“None taken.”
“And this one”—she grabs a small handful of smoky black stones—“black tourmaline. For protection from bad vibes. And from guys who look like Tom Sandoval.”
“Offense taken.” My eyes narrow at the jab at Alex. “He’s not as bad as you think he is. We’re both putting in the effort.”
This snags Kenna’s attention. She whips around in her bright turquoise maxi dress, her expression softening. Her faux-yellow hair contrasts inky grown-out roots and tan skin, making her look like a sun-drenched punk mermaid.
“Annalise,” she says, tone low and sober. “Your effort is in trying to fix what’s broken. His effort is in keeping things broken, so you’re forced to stay and fix it. Healthy effort is in the progress. The teamwork.”
Her words make me itch. “That’s not what’s happening.”
“You want to be in the band, right? That’s where your heart is. Music, creating. Singing your soul to anyone who will listen.” Stepping closer, she presses a hand to my upper arm. “Alex isn’t listening. He’s only making you feel bad and bringing you down. He doesn’t hear you.”
My cheeks flame. With anger or awareness, I can’t tell. “I want to be with him.”
“Do you? Be honest with yourself. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life with him, or is that just guilt and the fear of change whispering in your ear?”
I shake my head, slithering out of her grip. “You don’t understand. We’ve built a life together. Everything I have is because of him.”
“That’s not true. You have me. Tag. Your parents, even though they’re living it up with the chickens in Alabama.”
“Georgia.”
“I’m just saying, you have them. They’re only a phone call away, and we both know they’d jump on the first flight out if you needed them.” Her eyes mist, shimmering in the low light. “You also have a way out if you’re brave enough to take it.”
My eyes close.
She doesn’t get it. It’s not about being brave; it’s about being smart. Quitting my job, leaving my boyfriend, and becoming a homeless, struggling musician isn’t smart. It’s reckless.
Kenna sighs, sensing my barriers. My hopes and dreams wrapped in steel. “What about Chase?”
My heart fumbles. I haven’t confided in Kenna about Chase. Not entirely. Not about my dark thoughts, my seesawing emotions. The growing connection between us. “What about him?” I wonder, voice shaking.
“He’s a lot like you. Works long hours, struggles to get by, uses music as an outlet. The difference is he sees opportunity as a tangible thing. Something within reach. For you, it’s still this far-off dream.” Her smile saddens. “Unattainable.”
I look away. Fold my arms.
Keep those barriers sky-high.
Shoulders drooping, Kenna turns away and scans the shelves, plopping stones into mesh baggies. “Well, I can see my invaluable advice is going in one ear and out the other. And that’s okay. But maybe some deep reflection and moonstone can help. It brings dreams and new beginnings into focus.” She reaches for a chunk of moonstone, adding it to her haul.
We leave the store a few minutes later with magic stones, bamboo and jade,and a deep-blue pillar candle, supposedly good for initiating change and helping with healing and inspiration.
When Kenna drops me off in front of my condo, she shoves the bags at me. “I can send over more plants if you want.”
“Thanks.” I chuckle. “But I’m good for now.”
“Listen, this stuff takes time. It doesn’t happen overnight,” she says. “Be patient. Open-minded. And most importantly, focus on what you really want. Listen to that voice inside your head. She’s always been there, and she won’t steer you wrong.” She reaches over and wraps me in a warm hug. “I love you, girlie. And I’m here.”
I squeeze her back, emotion sticking in my throat. “I love you too. Thank you for everything.”
Collecting my bags, I hop out of the car and wave goodbye.
I’m left with a fissure in my chest.
Afternoon bleeds into evening, and the little chasm cracks wider with every passing hour. Alex gets home from work around seven. He cooks; I clean.
We hardly speak.
