Just Breathe (7 page)

Right after this drink.

“Oh!” Marie swallows more Alize and stands up. “I got you a present!”

“Really? What is it? Why?” Marie’s presents range from way too personal; double-headed amethyst studded vibrator; to amazingly thoughtful; rare favourite books of mine that I’ve either worn out or never had. I’ve never heard her exclaim, “I got you a present,” without being invaded by a strange mixture of excitement and dread. I’m not good with surprises in general, since an unfortunate surprise party when I was seven.

“You’ll see,” she says over her shoulder as she walks into the living room. I finish my drink in one slug and refill our glasses. The beginnings of a buzz swarms through my body. Excellent. I’ll open my present then tell her about Jason. And maybe Dominic... you know, just for entertainment value—it’s not like he’s anything, whatever. He’s trouble. My tongue finds the sore spot in my mouth. That said, he is hot, not to mention he’s got a voice that makes me want to—

“Okay.” Marie’s back with a plain blue expensive looking shopping bag. “So, I got one for myself as well, but thought of you immediately.” She hands me the bag. “Open it!”

I reach in and feel... Oh my god, it’s silky, and cool, and soothing. I’d purr if I could. A slightly muted version of the tingles that Dominic’s voice gave me comes flooding back. Damned tactile Synaesthesia, I’m completely defenceless against silky textures. I pull the slippery precious out of the bag and onto my lap.

“It’s a set of satin sheets!” Marie exclaims. “Well, three of them.”

“Wow. They are so soft!” I finger the hand tied ribbon holding the bundle together that proclaims an outrageous thread count and that they are satin, not sateen, though I’m not sure what that means. They are a gorgeous deep, inky, royal purple colour. The other bundles inside the bag are a dark lapis lazuli and a rich sort of emerald-forest green.

“But, satin sheets? Aren’t these kind of...” I don’t want to say whorey.

“Indulgent?”

“No, I was thinking more in the neighbourhood of... coquettish?”

“Whorey?”

“I didn’t want to say it, but sort of.”

“Sweetie, these will be a fantastic addition to your life. I didn’t get them for you to add oomph to your sex life—although they can’t hurt.”

“Hey!” Her joke hits a bit close to home. I miss being held, not just sex. Though I miss that too.

“It’s about indulgence. Trust me, one night in these bad boys and you’ll wonder why you wasted your life sleeping on anything else.”

Their colour and delicious texture have won me over. “Thanks Marie, this is really thoughtful.”

“You’re welcome.”

I rub the sheet against my cheek. “These will spoil me for regular sheets you know.”

“Should I leave you two alone?”

“Maybe,” I laugh and gently place the sheet set back into the bag. If I keep them out, I’ll continue to pet them, which will only get more hellishly awkward until I resemble Gollum hunching over the Precious. It happens. Soft textures are like a drug. I’ve felt a lot of things most people probably haven’t.

Getting wrapped up in the textures of things can be dangerous; the softer something feels, the better. Scratchy or rough fabrics make me shudder, and they make me feel uneasy. Satiny textures are delightful but can be dangerous; I’ve worn some truly hideous clothes, not caring how bad they looked, simply because of the amazing textures.

I clear my throat, finally ready to talk to someone about this whole Jason situation. It’s festered inside me long enough. And you know, I’m looking forward to not carrying this alone anymore. It will be awkward, and hard to talk about, but I can do this. “So, Marie, I know I don’t really talk about my feelings and stuff much, but I just wanted to say that you’re my best friend, and I need to tell you—”

Marie cuts me off with a hand on my forearm, her eyes slightly wet. “Oh, Elle, I know. I love you, and because you’re my best friend too, I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“To know what?”

“I’m moving to Spain!”

I swallow down a feeling akin to panic. “What?”

“For work!”

“But you work here. And I thought you were headed to Italy?”

“I am, but not until Wednesday. And that’s only for a couple days.”

“How is this happening? Spain, I mean.”

“I’ve accepted a lateral promotion. I’ll move to the Spain branch, no new title, or pay hike, but still! Spain! Can’t you just see me soaking in that delicious sun, surrounded by dark eyed lovelies?”

The sad thing is that I can. She’ll flourish there on her exotic independent adventure. And I’ll be left here, my world a little smaller without her.

