On the Verge (A Charmed Life Book 1) (4 page)

Jill gave a little mischievous grin to Tracy, then her face shifted to give Alex a sympathetic look.  “Dear, all couples keep points on each other.  We just don't usually do it so obviously.”

Alex wanted to argue, but Jill leaned over and whispered something in his ear.  His cheeks turned an adorable shade of red and he let out an unsettled 'harrumph' and retreated into his seat, not saying anything more.

Some good-natured ribbing followed.  Once he got over his initial fluster, Sing was giving back as good as he gave, while Tracy just sat back and watched contentedly.  The talk muted a bit as the food arrived, every face turning expectantly towards the waitress as she came towards them with a platter full of plates.

Tracy inhaled deeply as the plates went past her, enjoying the delicious mix of scents, the meats and the cheeses and the breads, all mixing together into a gestalt aroma that made her hungry just smelling it.  She smiled brightly at the waitress as she accepted her own small dish, the strawberry crepes, looking forward to the delicious little treat.

Dinner temporarily muted the conversation as everyone tucked in with gusto, and Tracy was fine to leave it that way for a couple of minutes as she slowly savored her sweet strawberries, mixed with the mild tang of the vanilla ice cream.

“Your face,” Sing said, smiling lightly, “it's like … some exquisite and exotic treat, of unparalleled flavor, that you want to enjoy to its fullest because you've never had it before and you don't know if you'll ever be able to have it again.”

Tracy smiled back.  “You have the nicest way with words,” she murmured, her cheeks pinkening a little.  “But yeah, that's how good it tastes to me.  It's like the nigh-perfect combination of flavors.  All it lacks is a nice touch of chocolate…  perhaps some shavings or something.”

Sing laughed gently.

“Besides,” Tracy persisted, ignoring his laughter.  “I never want to be one of those people who takes all the wonderful stuff around us for granted.  No matter how old I get, I want to look up at a blue sky and think 'wow! What a beautiful sky!' or see a nice tree or a floating balloon or eat a strawberry crepe and just realize what a luxury it is.”

“To gaze upon life,” said Sing, quietly, his voice a bit distant as it tended to be whenever he played with words, “As a dream always on the verge of being remembered, a celebration on the verge of breaking out, a faerie realm on the verge of simply being.”

Tracy let out a soft sigh of delight at the play of words.  Jill looked to Tracy with a pained, urgent expression.  “Traaaaceeeeee!” she groaned.

Tracy smiled back at Jill, then gave a sly grin at Sing, one eyebrow raised.  Sing shifted nervously, Tracy delighting in the pink flush that colored his cheeks again.

The night passed quickly as the friends joked, and it came to an end too soon as everyone leaned back, letting out long, drawn-out sighs and groans of satisfaction, hands resting lightly on overfilled bellies.

“Next time,” Jill promised Alex - again - “You and I are just sharing something.”

They pulled out wallets and chipped in money all around, so that they could leave the waitress with a sizable tip - partly due to generosity, partly because no one could be bothered to figure out how much they actually owed.  The group slowly made their way out of the restaurant, still laughing among themselves, but much quieter than before.

“You walking home, Tracy?” asked Ted, as he pulled out his keys.

“Nuh-uh,” said Tracy, shivering as the full bite of the fierce nighttime chill struck her.  “Too cold.” She wrapped her arms around herself and bit her lower lip, bouncing up and down on her heels as she waited impatiently for Ted to open up the car door.  “Man, it's supposed to be getting warmer by now.  What's with all this cold weather?”

“We'll never fit everyone in the back,” Stephen said, shaking his head.  “Not with how full we are.”

“What's this 'we' business, Shotgun Boy?” Alex sniped at Stephen.  “Not like you have to deal with it.”

Stephen straightened up indignantly.  “Hey, now, you think it's easy maintaining a girth like this?  No, this takes a dedicated regimen of desk-work and ennui.  I'd think you'd be more appreciative!”

“Appreciative?” asked Jill incredulously.  “How does your 'girth' help us?”

Striking a melodramatic pose, Stephen declared, “I! … don't know.  I hadn't thought that far ahead yet.  But when I figure that out …” He paused significantly, then deepened his voice. “
You
will be the first to know.”

