolm to gauge his reaction to his mom and me hanging out. Freya and Finn would have been mortified if I hung out with their mom without them. Malcolm had finished grating the cheese and was leaning against the counter smiling though, so he must not be embarrassed by his mom.
“Fay, would you set the table?” Marigold asked me. “Just push all that fabric to the center. We’ll do our best not to spill on it.”
“Certainly.” Warmth spread through me at the request. I couldn’t really explain why it made me so happy, except that it made me feel like part of the family. “Where do you keep the plates?”
It hadn’t only been a lure; after the fajitas, Malcolm was true to his word and made ice cream sundaes. His mom gave him an odd look when he sprinkled a little cinnamon on mine. “That’s new,” she said.
He only shrugged and apologized to me for the absence of cherries. After a strangely humorous conversation about Marigold’s father’s funeral—He’d wanted to be buried in a purple polka-dot suit and an orange bow tie, and wanted Weird Al songs played continuously, to cheer up the mourners—Marigold shooed us away, insisting that she do the dishes so Malcolm and I could have a little time alone together before he went back to work. She said it just like that, too. Time alone together.
I followed him down a hallway to his room, missing the security blanket of his mother. He walked into his room, but I lingered at the doorway. “Are you sure it’s okay if I come in? Won’t your mom mind?”
Malcolm sat down on his bed. “She won’t care.”
My parents allowed Finn in my room. They even allowed him to sleep over when Freya did, though that was probably because we’d been doing it since we were seven years old, and we still lined up our sleeping bags across the living room floor the same way we did back then. I hesitated, suddenly understanding what it must have been like for my friends all these years. “I like your mom, and I don’t want to give her any reason to dislike me.”
He smiled and patted the bed next to him. “It’s fine. Come sit. I’ll show you around my room.”
I sat beside him, and we scooted back to lean against the wall, our feet dangling off the side of the bed. I still wore my tennis shoes, but his feet were bare. “Look, even your toes are hairy.”
“Do you like my hairy toes?” He wiggled them.
“Yes, I do.”
“I think that’s the best compliment I’ve ever
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