“How long will you be gone?”

“A year, well a year to start. I might stay longer if it agrees with me. Isn’t it incredible?” Her eyes sparkle with excitement. But I need her. I need to talk about Jason.

“Yes, it’s totally amazing! But, I just wanted to say—”

“I know what you’re about to say! And believe me this isn’t just a spur of the moment decision, I have thought this through. I knew you’d ask that. But this is something I really need to do, Ellie. I just feel like, I don’t know. I need a change or I’ll go mad! I’ve been going through some things.”

I open my mouth to ask what stuff, but she cuts me off again.

“Things I haven’t talked about because my ego demanded I deal with them on my own. I need to do this for me. And I feel awful, like I’m abandoning everyone, you especially. But it’s necessary. Sort of a twenty-something version of going to Europe to find myself, only without the mangy hostels and khaki backpacks.”

“Marie,” I start, but realize I can’t tell her about Jason. Marie is many things, but selfish isn’t one of them. It’s doubtful she’d cancel this promotion because of my situation, but she would feel like crap leaving me in this state. And I can’t have her carry my emotional baggage with her to Spain.

Brave face in three, two, one. “This really is a huge opportunity! I’ll miss you like crazy, but you have to go, you’d be silly not to take that deal and run with it!” I shine a smile at her and finish my drink.

Her eyes light up. She buys it.

“So when do you leave?”

She makes a face. “In three weeks—it took this long to work the details out, and I didn’t want to say anything if it wasn’t a certainty.”

“Wow! That’s so exciting!”

So exciting I could just cry.

***

Because there’s no need to hurry home, I take transit. I need more time to not think about today’s developments, but I make the mistake of not paying attention where I sit on the bus. Ten minutes later, I realize I’ve sat next to a homeless man who is valiantly trying not to puke. I feel the same way, though judging by smell, his reasons have more to do with gin whereas mine are emotional. I don’t even care enough to move to another seat.

This really is an amazing opportunity for Marie, and she looked so happy. I couldn’t rain on that by dumping all my issues on her just before she moves. No, I should have just been honest from the start. The good news is that Marie’s news has dampened the urge to call Jason. For now.

Keeping my pain to myself, I stayed and drank to her shiny happy future, feeling darker inside by the minute. I can’t believe Marie is leaving and that sucks. At least there’s the internet and Skype now. If previous generations moved, it was a bigger deal; waiting six weeks for a letter, or spending a small fortune on phone bills.

Since I took a cab to Marie’s, I didn’t remember until I got on the bus that I forgot my music and noise cancelling earphones at home. It shows how depressed I am that the various pings, and thumps, and tones don’t make me want to squirm inside out like they normally do. The glass of the window is cool against my forehead, and I heave a sigh. My breath stirs the hair of the woman in the seat ahead of mine, and she turns around and glares at me.

While I’d normally mouth an apology, or give a sheepish smile, today has been awful. Wouldn’t want to keep that to myself, so I share the anger by glaring back at her. My lip twitches in a barely suppressed snarl. I catch her bewildered, slightly hurt expression as she turns around again and pulls the cord for the next stop. Her slumped shoulders and defeated posture as she steps off the bus make me feel like a prize asshole. I don’t think I could feel any worse right now
.

And then the homeless guy barfs on my shoe. I hate today.

Chapter Seven

I’m not having a great day. Woke up late and had to skip breakfast, missed the first bus so I had to run for the train. Barely made it to work on time, and three hours into my shift, my low blood sugar is turning my inner monologue into a heinous bitch, ready to take offence at anything;
What do you mean thank you?
I’ve bent a fingernail backwards, been stabbed with a packing staple, and twenty minutes ago, Jan accidentally knocked a stack of books onto my head.

I grab a load of books from the shelving cart and head to the T section in fiction. In no time, I’ve fallen into the rhythm of shelving books and getting more, shelving them and getting more. It’s physical work that hurts my elbows and wrists, but marginally helps my mood. Plus, I don’t have to talk to anyone at the counter, I just get to purposefully stomp around from section to section in silence. The carpet we have, plus my rubber-soled boots, makes it impossible to stomp noisily, which is unfortunate for my grumpiness. I think some noise or destruction would do wonders for me.

