Micah: Have a great date. Be yourself and I guarantee she’ll love you
Micah: And remember, you’re grown. So if you wanna give it up on your first date who gon check you?
Pocketing my phone after reading Micah’s texts, I have to fight to wipe the goofy expression off my face when I walk into the Wick at the Knees store. This fool.
The front of the store has an airy feel, with wooden showcases covering every wall. Each shelf is lined with different-sized candles grouped by color. A dessert bar is set up in the center of the room, but instead of sweets, it holds mini candles. A rack next to the station holds tiny shopping bags so people can create their own sample packs.
I have to bring Nisha here; she would love this.
A sign points me toward a back room where the class is being held. Clear chairs surround two long tables. Each station is set up with a burner, a pitcher, and these adorable instruction cards. I must be the last to arrive because all but one station is occupied.
“Welcome, everyone.” The velvety voice of a woman with chestnut skin, braids in a Burmese bob, and lips painted a deep purple cascades over the room. “This is the Candle Bar Experience. My name’s Samira, I’m the owner here at Wick at the Knees. Today we’ll be making coconutsoy wax candles. Our class is ninety minutes, but the last thirty of that will be leaving your candles to cure. So, any questions before we get started?”
Samira instructs us to go over to the far wall and select as many scents as we’d like for our candles so that they’re ready when we get to that step. One of the couples and one of the single women seem to think they’re in a competition show and they race over to the wall, sifting through the options as quickly as they can. I pick my first scent immediately—lavender—but then I take my time sorting through the others until I find two that make the perfect complement: geranium and rosemary. Something about these together feels like a warm hug.
Samira walks us through the steps of getting our water boiling, measuring our wax into our pitchers, and setting our wicks in our jars.
The meticulousness of the steps is soothing for me. I like that I can rely on exact measurements and temperatures. Doing this at home would probably be the perfect activity when I’m stressed out.
Samira glides around the room, helping those who need it and making suggestions. When it’s time to add our fragrance oil, she instructs us when to pour it into the wax and how long to mix it. She compliments everyone on their scents and I wonder if she really likes all of our combinations or if she’s gone nose blind from doing this.
Around the one-hour mark, she announces, “Okay, everyone. Your candles now need to cure for at least thirty minutes before they’re travel safe. Please feel free to grab a snack while you wait, or you can do a little shopping. And don’t forget to take your cards with you when you leave today in case you want to continue your candle-making journey at home.”
I grab the card and shove it in my purse. I end up buying candles for Nisha and my mom and then picking Samira’s brain on materials to buy to make more at home. I’m starting to realize why Tanya was always picking up random hobbies; she was consistently dating herself.
We’re given labels to put on our candle jars so that we can create custom names. I struggle to find a name for mine, so much so that I’m theonly one still lingering in the classroom by the time I come up with it. I grab the Sharpie and writeLittle Momentsacross the label.
When I get home, I hop in the shower to get ready to christen my new candle. Once I’m clean and I’ve slipped into my silk robe, I light the wick with my lighter and slide between my sheets.
The aroma shifts through the air, coiling itself around all my senses.
Damn, I made a good choice.
It’s crisp and earthy with a subtle softness to it. It’s familiar.
Images of Micah take my mind hostage until I find the courage to voice my thoughts:I miss him.
That’s the terrifying yet freeing truth. I miss Micah. And I shouldn’t, because he’s here and he wants to give me everything.
I’m not ready for everything.
But I am ready for … something.
I grab my phone and dial his number.
“Your date over already?”
I turn over so I’m lying flat on my back and put the phone on my chest. “Yep, it’s over. I decided not to put out this time, but she did take me to a nice meal before the class.”
“Ahh, okay, well, did she bring you flowers?”
I hum. “Nope, she didn’t.”
“That bitch,” he gasps. “You deserve better than that.”
“Oh, yeah? Maybe you can show her how it’s done.”
“I sure can. Give me her number, I can put her on with the local florists around here.”