Tracy hurried into the back seat.  The seat itself was cold, and it drained the heat rapidly from her back and backside both.  She reached over to unlock the far door as Jill came in behind her.  Alex and Sing flanked the two ladies, pressing in as they closed the doors on either side.

Tracy snuggled into Sing, tucking up under his arm and into his warmth.  Sing gave her a squeeze of a hug, giving a quiet little huff.  Beside them, Tracy could hear the intake of breath and the start of the first syllable as Jill started to say something, but a swift kick to the ankle quieted the enthusiastic matchmaker.

Nestled into the warm, musky scent, Tracy let her eyes sink shut, and just shivered against Sing during the interminably long and cold minutes the car spent getting to her house.

Sing got out of the car and let Tracy half-fall out, and several good-byes were called.  Normally, Tracy would have let the good-byes draw out, say a few more things, wave as they drove away, but it was just too cold.  With a brief “drive safe!” she was at the door, keys already out of her purse and fumbling at the keyhole.

The apartment was still a bit cold when she reached it, and Tracy hurried to her bedroom to grab up her electric blanket and wrap it around her.  She could have turned up the heat and transformed the apartment into a sauna, but it was really a waste to warm up the entire apartment when she only needed to warm herself - and she liked cool air as long as she didn't have to be cold, herself.

The warmth soaked into her after a minute or so of shivering, and she breathed deeply of the cool, crisp air, curled up in her reading chair in the corner of her bedroom as she browsed social sites on her smartphone.  This was one of her favorite sensations - wrapped up in a warm, toasty blanket as she breathed the winter air deep into her lungs.  She smiled to herself as she thought of how very many 'favorite things' she had.  Unfortunately, she couldn't stay like that forever, as the three glasses of water at dinner started to remind her.

Reluctantly, Tracy started unfolding herself from the warm blanket, but she sped up once the chilly air hit her, hurrying towards the bathroom.  She opened the door and flipped the light on in a single movement, then let out a shriek as something large and furry leaped at her.

“You!  You!  Nameless horror!” she stammered, clutching at her frantically beating heart.  “You mischievous monster! You scared three inches out of me!” Tracy leaned her shoulders back against the wall as she tried to settle herself down.  The small gray cat twisted itself around her ankles, purring softly.

The nameless cat had been surprisingly neat and tidy, having done his business in the shower stall where it would be easy to clean up.  “Why, thank you!” Tracy chirped happily, breathing out the last of her fight-or-flight panic.  “That's so nice of you!”

After she relieved herself, thankful that she hadn't done so earlier when the cat had startled her, she went out into the main room.  “Well, it's getting late,” she said to the cat.  “You'd best stay out of my way as I do this, or else you might get your tail stepped on.”

Tracy shoved the coffee table over to one side of the room, giving her ample space, and then stepped lightly to the middle of the room.  Feet askew, head tilting back lightly, she concentrated on breathing.  Her hands rested at her midriff, thumbs and forefingers making an 'O' as she slowly inhaled and exhaled, feeling the air draw in through her nose, out through her pursed mouth, slowly, calmly.  She took all her stress and let it seep out of her along with her exhalations, relaxing her whole body as she lost track of time.

With her eyes still closed, she lifted both her arms up, then started moving, slowly and surely, through the actions of a Tai Chi form.  She breathed in time with her actions, consciously timing it all very carefully, each breath ending along with a movement.  Every muscle dedicated itself to the slow forms, the whole body contributing to each new stance.

Finishing the movement, she resumed the original position and began it over again.  With her muscles now loosened up, she wasn't doing the movements by the number - she could let herself flow through it with grace.  With each repetition, the movements flowed slowly, easily, as they ran from her muscle memory instead of her mind's, reflexes knowing the movements better than she did.

Back and forth across the living room she danced, her long skirts flowing around her.  Her mental image was not herself, but a beautiful Hollywood actress in a movie, choreographed and skilled, with dramatic music playing in the background.

A furred touch ran across her calf, and she glanced down to see the rustling of the cat playing under her skirts, dodging her feet easily as she stepped across the room.  At first she felt self-conscious, faltering, but the nameless cat's head popped out from under her skirts and gave her such an offended, affronted look that she couldn't help but laugh and continue, giving herself into the movements again, marveling that the cat could play between her feet so quickly without getting stepped on.

