And yet I am the one who has to lay down the discipline, attempt mediation, clean up the blood, and come down on the dumbass demigods bearing the only weapon that will give them pause.
Not bad for a human, but hell if I didn’t need two weeks’ vacation on a beach somewhere after all that.
My muscles still fought release, even in the luxurious heat. So, I laid my head back and let out a deep breath, talking to myself in a low voice.
“Nothing needs to be done right now, Miranda. Just relax.”
Again, a bigger part of me still wanted to fight it. Since Jamal left for summer camp a couple of days ago, my restlessness had flipped into overdrive.
But I made the serenity of my small bathroom irresistible with candles flickering all around the room. Lianne LaHavas crooned my favorite song, “Midnight,” from my phone that I set on the closed toilet lid.
At last, I was lulled into some semblance of peace and relaxation.
I used the towel to dry my hands before reaching for my romance book.
Except my hands reached for an empty spot.
“Dammit,” I cursed, rubbing my face. I had left my book and my glass of red wine in the kitchen.
Bubble baths were a self-care ritual I took incredibly seriously. It required all the right accessories from the choice of bath bomb, to the music, to the book.
And it wasn’t just any wine sitting in the kitchen; it was a 1992 bottle of Pinot Noir from Celestial Cellars. It had been gifted to me by an actual goddess of wine who appreciated my assistance in training her hotel staff after a series of security breaches. I had tasted it once at my best friend’s wedding, and it was the best thing to ever pass my lips.
Adjusting the cap holding up my braids, I sunk deeper into the water, trying to enjoy the bath anyway.
I don’t need everything to be perfect to relax.
Who cares if I don’t drink that ambrosia right now? I bet leaving it out will aerate it so it tastes even better!
But after I got out of the tub, the moment would be gone. The calm I felt in water didn’t typically extend beyond the tub.
I scowled. My fingers flexed and relaxed several times as restlessness coiled through my limbs.
No. I can do this. I can relax without needing things to be perfect.
I sunk a couple of inches deeper, submerging my chin in frothy bubbles, my hands resting on either side of the tub.
My fingers began to tap. Tap, tap, tap on the porcelain edges.
Irritation mounted inside me as I kept envisioning the lone wine glass and book.
Water sloshed violently as I stood up. Yanking my towel off the rack, I wrapped it around me.
I opened the bathroom door, and left the small steamy room into the bracing cold of the rest of the house. Water tracks followed me as I went to grab my targets. I’d deal with the mess later.
With my spoils in hand, I stomped back to the bathroom, but the cool air was already pulling me out of the moment I had created.
A loud, obnoxious electronic beep preceded the house plunging into darkness. Ugh. Another brownout. Thankfully, I had candles lit all over the place, so I didn’t lose total visibility, which meant I was less likely to trip and snap my neck.
With my son gone for the next couple of months, I wasn’t sure who’d find my naked ass sprawled on the ground. At least we didn’t have any cats to feast on the soft bits of my corpse.
Damn, that got way too dark too quick.
The house was way too quiet without Jamal brightening it up. Maybe I did need some kind of pet. A low-maintenance pet, like a guinea pig or a bird. Nah. My level is more like sea monkeys. Yes, that’s more like it! I’ll raise a hoard of sea monkeys in my kid’s absence. When he comes home, he’ll discover his mother had become a crazy sea monkey lady.
I tripped on the carpet, wine lurching dangerously to the rim of my glass.
Ireallyneeded to buy a generator. Maybe I should go get my laptop and –
