Page 83 of Lily In The Valley
I sat on the couch. Tense. Clutching my palms together like they were the only thing holding me up. She watched me, like she already knew my story. The gaze made me wrap my arms around my stomach, stretch away the tension creeping into my shoulders.
“Hmph. You carry your trauma in your stomach,” she said gently. “Right in that center. That’s why it hurts when you sit still too long. Travels up your spine, coiling in your shoulders. You tense to keep from crying.”
My eyes widened, then my brow raised. “How?”
“Our bodies speak even when we don’t. Now. Let’s get quiet and let it speak.”
We didn’t talk much. She guided me through breathing. Through movement. Through stillness. She touched my back, one palm between my shoulder blades, and told me to breathe into the spot where my mama used to rub when I was sick. I didn’t think I could cry again. But I was. Not sobbing. Not loud. Just tears that poured quietly without shame. When I was done, I felt emptied. Wrung out. Like a bell that had finally been struck.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Don’t apologize for your pain. That’s like telling yourself it’s wrong for you to have feelings,” she said. “I’m telling you now, I’m not clearing you until I’m sure you’re ready. But you’ve started the journey. These first few sessions will be tough, but I have no doubt you’ll persevere.”
I wasn’tready to go back to my parents’ house after meeting Ms. Reece. I drove around, hoping to clear my mind. No music. No destination. Just silence and streetlights.I need tacos.And tequila. I stopped at my old spot. The smell of carne asada hitting the grill in the back sent my stomach grumbling. I slid into a booth, placed my order with the waitress, and bobbed my head as Selena’s light, aching voice rose above the sizzle of the grill as she sung about the wilting of a flower and a love gonetoo soon. I leaned back against the booth, letting the song wrap around me.
When the waitress brought my tequila sunrise, my fingers traced the condensation running down the sides of the glass, breathing for the first time in a long time.
The chime above the door jingled, but I paid it little attention. I sipped from my drink, the sweet, citrus flavors zinging my tongue. My shoulders swayed along with the velvet-smooth voice crooning a song so tender and tragic, the prayer-like words threatened to crack the glass in my hands. I knew none of the words, aside from “amor eterno,” but it didn’t keep me from feeling them. So I danced, closed my eyes, and let the music carry me away to something other than numbness and survival.
And that was when I felt it. The shift. A heat pressing into the space before I opened my eyes.
And then I saw him.
Khalil.
He stood before me, waiting for permission to enter the little sliver of peace I’d created since sitting down. He wore a chocolate brown, long-sleeve knit sweater that hugged the width of his chest, tucked neatly into camel-colored trousers that draped just right over glossy loafers. His standard gold chains glinted on his neck, subtle but sure. My mouth parted, but nothing came out. My pulse drummed in my ears.
“Khalil,” I started, taking a sip now that my mouth had gone dry. “What are you doing here?”
“I promised Nessa unlimited babysitting if she gave me your location.” He smiled. Then he raised a brow and nodded to the booth seat across from me. “Can I sit?”
I nodded my head, taking another sip, trying to calm the storm of nerves picking up in my veins.
“You look good,” he said first, voice low.
“You know how Nessa has her pregnancy glow? Well, this is grief glow,” I replied, trying to smile. “You don’t look terrible either.”
He chuckled, dry. We both fell quiet. “What’s going on, Kelly?”
“I’m sorry,” I said finally, stirring my drink like it might help me find the courage I’d been avoiding. “For Seattle. For all of it. Me shutting down and blaming you in one breath. You didn’t deserve that.”
He looked down at the table, then back at me. Not just at me, into me. “I know.”
“I wasn’t myself,” I added, my voice splitting as I fought to keep the tears at bay. “But I also know that’s not an excuse. I hurt you. And I didn’t want to. Not ever.”
“I know,” he said again. And it sounded like forgiveness. We sat with that. Let it settle.
“The streets say you’re doing okay, though,” I said, quietly.
His jaw flexed. “I’m alright,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. “Tell me about Tasha.”
He blinked. Didn’t hide his surprise. “Let me guess. The coven told you?”
“What can I say? There’s nothing we won’t share with each other,” I replied, laughing.
He sipped my drink. “She’s not you.”