She laughed brightly, letting herself speed up through the motions, her feet dancing, her skirts twirling, until she was using the quick motions as a self-defense kata, a dance of redirection and avoidance.  She finally came to a stop, breath quick but not panting, her heart pounding with excitement.  The cat coiled around her ankle and purred happily, so Tracy squatted to scoop him up.

“You,” she said to the cat, “are a most excellent dance partner,” and gave him a bit of attention, teasing under his chin before putting him down.

The cat trailed after her like a tiny shadow as she went to take a shower, and after that to bed.  She fell into a comfortable sleep with the nameless cat she wasn't going to keep curled up on the corner of her pillow, one tiny paw resting on her shoulder as she dreamed pleasant dreams.

Tracy woke up the next morning to a warm weight on her shoulder, the sleeping cat rousing with an annoyed noise and a brief prickle of a claw as Tracy stretched and got up, disturbing his sleep.

The cat was welcome and omnipresent company, always watching her with his calm eyes, no matter what she was doing.  Despite her protestations, she ended up 'not keeping him' for longer than expected, though she threw up some printed signs around the apartment complex asking if anyone had lost a cat.  By Friday, Nameless had a litter box tucked away in the bathroom, and his own bowl in the kitchen, and no one had come by looking for him.

Other than Nameless moving in, the week had gone pretty much as normal.  Boring tech support during the day, mild chores and entertainment at night.  Wednesday, she spent the night cleaning her apartment; Thursday, she pulled out the jewelry kit and worked at making three small wire-wrapped stone pendants and half of an intricately designed beaded wire bracelet.  Once the weather got warmer and the Renaissance Faire opened up, she'd give Ted the stock she'd been making all winter so he could sell them for her.  The extra money was always welcome, and Ted already had his own booth at the faire.

Tonight, though, she had the gang coming over for Dinner and Movie Night, and she needed to grab some supplies first.  On the Fridays she hosted, she drove to work so that she could stop off at the store on the way home.  Dressed in the bland slacks and polo shirt of the cube farm, she clocked out at the front desk and then went through the elevator into the parking sub-basement.

Tracy smiled and made some light good-byes to some co-workers, who all slowly peeled away as they found their cars.  She smiled proudly as she saw her truck, as she did every time.  It was a somewhat battered deep green 4-wheel drive '83 Chevy with extra-sized wheels, raised flexible suspension, and really good clearance.  A roll bar, larger bumpers, and a winch over the front bumper reinforced the exterior.  The engine had many of its original parts, but she had gotten it modified with a reduction drive to help in off-roading.  She rarely drove it anywhere for normal purposes, preferring to use the bus and save the truck's mileage for fields and rivers in the summertime.

She started it up and listened to the motor hum beautifully, letting it warm up, though it wasn't too cold thanks to the underground parking area.  After several minutes, she threw the stick shift into reverse and pulled out of the parking space, making her way to the grocery store.

The grocery store's parking lot wasn't too bad, but Tracy knew that in fifteen minutes, it would be packed full.  As she got out of her truck, purse in hand, she saw a soldier a few cars down.  Dressed in casual fatigues, he still had that straight back and precise movement, that confidence and strength that settled in unconsciously on every soldier she saw, marking them more than any uniform could.

She took a deep breath and stepped up to him, clearing her throat.  The man turned around, curious, with a quick move as if he was about ready to come to attention.  He relaxed as he saw her, smiling.  “Can I help you?”

She shook her head.  “No, I just…” She paused.  How to answer that? “You already have.  Thank you.”

He didn't need to ask for what.  They never did.  It was understood.  He just straightened up that tiny bit more and nodded.  “You're welcome.”

She blushed and nodded, then turned around and hurried towards the store, feeling embarrassed that a moment of such intimate understanding could be felt with a total stranger, every time.  Embarrassed, but proud and awed as well.

A sudden jolt made Tracy lose her train of thought.  She stumbled backwards, looking around for whatever had run into her, and found it in a tall, lanky, Native American guy wearing jeans and a stained polo shirt who had just come out from between two SUVs.  “Hey!” she yelled, annoyed.

