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So yeah, baggage. I told Kirian I have baggage because I do have it. I have like a thousand unpacked suitcases stacked up in my mind. I have no idea why the necklace glowed for me, but maybe it got it wrong. Perhaps there is someone out there who will make it light up the same way I did. Just because we went through a hundred people doesn’t mean anything. That’s just a small sampling of the great wide sea of potential soulmates out there.
Kirian comes from a good family, and he owns his own business, where he faithfully shows up every day. From what I can gather, he might have commitment issues because of his dad leaving, but maybe he also just has enough in his life that he enjoys being by himself and isn’t ready for something else yet. Anyway, compared to my life, his life is so freaking normal. How could the necklace, any person in the entire world, or any curse think we’d make a good match? His family was so welcoming, and they love him so much. They were there for him, and they’ll always be there for him. I have no idea what that’s like. I can’t just amalgamate myself into something like that or blend my not-normal life into the life of someone who has it all together.
So what if we’re both like big nerds? So what if what he did in his kitchen felt crazy good and was basically one of the best gifts someone’s ever given me because it proved I wasn’t broken? So what if Kirian listened, which I very much appreciated, and even looked enraged on my behalf? I did appreciate that too, but it doesn’t mean we’d make it for more than a freaking day as a match.
Okay, I guess I panicked a little and pulled a hit and run. That is, minus the hit but heavy on the run.
And now I’m sitting here on the beat-up old couch while being smothered by four cats who are alternating between licking, kneading, and shoving their asses in my face because they’re super happy I’m home. Unfortunately, I can’t shut my mind off.
It’s very sad that humans are not like computers. I’ve said this so many times before. Because I wish I can just power down and stop thinking about everything.
Instead, I close my eyes and do one of the many exercises my therapist has given me so I can relax and decompress. I count to ten, control my breathing, and focus on the here and now. I also anchor myself to the present with soft cat fur and potent cat breath. I genuinely do like the smell of cat breath, so I use the word potent in a good way here. Honestly, if I can bottle cat breath and apply it like essential oil and smell it on and off all day, I probably will. I don’t know…I guess I’m weird that way. I can’t speak for cats around the world, but my cats have decent to excellent breath.
I’m still doing a grounding exercise, concentrating on the exact silk of Randolph’s fur—he’s a tabby, so parts of it are slightly coarse while other parts are wonderfully soft, and I’m enjoying the diversity of the two—when the doorbell rings.
The cats go flying off my lap like there’s been an explosion, although I guess they’re the explosion. You’d think someone lit a firecracker right underneath me. They all go skittering through the house, and it’s a good thing I don’t have many things in here for them to knock over as they run for cover.
I whip around, immediately cursing whoever is out there as they’re probably trying to sell something since that’s generally the only people who ring the doorbell during the day. But when my eyes land on the monitor, I’m stunned.
It’s not a salesperson out there. Nope, not even close. Kirian is the last person I expected to see. Honestly, I thought that after everything I told him, he was gone for good. But here he is, in person. Not gone, and not for good. He’s holding something in his arms, and when I stand on the couch to look closely at the monitor, I can tell it’s a cake in one of those fancy plastic trays. Another cake? A different one? The other one went the way of my boot, and this one is round, so yeah, it’s a different one. He also has a plastic bag dangling from his arm.
He’s just standing out there with the calmest expression on his face. Not a scowl. Not a smile. Just…just placid.
I can’t just leave him standing out there. I know he’s not going to drop the cake and run. He’s here for a reason, and if I don’t answer the door, he’s probably just going to keep coming back. And he brought a cake. If he hated me, would he bring a cake?
