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He shrugged and pulled up a stool next to Priscilla. “What Cilla wants, Cilla gets.”
When they shared a conspiratory smile, I knew without question that they were wrapped around each other’s fingers.
I tried not to think about what that would mean come the end of the summer.
“All right, knuckleheads—we have work to do. What should we show him first, Cilla?”
“Clean the wax!”
“Okay. Bas, fill this pot with water, would you?” I nodded to the sink and passed him a stock pot.
“Done.” He stuck the pot under the filtered tap and turned it on.
Priscilla scrambled up the stool next to the stove where a stockpot of wax had already cooled, and I reached in, scooped out the slab of wax floating on top of the water, and set it on a stretch of wax paper on the counter.
“Trade you,” I said, and Sebastian took the one in my hands before bringing me the fresh pot.
He watched over my shoulder as I put the fresh pot in, fired up the burner, and dropped the wax in.
“How many times do you do that?” he asked.
“Three or four, until it’s clean. See the imperfections in there? When those are all gone, it’s ready to be used. Everything but the wax sinks, but it takes a few times to get it all.” I turned to Priscilla. “Okay, what’s next, bug?”
“Melting and smellies!”
“Yes! Show Daddy where the cellar is.”
“Okay,” she said as she climbed down and took Sebastian’s hand. “It’s here, Daddy. It smells icky but worms are there. We’re friends. I show you.”
“Worms, huh?”
“Yes. Fred and Sally and Barbara.” The energy it took her to get out the name Barbara amused both me and Sebastian. She pointed at the rope handle of the hatch in the floor. “Down there.”
He pulled it open and climbed down the ladder. His hands reappeared to grab Priscilla, and I heard them talking as she showed him several worms and directed him to the jars of shaved wax I’d pre-measured out.
I’d done a lot of imagining over the years about what this would be like—a family—and it almost wasn’t fair that he was this good, this perfect. It didn’t make the situation easier. It made it so much harder. Because I knew the odds of this lasting, and they weren’t good. I shouldn’t have been surprised at his natural skill—Sebastian had historically done everything right, with the exception of our impermanence. And I couldn’t even say that he’d done that wrong. Just not exactly to my liking.
I did my best not to dwell on the impermanence of this either. I told myself that knowing her father was good for Priscilla, even if he was leaving. We’d find a way to explain it to her. She wouldn’t understand, but we’d try. This had to be what people did when they parented but weren’t together. It had to be better for her to have some instability than to not know him.
But oh, how nice it would be to be a family like this always.
As we worked, we moved around each other like a well-oiled machine. He anticipated what I needed, taking a share of the work without needing to be asked or requiring instruction. When Priscilla got rowdy, he stepped in before I could. I wondered over the newfound extension of our natural, familiar state. We’d always been easy, working together without any hurdles. But the way he so naturally cared for Priscilla and jumped into work—whatever work it might be—without stumbling astounded me.
Just another example of the magic we’d always had. But this time, losing it would be harder than ever. And all I could do was brace myself for it.
There was nothing more heady than seeing Sebastian holding Priscilla on his hip while I melted wax and she talked to Persephone the earthworm in her hand while she told Sebastian the worm’s life story. Or watching him dip the metal tab of a wick in wax and stick it to the bottom of one of many pink vessels on the table under Priscilla’s direction. She poured in the scent while Sebastian stirred—she’d decided today was strawberry cream day—and then she oversaw his pouring, giving him pointers like only a know-it-all preschooler can.
We were barely into the second batch when she lost interest of candle making in favor of Elvis, who’d been gnawing on a huge stick he’d dragged in until Priscilla interrupted him to play puppy. When she chased him out the door, barking, Sebastian couldn’t stop laughing. I just shook my head and sighed, but it was a happy, satisfied sound.
I stirred. Sebastian poured in the scented oil—I’d won this time with a fig/amber/sandalwood combination that always reminded me of Sebastian. I wondered if he knew.
A rap on the threshold revealed Jo. Priscilla hung from her hip like a monkey, and Elvis was panting and jumping to nip at her dangling feet.
