Maybe with Ori’s help, I could get a firm grip on this and not have to worry Donovan anymore. When we’d gone to visit his family back in January, he’d been willing to cancel the whole trip for fear of me running into whatever ghosts haunted Chicago. How many people would back out of a trip to visit the family they hadn’t seen in months for the comfort of their new boyfriend?
Oh. This must be what Ori had meant about wandering thoughts.
Focus, Alex. In for four, hold for four, out for four. Pull your attention back. No judging, just counting.
I repeated the instructions over and over, focusing on each breath, holding the numbers in my head. To my surprise, it actually did get a little easier, and I was able to bring my wandering mind back fairly quickly. It felt like no time at all before Ori spoke, breaking the quiet.
“How was that?” they asked.
“Surprisingly, not bad.” I blinked, looking around the shop out of habit before turning back to Ori. “My mind kind of wandered at first, but I pulled it back. I feel more relaxed, too.”
“That’s great progress, Alex. The more you practice, the more you’ll be able to do it without even thinking about it. Did noticing your breathing help?”
“Yep. I counted out the seconds and it helped to give my brain something to hold on to. Guess all those panic attacks as a kid had to be good for something,” I joked, then immediately winced. Ori wasn’t used to my weird sense of humor like my friends were. Luckily, they just laughed.
“I get it. I’ve had anxiety almost as long as I’ve been able to understand what it was. A lot of the practices at managing it line up pretty well with mindfulness and meditation. It’s not a great trade-off, but sometimes, any win is better than nothing.”
“Completely agreed. So, how often should I do this?”
“As often as you feel comfortable doing it,” they said with a shrug. “You can start working on some of the crystals you picked out whenever you feel comfortable. The clear quartz would be a good one for when you’re focusing on mindfulness. You can put it in the room with you or hold it in your hand as a focus.”
“I was wondering about a few of them. That black one… I forget what it’s called?”
“The black tourmaline?”
I nodded. “That one. Someone used it to completely bar spirits from entering my house. If I kept it with me all the time, would that keep ghosts from being able to approach me?” I hated to ask, hated that a little part of me wished I could keep them away forever and not have to deal with this anymore, but I had to know.
“That depends,” Ori said slowly. “If you push those intentions toward the stone, it’ll likely do just that. I’ve seen others use it as a way to focus their abilities because it has a strong psychic connection. It really depends on what youwantto do with it.”
“You keep mentioning all these ‘others’. Are there more people with abilities like me out in the world?”
Ori smiled. “Alex, there’s so much more out there than you can likely imagine. Their stories aren’t mine to share, though.”
“You are the most helpfully unhelpful person I’ve ever met,” I grumbled. I respected them for it and it was good to know Ori wouldn’t be telling the whole world about me, but it left my curiosity unsatisfied and that freaking sucked.
“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” they laughed. “I think we’ve covered quite a bit today. I’m going to head over and relieve Micah of opening duties and let you get back to work. If you have any questions, stop by any time. You can text me if the shop is closed and it’s urgent.” They fished a battered business card out of their pocket and handed it to me.
“Thanks, Ori. I really appreciate all your help. I promise I’ll try to be more open-minded about all of this.”
“It’s a lot for anyone to take in. I’m happy to help however I can. That’s what friends do, right?”
They headed out into the cold with that, leaving me with a phone number, a mess of thoughts, and apparently a new friend.
Sundays were fucking weird.
***
By evening, a jittery anxiety had settled beneath my skin, leaving me on edge but also oddly despondent. My phone remained silent and every time I opened it to text Donovan, my brain shut down, leaving me staring at the blinking cursor until the screen went dark again. Since Donovan and I started dating, Sunday nights had become one of my favorite nights of the week. We would take turns cooking dinner, then settle in for a relaxed evening together. With us fighting and Charlie gone, this would be my first Sunday night alone in this house.
“Well, Louis, I guess it’s you and me tonight,” I said to the cat. Since Charlie passed on, I’d picked up the habit of talking to him when I was alone. He judged me pretty heavily for it, but tolerated it in exchange for extra treats that he certainly didn’t need.
“It’ll be fine. We’ll eat, then go to bed.” It would hardly be the end of the world. I’d eaten alone before, obviously. It’d just been a long time. From the first day I’d set foot in this house, I’d had Charlie and his nonstop running commentary on the world, life, and reality TV. Donovan filled the void when I lost Charlie, giving my thoughts no time to linger on the quiet.
It filled the house now, the silence nearly deafening. This place had never been meant for just one person. The open layout suited a busy family, not one man standing alone in the kitchen. When I’d been a teenager, the kitchen had been the heart of the place. My uncle David loved to cook and Lizzie loved to keep him company, so Brock and I usually spread out our homework on the kitchen table while David made dinner. My aunt would sit with us, ask about our days and listen to our problems, then distract her husband with hugs and silly stories. She loved music and, more than once, she’d dragged him away from the stove to dance around the tile floor. He’d just smile at her, spinning her around the room while her laughter filled the air.
Watching the two of them together made me believe that soulmates were real. The love they’d shared shone bright and proud and it fully encompassed me and my cousin. As a scared, traumatized twelve-year-old, I’d soaked up that love like a withered flower, slowly coming back to life under its warmth.
Years had passed now since anyone had danced in this kitchen. The scarred up old table sat empty most days, cluttered with old mail and the detritus of the day. Donovan and I usually ate in the living room now, or occasionally at the small island in the kitchen. We never sat at the table and for the life of me, I didn’t know why. Had part of me been avoiding it? Come to think of it, I hadn’t used it since I’d moved in. It seemed silly for one person to sit there, so I just didn’t. I’d never consciously meant for it to become a junk table, but that’s what happened, anyway.
