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“S’what I thought,” Peggy clucked. “Ye make yerself cozy. That chair tips way back. Comfiest bed in the house. Whatever’s the matter will keep. Finish up yer tea and get a wee kip. Ye’ll see. Things always seem brighter in the morning light.”

She showed me how to recline the armchair, and by the time I’d swallowed the last sip of tea, my eyes were closing of their own volition. I didn’t think I could have kept them open even if I’d wanted to. And I very much didn’t want to.

I drifted off to sleep, lulled by the warmth and crackling of the fire, the heaviness of the quilt, and whatever had been in the tea that had taken the edge off my roiling emotions, along with Peggy’s soft brogue and the clipped consonants of my grandmother’s Massachusetts accent being bantered back and forth.

I woke up more rested than I’d been in weeks, and I stretched languidly, basking in the coziness of the bed and the knowledge that it was Sunday and the shop was closed. Then my hand connected with the armchair’s wing instead of Art’s warm body and every mortifying detail of the disastrous evening hit me in the chest like a well-aimed fist. I gasped just as Peggy walked into the room, carrying two fresh cups of tea.

“Good morning, hen! Did ye sleep well?”

“I did. Thank you.” I grimaced and met her gaze. “Is it as bad as I remember?”

“Och, nae.” Peggy dismissed my words with a wave. “Naething’s ever as bad as it seems, ye ken.”

“But, Art… and the kids… I just ran out. He did such a nice thing for me. And…” I shrugged helplessly. “I think I might have snapped. Something in me just… broke.”

“Aye, seems like that might hae been what happened. But ye’re feeling better this morn?”

“A little. But that doesn’t excuse how I reacted.”

“Let’s have a cup of tea while ye tell me a wee bit more, aye?”

“I felt the walls closing in, and I panicked. The grand opening was incredible, but there was the fight with Art. Then he told me he loved me, and when we got home, there was still Merry and Viv to take care of. I was already thinking that I couldn’t do all that every day, weeks on end when he showed me the website he made for the shop.”

“Och,” Peggy said, nodding knowingly as she took a deep sip of her tea.

“I can’t do it all, Peggy. I can’t take care of the house, and the kids, and the shop, bake cookies and now manage an online store?” I cried. “It’s too much! I don’t understand how he could think I’d be able to handle all of that! What about me and what I want?”

“Hold up, pet. Has he asked ye tae do it all?” Peggy asked.

What do you want? Grandma asked at the same time, back on her perch on the mantel, this time wearing a very reasonable pair of jeans and a green plaid shirt that looked four sizes too large. She dangled her bare feet and glared at me as though daring me to make another remark about her appearance.

I pinched my thumb and index finger together and ran them over my lips, zipping them closed, then turned an imaginary key that I tossed over my shoulder with a wink. What she did with her afterlife was her business. At least she seemed to know what she wanted.

“I’m not sure what I want,” I answered my grandmother, tucking Peggy’s question aside for the moment. “I thought it was peace and quiet.” I paused to rub my aching chest. “But I’ve only been gone one night, and I miss them like I’m missing a limb,” I whispered. “I hated the chaos when I was growing up,” I said to Grandma. “Why don’t I hate this chaos?”

Grandma’s answering smile was more tender than any other I’d ever seen cross her face.

“Because when you were a child, you were stuck on the outside of the chaos. You felt its warmth and energy, but it rejected you. This chaos welcomes you with open arms.”

My hand shook as fear dug its nails into my stomach.

“Why does that scare ye so, hen?” Peggy asked, gently.

I glanced over at my grandmother and back. “You can hear her?”

“Aye! Me mam gave me just enough of the sight that with a wee cup of the right tea, I can hear spirits inclined to talk with me. Canna see them, but I hear them just fine. Noo, why does the chaos scare ye, then?”

“It’s not the chaos itself. It’s the thought of having to shrink myself to fit into someone’s life again now that I’ve found all the parts of me that I had to abandon to fit into Jim’s.”

“And Art and the kids want ye to be smaller, do they?” she asked, arching a questioning eyebrow at me over her cup. “That’s a right shame, that.”

I frowned. “Well, no… but.”

Out with it, child. Don’t keep an old woman waiting.

“What if I lose myself in the chaos?” I glanced back and forth between the two women, waiting for them to agree with me, but they both shook their heads.

Not gonna happen.