Page 20 of Driving Beats

“Buddhism isn’t a religion in the traditional sense. More like a philosophy or a way of life.”

“Oh.” She pokes at the sand. “All that aside, your Zen Garden is a nice place. If you are keen on quiet and all.”

I smile. “There are worse things.” I approach her, arm outstretched. “I can handle things from here.”

She gives up the rake without further protest, and I follow her lead in redrawing the lines. A calm washes over me at the familiar sounds.

My peace soon is interrupted.

“I hope it won’t take you too much time to fix this. I can’t imagine how long it took you to do it initially. What? Like a week?”

“To place the lines in the sand?” At her nod, I reply, “I spent roughly a month to finally be satisfied with the design. I’m usually out here daily when I’m home.”

“Daily? Oh, you mean to meditate, not to rake.”

“Actually? Both.” I continue rearranging the sand. I have to admit, the lines she did were almost right on target. “You did a really good job out here. Thanks.”

She beams at my praise, and watches as I work the garden. “So, are you meditating now, or can we talk?”

“I can safely say meditation is eluding me.” I put the rake back to the side and return to her. “What are you thinking about?”

“Shopping!”

I push my sunglasses up the bridge of my nose. “I should’ve known.”

“I’d like to chat about what you like and what pieces you want in your wardrobe. Since you never sent me any photos of you in an outfit you were proud of wearing, what’s your favorite item of clothing?”

When she pauses to take a breath, I shake my head. “Nese, I really don’t think about clothes. I grab something and put it on. So long as it’s clean and not tight, I wear it.”

“Ah ha! I knew you had standards. Whatever you’re wearing can’t be tight and must be clean.” She holds up two fingers. “What about fashion forward?” She steps back. “Wait. We’ve already discussed how you avoid following trends.”

I can’t. After working on my garden, this talk about replacing my wardrobe is over the top. “It’s been a long day, Nese. I’m calling it. How about we meet at ten tomorrow to resume shopping?” I take a step toward my house.

“Don’t you want dinner?”

I wave. “My housekeeper left food in the fridge. Feel free to enjoy anything you’d like.” Without waiting for her to respond, I walk to my bedroom.

Once inside my personal sanctuary, I realize I don’t have any pajamas, as they also were in my luggage. Whatever. I strip, take a quick rinse, and slip into bed naked. Some life of a rockstar I’m leading.

After a brief morning meditation session, I choose one of my new shirts and put it on over my new pair of jeans. Tying my sneakers, I leave my room to search for my houseguest, whom I find in my kitchen. Stirring something in a bowl.

My fingers fly to my sunglasses, which I take off and tuck into my shirt. “What are you doing?”

She continues stirring as her face breaks into a wide grin. “Your kitchen is fully stocked. I mean, like it has every spice known to mankind, and then some.” She holds up a whisk, covered in whatever she’s making. “Utensils, too. I had at least five whisks to choose from. You must really hate life on a bus—you never get to cook.”

“No. Uhm, well, I don’t cook.”

Her mouth drops open. “Then tell me how it is that you have a gourmet kitchen in your home?” She places the bowl on the island.

“My mother loves to cook. She bought me all these things.” I motion toward the kitchen.

Nese picks up the bowl again. “Now that makes sense. Does she live nearby?”

“No. My parents live in New Jersey, near where I grew up.”

Nodding her head, she adds a slice of bread to the bowl. “Smart. Staying a continent away fosters better relationships.” Her hand hovers over the griddle. “Nice and hot. I hope you like French toast.”

Not a question. “I’ll get the plates.” I busy myself with setting the table while my houseguest prepares breakfast. Never pictured this happening. It’s pleasant to be surprised—in a good way this time.