But then the reason sifted down and gently landed on Seb. It started out light and became heavier and heavier as it settled over him. Muriel was exactly like her daughter. Matty didn’t want Muriel. Not really. He wanted Cora. He was sick and wanted his mommy.

Fuck. Seb squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead against Matty’s shoulder. Pain, acute and old at the same time, washed right through him. Right after Cora had died, he’d naively waited for the day that he wouldn’t feel this excruciating sadness over the loss of her. It was far less frequent, but he knew now that it would never be gone. Not really.

“I’m gonna send my friends home, and you and me will watch a movie, okay?” He paused. “And I’ll call Grandma Sullivan and see if she wants to come stay for a day or two this week.”

“No, Daddy. Don’t send them home. I like having them here. One of them is a witch. They can stay. But can I watch a movie still?”

Seb laughed a little at his breathless little boy. At everything the kid wanted. His yo-yo of emotions. He planted a kiss on Matty’s hair, smelling like familiar shampoo and sick kid. “Of course.”

He set up the movie, and by the time he got back out to the main room, they’d mostly cleared up breakfast. The group sat with their coffee cups in the living room, and Seb was relieved to see that they looked a bit more relaxed.

“Seb,” Mary called. “Via wanted to see your workshop, remember?”

“Oh right. Now?” He wondered if he should ask if Fin also wanted a tour, but she seemed comfortable where she was.

“Sure.” Via rose and took her coffee cup with her as he led her out the back door and through the postage stamp–size backyard.

He caught Via smiling at the swing set he’d installed for Matty. “It’s nice that you have an actual house. For Matty to grow up in, I mean.”

“Yeah. We were both done living in an apartment building. Here we are.”

They strolled up to a converted garage with an old elm tree shooting yellow sprays of color from every branch and grass a month past a necessary trim. Sebastian bent and unlocked a padlock before rolling up the aluminum garage door and flicking on a few lamps in various corners.

“Sebastian!” Via gasped as she walked into the garage and turned a slow circle on the spot. “Good Lord! How many pieces are you working on at one time?”

He couldn’t tell if she was impressed or put off by the organized chaos that bore down on them from every side. He chuckled and scraped a worn palm over his beard, as much in need of a trim as the grass in his yard. When you were a single father, you had to learn to let some things slide. The noise of his stubble against his dry skin was loud in the sudden quiet. He chuckled to himself, because he was seeing the garage workshop from her eyes and because he was nervous. Good and nervous. Like a damned teenager.