“Oh, I'm sorry!” said the surprised man.  “I was distracted by -” he paused, took a second look at her.  “Wait, aren't you -” he started, then stopped.  “No, no, never mind,” he amended, a slightly confused look on his face.  He turned and hurried off, shaking his head and mumbling to himself.

Perplexed, Tracy watched him for a few moments more, then shrugged and turned back towards the store.  “Oddballs,” she murmured quietly, but felt a bit uncertain when he glanced back at her again with a less confused and more discerning look.

Her first stop in the store was the bread aisle, where she simply closed her eyes and inhaled.  The rich, fresh, delicious scent of every kind of bread washed over her, a magnificent overload of grainy goodness.  She breathed deeply and let out a contented sigh, then wandered along the aisle, seeing what caught her eye.

The processed, bleached, cheap breads were right out.  They were fine, sometimes - like the baker's version of candy, though.  They didn't have any heartiness to them, they were just a tasty little snack.  She picked several loaves in turn to give a good deep inhalation before settling on a hearty loaf of stone-ground seven grain bread.

She continued on into the produce aisle, still breathing deeply.  The fruits weren't quite as aromatic, not at this time of year, but she still loved the smell of it.  Once she got past the produce, her quick shopping trip actually did become faster.  You could smell a box and go “Ahhh…  sterile processing environment,” only so many times.

At home once more, Tracy worked quickly to put away the spoilables and prepare dinner.  She loved cooking for people.  She loved the anticipation, waiting to see how they liked it.  She loved when they came back for seconds.  She really, really enjoyed it when they groaned afterward that they had eaten too much.

Today, she was making a bacon mushroom soup, a dish she had modified from one of Wolfgang Puck's recipes.  She was also setting up a plate of little mini-sandwiches to go with the soup - ham, turkey, and salami.  Once the base soup was ready and heating up, she dipped back to her bedroom to get dressed for the night.  Keeping in mind the still-cold weather outside, even though the kitchen would soon be toasty warm, she dressed in a long, heavy denim skirt and a white sweater with a lighter blue collar peeking out from underneath.  She'd have to be careful not to let any soup spill on it - she liked this sweater.

She rolled up her sleeves as she went back to the kitchen.  The pot was cooking nicely, a content simmering that sent its delicious scent all throughout the apartment, a thick and rich earthy scent spiced with bacon's tang but mellowed by the cream.  She threw on an apron before stirring it carefully, watching the dark brown colors swirl and mix, big chunks of cut vegetables and bacon popping up to the surface and then sinking down once more.

Satisfied with how the soup smelled, she returned to the cutting board, where the lighter and more energetic scents of the sandwiches were stronger in her nose.  She quickly assembled another sandwich, complete with cheese, tomatoes, and lettuce, then stuck four toothpicks into it before cutting it into four little triangles, one toothpick in each.

Life was good.

Fifteen minutes later, the food didn't matter any more.  Everyone had called, and no one could make it.

Tracy was left with a hollow feeling inside.  They all had good reasons - car troubles, family emergencies, sudden overtime at work, lack of a ride - and she understood that none of it was personal.  But there was the food on the stove and counter, and there were her plans for the evening, and all of it was pointless.  She had been prepared for an evening of laughing and friendship and socialization, and instead she was going to be alone.

It felt slightly surreal.  A rational part of her was observing the rest of her from a distance, as if she didn't actually feel bad, but rather was simply watching herself feel bad.

She moved to the counter, reaching into the bread bag for another two slices, but then reminded herself that she didn't need to do that anymore.  Instead, she calmly closed the bag and put the bread away.  For a moment she felt the urge to throw the bread across the living room and let herself have a good cathartic yell of frustration, or at least a decent sulk, but instead she just set it gently into the breadbox.  Calmly, she put all the unprepared food away into the fridge, nibbling on one of the mini-sandwiches in the process.  She turned the soup down to a simmer to keep it warm and let it finish, cleaned off the counter.

Normally, she would have enjoyed these simple tasks, chatting with early-comers about their day, their week.  About movies and stories and her jewelry and their hobbies.  Perhaps Ted had driven about and taken some more photographs of landscapes, and Stephen would, of course, be excited about the latest in video game news.  Sing would have been sitting back and listening to it all with that enigmatic grin on his face, like watching them talk about trivialities was a great treat for him.  Alex and Jill would have more stories of how cute their cats acted - and no doubt would have been cooing and baby-talking to Nameless.

