Page 16 of Unclench Me Softly

—Bliss

Bliss-ism #81/q:

Stillness is not the absence of chaos. It’s the moment before you lose your shit in a peaceful tone.

Chapter Four:

Another One Bites the Schedule

I’m sitting cross-legged on the meditation deck with a pint of vegan fudge ripple, a spoon, and absolutely no inner peace.

My speech notes are spread out beside me like the aftermath of a stationery explosion. At least three are stained with melted coconut ice cream and one is literally stuck to my thigh.

So far, the speech includes the phrases:

“Your ego is not your enemy; it’s your overprotective ex.”

“Unclench your narrative.”

and “Please arrive on time so I don’t have to hex your schedule.” (Crossed out, but still spiritually true.)

The sun is setting. The domes are glowing like little sacred disco balls. The frogs have started their nightly throat-chakra opera. And for once, finally, no men are talking or flexing or breathing at me weirdly.

It’s just me, my melty ice cream, and a fantasy where I finish this speech and become a grounded, glowing goddess who definitely doesn’t want to climb Jax like a tree or whisper encouraging affirmations into Asher’s emotional trauma.

I sigh and shovel another spoonful into my mouth.

“This,” I whisper to myself, “Is stillness.”

Which is, of course, when I hear the car.

Not just any car.

A jeep.

Slow. Steady. Confident. Like it doesn’t care about your opinions on scheduled check-in windows or boundaries or the sanctity of my one goddamn quiet hour.

I stare into the trees like maybe, if I’m still enough, it’ll go away.

It doesn’t.

The jeep turns the corner and rolls to a slow stop in the gravel clearing like the beginning of a low-budget horror movie.

A man steps out.

And I swear, the air changes.

Tall. Broad. Flannel. Beard. The kind of beard that says “I have chopped wood shirtless while grieving.” The kind of face that says “I’ve fought a bear and lost but emotionally grew from it.”

He doesn’t say a word.

Just looks around slowly, taking in the domes, the wind chimes, the shrine to a quartz penis I forgot to move. His eyes land on me, sitting on the deck, spoon in hand, coconut chocolate sadness dripping down my wrist like holy failure.

We stare at each other.

I swallow my mouthful of ice cream like I’m being judged by a mountain ghost.

“Hi,” I say, finally. “You’re early.”

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