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“Let me know if you need help finding anything.” Scottie’s melodic voice floats through the air.
Twelve years ago, I met her by accident at a modern-day apothecary a few blocks from Independence Hall in Philadelphia the summer between my junior and senior years of college. My dad conned me into working at his law firm for the summer in hopes I’d consider changing my major. But I’ve always been a numbers guy: mathematics and economics.
And Scottie’s always been the girl who wears healing stones instead of diamonds and thrives on thirty minutes of meditation in the morning instead of eight ounces of coffee.
A torrential downpour around two in the afternoon on a Thursday in June sent me dashing into the corner apothecary. To avoid being an asshole using her place of business for cover, I emptied my wallet on miscellaneous shit I’d never heard of, including a Tiger’s eye bracelet that was supposed to help me achieve wealth and vitality while protecting me against negative energy.
Perhaps it did, at least for that summer. I still have that bracelet.
Halfway between the chips and canned goods, I glance at her, and I feel like time is transporting me to that day in Philly.
A pleasant smile touches her lips as she drops her gaze to the abandoned receipt on the counter, only to do a quick double take.
I hold her gaze, letting this moment sink in. A slow-growing smile steals her glossed lips. Recognition takes on a whole new meaning. I feel alive.
She slides around the counter, her Birkenstock clogs scuffing along the black and white lattice vinyl tile. “Are you real?”
With a tiny laugh, I nod.
“Price Milloy,” she says my name with a content sigh.
“Scottie Rucker.”
“What are you doing?—”
I interject by holding a finger to my lips. “Shh. Stop interrupting the universe.”
Her eyes widen. “Did you steal my line?”
“I’m just quoting the most profound person I’ve ever known.”
She snorts. “So much gibberish.” Throwing her arms around my neck, she whispers, “My god, it’s so good to see you.”
It’s like she knows exactly what I need.
Twelve years get erased in a single breath.
With my face buried in her hair, I inhale. She never wore perfume from a department store, always an essential oil concoction she made—vetiver and amber. On occasion, she wore patchouli.
She steps back, beaming with a face-splitting grin. “What brings you to Austin?”
“I live here.” I lie (sort of), knowing it’s the first of many to come. Technically, I am living here while I see her. She’s why I’m here. It’s not as creepy as it sounds. On the surface, it’s mind-bendingly complicated. Yet, at its core, it’s as simple as I’m here for her.
More on that later.
“No kidding? Wow! Have you lived here long?”
Less than forty-eight hours.
“Hmm … I’m trying to think how long it’s been.” I scratch my chin. “Six? Seven months? What about you?”
“I’ve been here ten years. I needed a change and decided to try Austin. No job. No place to live. I just packed a few bags and headed south.” A slow grin creeps up her face while she shakes her head. “I can’t believe we’re running into each other. It’s been so long. Are you married? Kids? I want to catch up.”
Another gust of wind announces an older couple entering the store. Scottie shoots them a grin before turning back to me.
“Catching up sounds amazing. Can I take you to dinner tonight?”
“Oh! Tonight? That’s soon.”