“Well, at least there's that,” she said quite seriously to Nameless.  “Your dignity gets to be preserved, because I certainly won't speak down to you like that.”  She wrapped up most of the mini-sandwiches in plastic wrap, stuffed them in the fridge, and then sat down on the couch with the remainder.

Normally she wouldn't eat at the couch.  She had her routines, like anyone else, and part of her routines involved eating at the table - but today she wanted the comfy seat.  She wanted to feel spoiled.  She turned on the television and flipped through the programming, but it all felt flat and uninteresting, so she turned it off again, nibbling at her food without any real hunger.

A gentle touch against her leg made her look down to see Nameless, and she smiled and patted the couch next to her.  The cat looked at the movement, but ignored the invite, instead twining about her legs a couple more times before leaping up onto the couch on her other side.  Nameless looked at Tracy with a flat stare, as if to say, “I did that to show you it's because I want to be here, not because you asked me to be here.” and then put a paw up on Tracy's knee to lean over and nibble at the sandwich in Tracy's hand.  Tracy gave a reluctant little smile and let the cat do so - Nameless had been eating Tracy's food all week, and hadn't thrown up once, yet.  She knew the cat should have, at some point in time.  Cats don't eat human food without throwing up - or at least, that's what she had read on the internet - but there you are.

“Ah,” she sighed, “Thanks for being there, Nameless.” She swapped the sandwich to her far hand, and felt the light pressure as Nameless's other front paw came up on her thigh, following the slight movement of the sandwich.  With her newly freed closer hand, Tracy lightly played fingers over soft feline ears and the sleek fur at the back of the cat's neck.  “I dunno what to do, now.”

The small gray cat leaped from Tracy's lap and bounded to the front door, his lean form lengthening and flowing like dark water.  Even as he did so, Tracy felt that great urge to go walking, to let her frustration ease itself out of her through activity.  The pull of the outside.  She pulled on her puffy jacket and stepped out, surprised that Nameless followed after her.  She pulled her hat from her pocket as she walked down the hall to the entryway, snugged it over her ears against the cold that was sure to be out there.

Sure enough, the wind bit into her as she stepped outside, tugging her mittens on.  Her heavy denim skirt pulled against her legs, the denim not all that good at keeping the chill out, but better than the light skirts she had worn on Tuesday.  She turned away from the wind and just walked, following that random little urge deep inside her that pulled her around one corner, then the next, walking past shop front after shop front until the shops gave way to homes, then homes gave way to shops once more, her restless legs carrying her quite far and quite quickly.

Nameless leaped from shadow to shadow, then chased down some of the very few fallen leaves that had escaped out from under the snow, the cold wind sending them skittering across the sidewalk.  Tracy smiled as strands of her hair blew around her face.  She uselessly brushed them away, trying to tuck them under her cap, but the wind just whipped them away from her again.  Each step helped her forget her frustrations and just relax in the clear, crisp night, her spirit lightened by watching the innocent play of the adorable cat.

Every so often, a figure approached from the other direction.  It was always something of a disappointment.  It wasn't fear - though Tracy always got a little cautious about strangers in the night - but more it was a violation of privacy.  On the nights like this, she could find her way to back roads and suburbs where she wouldn't see another person for block after block.  She knew it was irrational, but strangers on her walk felt like intruders upon her private night, trespassers upon her own personal path.

She had gone two thirds of the way through a long, rough, haphazard circle and had turned back towards her apartment building when she felt a tingling up the back of her neck.  She glanced back over her shoulder and saw someone following along behind her.  Nervously, she picked up her speed, knowing that up ahead was another section of shops that would have more people around.

Tracy always walked quickly during her walks, even when she was feeling lazy.  It wasn't a conscious choice - she simply had always done so, ever since she was a little girl walking with her parents.  By this time, she had been walking rapidly for something approaching an hour, and when she sped up her pace, she felt her legs protesting slightly.  She walked more during the summer than the winter, so it had been a while since she'd used those muscles on a regular basis.