Page 20 of That Thing You Brew
Penny looped her tote over her shoulder, and miraculously I found words.
I gestured for her to move deeper into the apartment. “Dinner’s ready. I just need to bring it out. You can sit anywhere you like.”
The small round table sat four. Penny chose one of the two places I’d set and sat, letting her tote drop by her feet. I sprang into action and poured lemonade into the glasses I’d set out. “I’ll be right back with dinner.” I pointed to the French baguette on the cutting board in the center of the table. “Help yourself to the bread.”
“Th-thanks.”
I stored the lemonade in the fridge and quickly washed my hands so I could plate the chicken alfredo. As I carried it out, I noticed Penny rubbing her hands together. The faint aroma of vanilla-scented hand sanitizer warred with steaming cheese. It was a strange combo but memorable.
My phone had vibrated the entire walk to the table. At some point, I was going to have to answer it.
Later. When Penny left.
I set our plates down and settled into my chair. Penny was to my right but not beside me. Not too close, not too far away.
I supposed I should start the conversation. “So, um, how was your day?”
She smiled and gave me a thumbs-up.
Well, that backfired. I needed to get her to talk.
We twirled alfredo around our forks and spent the next few minutes eating. Penny’s cheeks were still a deep rosy color, but I couldn’t see any other outward signs that she was nervous.
When we finished eating, I cleared the plates and refilled our lemonades. Penny sat back in her chair and stared at her hands, folded in her lap. She looked like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how.
I cleared my throat, and she looked up. “You said you’ve had all kinds of therapy, right?” She nodded. “What’s worked the best so far?”
She pressed her lips together and tilted her head in thought. “D-deep breaths. P-pauses. N-not sp-peaking.”
I chuckled softly at her joke. “Seems effective. Those things helped me, too. But it wasn’t until I was confident enough in myself and didn’t care what other people thought of me or what I had to say that I truly lost the stutter. I had to realize how great I was on the inside to not care what people thought of me on the outside. And I had to believe in what I was saying. Make sense?”
She nodded.
“Do you stutter around kids?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“People you’ve known all your life?”
“N-no.”
“When you sing?”
She shook her head again.
“And there’s nothing medically wrong?”
“N-nope.”
I extended my arms in her direction and took both of her hands into mine. She shifted, turning toward me. “You can beat this, Penny. You just need to practice not caring so much.”
Her eyes widened. “B-but Id-docare.”
I squeezed her hands gently. “Because it matters to you what people think of you. Under it all, the root of it is fear. Fear stems from pride. You don’t want to disappoint anyone. You have to let that fear and pride go. And then—bam! No more stammering.”
Our gazes locked, and all that she couldn’t tell me in words was there. She trusted me and was putting her hope in me.
That was a lot of pressure, but I was determined not to let her down. She could overcome this, I was sure of it.
