Page 3 of Dark & Deceitful

I will not cry.

Not now.

Not in front of him.

Not when Lily is waiting for me to watchCoraline,in our matching pajamas—black-with-white skulls. It’s our thing. She may not be mine. She may be the byproduct of her father's infidelity. But from the first moment I saw her on that stoop, wrapped in her ladybug blanket, I loved her as if she were my own. Alright, maybe not right away. There was shock and tears involved. After that, when things died down, and I adjusted to my new normal, we bonded—hard.

Not giving Dark time to draw his own conclusion and refusing to admit it still bothers me, I return the gun to the drawer, snatch my tea, and find Lily in the living room, snuggled up on my black, overstuffed couch. I set my mug on the end table and drop beside her. Lily drapes our favorite raven blanket across our laps and presses play to start girls’ night.

And just like that… Dark’s forgotten.

Poof.

A distant memory.

At least for a little while.

Whenever he finally leaves to go on his date with Abby, I don’t hear him go.

Lily’s word-for-word reciting ofCoralinemakes enduring her father worth it.

For hours, it’s us girls and our movies.

After our third show, well past Lily’s bedtime, we clean up our mess in the living room before we finish with our nightly ritual.

Petting a raven’s head that’s perched on a wooden branch on the console table by the front door, Lily whispers a secret into his ear and removes the smudge stick from his mouth. I extract the matches from the drawer in the end table as Lily approaches with the new stick I made with desert sage and lavender—to clean, bless, heal, remove negativity, and promote calmness.

I’m teaching her the ways—of new and old.

Just as my mother did.

Where my sons have followed in their father’s footsteps—Lily’s early fascination with what Mother Nature offers has been an unexpected but welcome blessing.

Together, we light the smudge stick by the front door and walk through my home, turning clockwise within each room and opening a window to let all the negative energy out. We offer the universe our quiet chants, in various tongues, my mother taught me.

At the back door, Lily retrieves the bowl of sand to extinguish the sage and lavender stick.

Now it’s time for rest.

Up the stairs, I follow her to her eldest brother's bedroom—Tarek’s. He moved out years ago. Now a patched Sacred Sinner living across the country, I don’t see him much, but we talk or text often. Lily has turned his old room into her own when she stays the night.

The adorable girl crawls into the bed as I retrieve the chamomile and lavender oil from the nightstand. Sitting on the edge of the mattress beside her, I tuck Lily in as she snuggles down into the pillows and puts her arms out, palms up.

I open the bottle and apply a single droplet to the inside of her wrists. She rubs them together before audibly inhaling the scent and sighing. “I love this stuff,” she notes. Smiling wide, Lily shows off her pearly whites—one crooked, another just starting to come in.

“Do you still have the bottle at home?” Lily loves essential oils, so I’ve made sure she has whatever scents on hand to use, even when I’m not around.

“Yes.” She wiggles around under the blanket, getting comfy.

“Does Dad put it on you each night?”

“If I ask him to.”

Satisfied with her answer, I lean in and kiss her forehead. “Love you, kiddo. Thanks for another fun girls’ night.”

Little arms circle my neck in a brief hug. “Love you, too.” She squeezes once and frees me. It reminds me of the days when my boys were little—our nightly rituals were much like this. We lived in a much smaller home back then—a two-bedroom, single-story 1950s-era rental with their father. That was long ago. Nine years, to be exact. When Dark never returned home, and our year lease was up, I needed to get out. Living there when I didn’t know if my husband was dead or alive, with all those memories held within those walls, wasn’t healthy for me. So, I got my first mortgage with the help of another and started anew in more ways than one. It’s crazy to think I’ll have met this little girl eight years ago tomorrow.

A final blanket tuck around Lily, and her eyes drift closed.

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