“Have you practiced your fingerspelling?”
“I have, as a matter of fact,” I said, puffing out my chest. “It was actually helpful as a grounding exercise when I was, um… not feeling so well earlier today. I was just thinking of random words and spelling them out. Doing something with my hands is helpful, I think.”
“Oh, look at you. Fast learner. Want to try out a couple signs for words, then?”
“I love a challenge.”
We sat on the couch together for a while, and on some level it was turmoil in my mind—the idea that this Jade, who was sosweet and made me feel so safe, was the one who’d wound up a pariah among my other new friends. That she was the one who’d insulted Charlie about her relationship like Abby had said.
But I didn’t need to worry about any of that right now. What was important was that weweremaking progress with her and Daniela. She’d admitted to having had a crush on Daniela, and she’d been open to the possibility of something coming from it if Daniela came to her and leveled about everything.
It gave me a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach, like some part of me was afraid of it, but I didn’t want to dig into that. Probably just the small, panicked part of me that was afraid they’d both stop talking to me if they got together.
I’d cross that bridge when I came to it. For now, we were… friends? Could I call us that now? It certainly felt like it, the two of us sitting side-by-side on the couch sharing tea while she taught me more sign language, and once the chatter wound down and the tea ran dry, she flashed a smile at me.
“So, want to smell some wax?”
“Really?” I laughed. “That’s how you offer?”
“Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it, just… I’m not exactly experienced, so be gentle with me.” Jesus, that came out sounding wrong. Jade turned her back to me as she stood up, so I didn’t get to see her reaction, but I really hoped we weren’t bringing me up on it.
“Well, let me get the table set up,” she said, a little too quickly. She’d absolutely thought it sounded wrong, too, and was just not addressing it. Maybe I should have just laid down outside.
I sat with her as she prepared a big wooden table, stocked with glass jars and wax melts, with a big shelf of what looked like scent oils, some equipment I couldn’t make sense of. She laid out a wide, shallow box between us and opened up to a collection oflittle wax discs inside, handwritten labels next to each one with percentages of different scents.
“These are samples,” she explained as she lifted one marked aspeach/bergamot/black tea, 50/30/20.“The final candle will smell a lot different than the melted wax solution when you’re actually adding the scents, so you can test it live to find something in the right range, but to know for sure what the candle is going to be like, you have to prepare a sample like this.”
“You have so many different blends listed here.”
“Like I said,” she said, gruffly amused, “this one’s been a pain in the neck for me. It doesn’t normally take this much effort.”
“They all smell amazing.”
“Well, don’t go Daniela on me and just say it’s all good,” she laughed. “We’ll test all of these and see how they smell cold, and then I’ll turn on the wax burner and we’ll see the hot throw, which is how well it casts scent when it’s hot.”
“Okay. I can follow that.” Honestly, sitting around smelling nice things sounded like a great way to spend some time. She took two small white candles from the shelf next to her, and she set one down in front of each of us.
“A neutral scent. To reset in between candles.”
“Why do I feel like I’m at a wine tasting?”
“I’m not classy enough for that. That’s why I called it smelling wax.”
“Please, let’s not call it that anymore,” I laughed, but I went ahead with the wax-smelling event. It was a little tricky at first to pin down what she was talking about—they all smelled amazing, but she held them up to her nose for much longer, clearly thinking deeply about them.
Eventually, she gave me a test one that was just peach, and she showed me how the scent was flat, one-dimensional, cloyingly sweet. Showed me how sandalwood dried out thesticky-sweet scent of the peach alone, and how a bit of spice made it sharper, more focused. How the bitter florals of bergamot rounded it out, and a dozen more things, so that when I refreshed on the neutral scent and went back in, I found myself lingering on one with oak and vanilla.
“This one’s really nice,” I breathed, lingering with it under my nose. “It feels… luxurious. Sophisticated. But still… well, you know, peachy.”
“Oh, yeah?” She held out a hand, and I gave her the sample for her to sample, breathing it in with her eyes closed. I found myself briefly fixed on looking at her, at how she seemed to forget the rest of the world when she was smelling the candle… lingering long on it, and you could just tell every aspect of her was focused on the candle. So… attentive.
I flushed, suddenly nervous for no reason, and when she opened her eyes again, I got more embarrassed at her seeing me. “I see what you mean,” she said, but she stopped, furrowing her brow. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just… thinking of something.” I didn’t even know what I was thinking of.
“Are you all right?” she said, voice turning serious. “Is it about—?”
