Page 17 of Sort of Seeing Someone

“Population control,” Gerda mumbles through a cough.

“So I’ll do that. I’ll nanny them. They’re my nephews after all, and I love them. In exchange, I will live in her coach house until I figure out my life. Here’s a pic of them she sent me this morning.”

I slide my phone—5G radio waves and all—toward Gerda. Nora’s kids are strangling each other in the photo.

“Jubilant,” she comments flatly.

“It’s definitely going to be a new pace of life,” I say, picturing a drawer full of coffee pods. “But I just keep repeating ‘free coach house’ when I think about all the Legos I’ll be stepping on.”

“A coach house…in Chicago. Is that safe?” she asks.

I forget how the rest of the world perceives Chicago as this place you need to pack your bulletproof vest and hide from the mobs. I spare explaining that Roscoe Village is a place where balloon art and goldendoodles are front and backyard staples. My sister’s neighborhood is basically all the Midwestern charm you can muster sprinkled into a two-million-dollar house with close proximity to city life and national attractions. Think: seasonal bike shops, artisan donuts, and overpriced clothing boutiques all within walking distance. Then ballparks, stadiums, and museums just a ten-minute drive away.

“I’ll be fine,” I assure her, not for the first time. “At least I’m not moving back to the Midwest in the middle of winter. I don’t think I could emotionally handle a fifty-degree temperature drop right now. Hey, before I forget…I got you something. A little parting gift, if you will.”

I empty the contents of my CVS shopping bag onto the tabletop.

“Lip balm?” she asks. “What the hell do I need that for?”

“That’s for me, G. This…is for you.”

I slide the crossword puzzle book her way with the package of pencils.

“One thousand intermediate level crossword puzzles,” she narrates. A smile purses across her lips as she resumes eye contact with me. “And some fresh pencils. I love these things.”

“I’m sorry I won’t be there to read you the clues. But hey, maybe that could be a new ritual for you and Betty,” I suggest.

“Oh. Speaking of rituals,” she says. “I have something for you, too.A parting gift, if you will,” she says, lovingly mocking me.

Gerdadidn’t come over holding any bags, so a part of me is awfully curious from where she’s going to pull this ‘parting gift.’ I stay tuned.

Her hand travels to the breast pocket of her housecoat—today’s print is citrus fruit themed. She pulls out a wad of leaves and sets it on the table.

“Potpourri?”

“It’s a smudge stick,” she says.

“Thanks,” I say, unsure of how to receive the gift—a common theme these days.

“Do you know what these are for?”

I shake my head no.

“Smudge sticks are bundles of leaves and herbs. These are blue sage. I bound them together with twine and now they’re ready to burn.”

“Wait. I’m supposed toburnyour gift?”

“Yes. You see, Moonie, burning these herbs wards off negative energy and it cleanses your space. I know you’re not staying here, so wherever you go next, you’ll need to smudge. I got one for myself, too.Oceanhurstwill be great, but I have to cleanse it first.”

My sisterisreally neurotic. The coach house probably serves as an overflow for her negative energy.

“Thanks, Gerda. This is awesome.”

“This is a tradition that goes back thousands of years, you know.”

I don’t, actually. But I happily pick up the smudge stick and inspect it. It’s fragrant.

“Are you sure it’s okay to inhale this?” I ask, remembering that Esther lit something similar around me yesterday.

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