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We stand in the hall and I have no idea where the hell to look. At her bright blue eyes? At the damned vulva on the wall behind her? At her dead grandmother who’s mouthing things and pointing in Brenna’s direction. At the soul she seems to emit? It’s nothing like I’ve seen before. Most look like you and me. Just people moving around in the world. Some are blobs of energy. This one? This one seems to morph between the two. In the year I’ve been meeting Kristie I’ve only ever seen the soul as a bright light surrounding Brenna. Today when Grammy stepped closer? I almost saw its face.

“So, um, are you heading out?” Brenna asks, her cheeks pinkening.

“Ah, yeah. On my way to look for coffee.” I slip my hands in my pockets and hope that Brenna notices my shirt.

“Wow, you're slick. So slick my poor granddaughter can’t even tell you’re asking her to join you,” Grammy says, rolling bright blue eyes that look a lot like Brenna’s.

“Oh, ah, let me walk you down?” I gesture down the hall and not only does Brenna beam at me, but so does the goddamn soul attached to her. It shocks a gasp out of me that I have to cover with a cough so I don’t freak Brenna out.

Fucking “gift”. It’s hard enough being attracted to the woman. But to be haunted by her grandmother and see a goddamned soul hanging around her? Jesus. I run a hand down my face, and tell myself to pull it together.

“OK, let me just,” Brenna’s voice drifts off as she digs around in her cute tote for her keys, pulling her door shut and doing all the shit you do when you’re trying to leave your house while trying to look cool in front of someone else.

I don’t know what it is about Brenna but my gut fizzes and my nerves feel alive. She spins toward me and I hold my hand out, allowing her to go first. She moves past me, her hand brushing mine in the slightest of touches and the contact shocks me to my very core, turning my world on its axis.

“Whoa,” Brenna whispers, wide eyes on mine.

“Whoa is fucking right,” I mutter.

“Yussss,” Grammy hisses and she pumps her fist excitedly.

I roll my eyes and make a note to talk to my sister and her husband. Weird shit is afoot and I’m not sure me and Grammy can figure it out on our own.

Brenna

I think about the zap of electricity between my hand and Gabriel’s as I bounce through the city on the streetcar that will take me to Grammy. Most people despise public transport. But not me. I like watching people. Guessing where they’ve come from and where they’re going. When I’m sitting here, I can see snippets of lives I know nothing about. Like the mother and toddler sitting near the front, the little boy pointing at all the halloween decorations lining the streets on my way to the French Quarter. If I’m honest I could have walked, but this way I can turn my brain off and just sink into reading people.

Or overthinking my interaction with Gabriel. My inner voice kept screaming at me to ask him for coffee or maybe to go look at the street decorations. Instead my cheeks constantly burned, I stumbled over words and basically screamed at him about my wall vulva. Grammy is going to have a field day when I tell her about my morning.

“Excuse me,” a gruff voice says to my left, and I angle my knees away from the walkway.

The man the voice belongs to smells strongly of body odor, and he has an odd countenance about him, but I’m sure that's just because he’s uncomfortable. His gaze darts around, landing on me more than once. I offer a smile and a sympathetic look when he grumbles about the car being too full.

He looks like a man who doesn't get out very often. I’m sure he’s very nice but people-ing isn't for everyone. Like, I can’t imagine Gabriel people-ling for long. Not because he looks uncomfortable to be around people. Quite the opposite. He’s friendly, funny and kind. He just seems as if he would prefer his own company.

The streetcar grinds to a halt and I stand, making sure I have everything. Which of course I do. But you never know. I live in fear that I’ll leave a book or my phone or my emergency tissues behind. I give the odd man a friendly smile and wish him a good day. His lips tip up into barely a smile, but I’ll take it.

Making my way off the streetcar I take a deep breath when my ballet flats hit the pavement. It’s only a five minute walk to the cemetery, and I take the opportunity to get my thoughts in order. I see Grammy every Wednesday, which is my scheduled day off. Just because she’s not “with” us anymore doesn’t mean I can fill in the day with other pursuits. Ever since I moved out of her house and into the apartment above the coffee shop Wednesday has been our day.

Arriving at the cemetery, I pick through the tombs, following the trail I always do. I wave a little hello at the people I always pass.

“Morning, Dot. Is Abbott behaving?” I ask her with a wink.

She grins back at me, rolling her eyes. “He’s exactly where I left him, so that’s saying something.” Dot is hilarious and some days we joke about how her husband and Grammy are up there causing mischief.

I return her grin, before digging around in my tote. “This is for you.” I hand her my latest cross stitch. It’s of a black cat and the words “I’m not superstitious, but I am a little stitious” after a conversation we once had. She takes one look and then throws her head back with laughter. Joy glows like a bright light around her and in a place like this, her joy is an absolute gift to me. That’s why I spend my time crafting little things that will make her laugh.

“Brenna, you are an absolute balm my girl.” She beams, cupping my cheek gently. “Now, you leave me to giggle my britches off while you go catch up with Grammy. Tell her I said hello.”

“Will do, Dot.” I nod toward her husband. “See you next time, Mr Crispin.”

I mouth the words, “It’s Abbott, dear,” As I pick my way through the headstones a little more until I reach Grammy.

She’s in the family tomb, and her name plaque shines bright amongst the names of our family members. It also stands out a little more because the last time I was here I pressed sticky pink rhinestones to her plaque. It’s not really allowed, the rules here are pretty strict but I know Grammy has my back and is probably laughing about how sweaty and red-faced I got with my little rebellion.

“Morning, Grammy! Ugh, you’ll never guess what,” I start, leaving my little crocheted flowers at the base of the family tomb. I dust off any fallen petals from last week's flowers and then tidy up a little while I chat. “Gabriel, remember him? Kristie’s brother? I think I told you about him. Anyway, he lives next door! Like next to me. His living room shares a wall with my bed. How crazy is that?” I take Grammy’s favorite dessert, a beignet, out of my tote and leave it next to her flowers. I know the birds or some other wildlife will eat it, but it just doesn't feel like a Wednesday if I don’t visit her with one in my bag.

Dusting off my hands I move a little to where the walkway widens and sit on the old wooden bench. It has swirly iron legs and I don’t know how or why it’s here, but it’s become one of my favorite places. I get to sit in the warm sun, a few feet from Grammy and tell her about my week.