While we’re waiting, I ask “Where will you be working?”
He is studying the light, as though he’s never seen one before. “Oh, well I went to find Calida, who was hunting rats in the bookshop again, and ran into Betsy. She said she could really use someone to fill in on your days off and hired me on the spot when I told her how much Ilove reading. So, beginning tomorrow, I will be Wanderlust Bookshop’s newest employee. I believe Betsy called me ‘book boy’.”
I choke. He’s… wait. Not only is this man going to be living with me, but we’re working together? Aren’t there rules about co-workers engaging in relationships, to say nothing of roommates?
What the fuck. Stop. You are not in a relationship. One kiss does not make a relationship . You should be happy for him — and yourself. If he landed a job, it means he can find an apartment sooner and get out of yours. How are you ever going to finish your book with two constant distractions in your place, all the time? Especially when you keep finding yourself imagining one of them naked.
Plus, he can help out with the grocery bill that I was just internally complaining about, I remind myself.
“That’s amazing.” I say, instead. “I didn’t know you had applied.”
“Well, I hadn’t. I went to the shop to see Calida and Betsy was there and, well, one thing led to another…”
He trails off.
Shit. Betsy totally hired him because he’s attractive.
“When do you start?” I ask, with more enthusiasm than I feel.
“Tomorrow,” he replies, happily.
As we approach the apartment, I find myself slowing. I’m not lost in thought as much as I feel like I’m trying to ground myself to the flood of information. To be frank, I’m surprised my system hasn’t completely overloaded in the past day. I draw a deep breath through my nose as images of Flint fly through my mind. Flint laughing,shouting, sobbing. The look of glee on his face as he picks me up and twirls me around. The way his eyes glow as he moves above me or watches me as I move above him.
I put my free hand to my forehead, rubbing my temple. I clearly need to put actual food in my system. My fantasies are taking over my brain.
The building next door has gorgeous lilies growing. I slow further and then slip my hand out of Flint’s elbow. Brushing my hair back, I lean in and inhale the scent. Sweet, floral, intoxicating. A rich, creamy smell with a hint of freshness that seems to ground me and calm me. Connecting with the world around me has always been a coping skill that brings me back from my spiraling thoughts quicker than anything else does.
Maybe it's the Fae in me. I snort. I wish.
Flint has slowed and is watching me. As I continue to smell the flowers, I study him in return. Watching me, he comes to a stop.
I don’t see any of what I expect in his expression. There’s no impatience, no questions, no irritation. He appears to be happy to just… stand and wait. For this crazy woman who is compelled to sniff the flowers. I continue to study his expression for a few seconds and, when it doesn’t change, I close my eyes and focus on centering myself.
I’ve done this many times. There have been many mornings where I have stood amidst a vibrant patch of flowers, their delicate petals glistening with morning dew; the air filled, heavy with their fragrance.
I take a deep breath, allowing the fragrance to wash over me, ground me in the moment. The soft rustle ofleaves in the gentle breeze harmonizes with the distant chirping of birds, creating a tranquil harmony.
I reach out to stroke the petals, wanting to feel that coolness against my skin. Dreams flood back — both comforting and bittersweet — but the lilies seem to anchor me to the now. With every breath, I feel the weight of my worries lift, replaced by a sense of peace. The colors remind me of beauty and resilience. And as it does each time, in that moment of calm and sweetness, I feel like I really can do this. I can figure my life out, figure my story out. I can do this.
I don’t know how long I stay there, inhaling my peace and exhaling all of the doubt and the sudden tension those flashes in my mind brought on. Coming back to myself, I open my eyes to find that Flint is still calmly studying my face, his head cocked to the side.
I close my eyes again and sigh. “My brain does this thing,” I begin, “where I get overstimulated. I don’t know what it feels like to other people but, for me, it feels like the manifestation of how a skipping CD sounds.” Does he even know what a CD is? “It happens when my mind gets too busy, or there’s too much going on around me, or there’s too many conflicting sounds. Sometimes I get flashes — ideas, I think — which is where my story scenes come from. Whatever the cause, being outside always seems to help. I’ve spent a lot of hours with my face buried in flowers or wiggling my bare toes in the grass. It always quiets the chaos.”
I’m gonna go ahead and omit that this time, it was his face I was seeing, and clearly not something from my story. Sexual frustration, for the win.
When I dare to look up again, Flint is still looking atmy face, as though he is trying to memorize me. “Chaos can be fun,” he says, carefully, “but it isn’t always a good thing. I’m glad you’ve found something that can quiet it for you. I think there are a lot of people out there, still trying to find ways to calm their crazy. There are plenty who don’t even understand it.”
“Another odd compliment.” I say, after taking a moment to consider.
He offers me his hand to help me to my feet. “Was it? I think it takes a very courageous person to look into and recognize the more unusual aspects of their own mind. It takes courage, an open mind, intelligence, and heart.”
I pause dusting off the knees of my torn jeans to gape at him, but he’s already collecting the shopping he had set aside during my side quest into flower meditation.
“Oh, well — thanks?”
He merely grunts and continues to my building.
“You’re a very handy grocery carrier.”
