Page 90 of Lease to Love

Then the room came back.

House of Autumn. My bed. My apartment. Sunday afternoon light filtering through the blinds in soft orange stripes.

Not that day.

Not that street.

Not that store.

I closed my eyes and forced myself to breathe.

In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.

My therapist called it box breathing, which I had always thought was a stupid name, but it had saved my life more times than I cared to count, so I didn’t argue with it.

Five things I could see. The water stain on my ceiling shaped suspiciously like Texas. The garment bag hanging from my door. The little gold flowers still tangled in the bun I hadn’t bothered taking down from yesterday.

Four things I could hear. Traffic humming along H Street, a dog barking somewhere two floors below me, the faint rattle of pipes behind the wall, and my own breath slowly evening out.

Three things I could touch—the cotton sheet twisted around my fist, the cool pillow beneath my cheek, and the steady pulse beneath two fingers pressed against my throat.

I used to wake up screaming from this one. This dream.

Freshman year at Howard, before I dropped out, before House of Autumn, before I had a single useful tool in my toolbox besides crying into a dorm pillow and calling Mama at three in the morning. It had taken years to get from screaming to this. Years to learn how to drag myself back into the present instead of letting the past convince my body it was happening all over again.

I was fine.

I was fine.

My phone rang before I finished convincing myself, and I lunged for it like it was a life raft.

“MAMA” the screen read.

I answered fast enough to dislocate my thumb.

“Hey, Mama.”

“Well, hey yourself, Sunny girl.” I could hear ice clinking against a glass on the other end, along with the familiar hum of Aunt Sage’s porch fan. “Why you sound like you just ran a marathon?”

“Power nap.” I cleared my throat. “Overslept.”

“Mm-hmm.”

I could practically see the face that went with that sound.

“You still going out with the landlord tonight?”

“His name is Roman, Mama.”

“I know his name. I’m choosing not to use it because I’m still upset you hid a whole relationship from me for God knows how long.”

“It’s been a month.”

“A whole month, Summer Renee!”

I let my head fall back against the headboard, smiling despite myself. Despite the sweat cooling along my spine. Despite the ghost of four blocks still sitting heavy in my chest. Twenty minutes on the phone with Mama and somehow I was laughing, telling her about the fair date, the gala, the church service, and the disastrous game of spades he still insisted he hadn’t lost.

I didn't tell her about the kiss.