It’s been nearly a week since I saw Marie and the homeless guy puked on my shoe. Kennedy and Nick were a bit weird when I got home. Maybe it was just my bad mood and they picked up on it, but I felt like I brought them down by being there and not smoking. Sometimes it feels like I don’t belong anywhere. I’d love to go out more, but it’s miserable with my condition.

I’ve read extensively about Synaesthesia, and most people who have it consider it to be a positive thing. They don’t see it as limiting at all, not like I do. But my type is rarer, or at least the information about my type is harder to find. Most books focus on the visual Synaesthetes, not people like me. I just feel so alone.

I unload the last book in my hand and whirl around to go get more. The sight of the broad chest in front of me makes me pull up so quickly that a muscle in my back twinges painfully, but I avoid a collision. Dominic.

“HA!” Triumph fills me. I lower my voice. “Ha.”

“Ha?”

“Here you are, but my lip is intact.” I shrug. “Feels like a victory to me.”

“I can see how that would get old.”

“Yes, but look how my reflexes are sharpening up!”

“You’re like a ninja.” His face lights up delightedly.

I lean in conspiratorially. “You do have to be part ninja to work here. It’s not explicitly said in the interview, but...” I trail off. The way his lips curl knocks some of the weight from my shoulders. “You need some more books?” Hope rises, brain already frantically thinking of good books he may like. Excellent! This could turn the day around, I’ll—

“No, I was just returning a few.”

“Oh.” Sigh.

“Okay, that...” he gestures to my face. “Is the most heartbreaking expression I’ve ever seen. Give me one more book. But just one!”

I suppress a squeal and pace. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Hmm. I could go for a mystery, maybe some supernatural things, but not like, vampires or anything like that.”

“Follow me.” I rush him to the K section and hand him an Andrew Klavan, Hunting Down Amanda. “Try this one.”

“Done!” He reads the book jacket. “Sounds good.”

“It is good!” I feel better than I have all day.

“I trust you.” Wow, I could listen to that voice all day long. I could listen the shit out of that voice. “Hey.” His tone subtly changes. “Would you—”

“Ellie!” A squeaky voice rips through the moment, almost driving me to my knees after Dominic’s honeyed tones. I recognize that awful sound. The Dean Koontz patron. I turn around. “Hi, Helen, how are you?”
Not now, you screechy-toned harpy!

“I need to steal this fabulous woman from you, you don’t mind do you?” she asks Dominic.

He frowns. “Well, actually–”

“Thanks!” She beams at him and hauls me by the arm down the aisle.

I look back at him over my shoulder, feeling disappointed. What was he was going to ask? Was he asking for another book, or was he going to ask me out? Oh my god! Was he going to ask me out? Would I want to go out with him?

A look into his eyes and the memory of his voice seals it. Yes, I would go out with him. He holds the Klavan book up, nods, and walks out of my life.

I try not to take my disappointment out on Helen—if it hadn’t been her that interrupted us, it would have been another patron or a ringing phone. Interruptions are a part of life. It doesn’t help when the interruption’s voice makes me want to bash my head into the book shelves, but I remain as pleasant as I can and get through her questions soon enough.
Her voice isn’t her fault.
It’s not fair for me to hate people simply because of the quality of their voices. But it doesn’t make it easier for me to like them.

At long last, Helen departs, and I head back behind the desk, and check books in.

“Did Helen find you?” Mary-Margaret asks.

“Yeah, she just wanted to thank me again for finding that book series for her, and wanted me to recommend one she could buy as a gift. Her friend gets offended by curse words and violence in books, but wanted mystery. She didn’t want a Christian book either, as they’re ‘too preachy.’ I suggested the Amelia Peabody mysteries, but you know, I didn’t realize how many modern books have swears in them until I had to recommend one that doesn’t.”

“That’s true. And it can be hard to find books without swears in them that aren’t Christian. I can think of six Christian authors who write mysteries, but yeah, they definitely have that faith-based message, or lighter content. Good job on the Peabody series, that would be a good fit.”

“That’s why I get paid the big bucks.”

“Yeah right!” We roll our eyes at the old joke and spend the next hour and a half checking in and shelving books.