Page 27 of Your Echo
8Maarval || OIJ
STÉPHANIE
When I walkinto the kitchen at the AMM house, Guita and Luc—another one of our volunteers—are both hunched over a laptop on the kitchen counter.
“What’s up?” I ask, nodding at the laptop as I get the cash box out and set my coffee can down on the table.
Sherbrooke Station didn’t show up for my class today. I thought I might open my eyes after meditating and find Ace Turner sitting in the back row, giving me that lethal little smile of his, but he didn’t turn up at all.
Probably hungover,I tell myself.Probably for the best.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. He looked so lost, standing in the dark street on Thursday night, the shadows deepening the hollows of his cheeks and the purple skin under his eyes. He looked so damn beautiful and lost, like a diamond ring glittering in the gutter.
A few years ago, I would have jumped down into a ditch for a guy like that. I would have seen the sparkle, and I wouldn’t have cared how dirty I got going after it. I know better now. I dragged myself out of the mud with a promise to never get sucked back in again.
“Stéphanie, did you hear me?”
Guita and Luc are both staring at me over the top of the laptop screen.
“Desolé,” I apologize. “What did you say?”
“I said,” Guita repeats herself, “that we’ve gotten a request I think you’ll be interested in.”
“A request?”
Luc points toward the screen. “It’s an email that came in today. Someone is looking for private meditation classes.”
“Do we...do that?” I ask.
“Normally no, but they’d like to pay for them.”
I feel myself tense up at the words. That goes against everything we stand for here. The entire organization is run on donations and volunteer work. This is the kind of place everyone can feel welcome, whether or not they’re able to pay for it.
Guita must know exactly what I’m thinking because she rushes to explain more.
“I didn’t like the sound of that either,” she tells me, “but they’ve also offered to make a...well, aconsiderabledonation to the association. They’d like to take classes once a week and offered to pay the teacher for their time in addition to the donation. I thought of you, Stéphanie. I know that withta maman...Well, I just thought you might want to consider it.”
I haven’t told Guita everything about my mom, but she’s been my confidante on more than one occasion. She knows enough to understand that times have rarely been anything but tough.
“I couldn’t do that,” I answer firmly. “I don’t do this for money. If you want me to teach a private class and give whatever money they offer to the centre, I’ll do it, but—”
“Guita and I have been going over finances,” Luc interrupts me. “We’ve already made much more in donations this summer than we did last year, and with this new donation, we have enough to cover our costs for awhile.”
“Still, I—”
“Stéphanie.” Guita steps out from behind the counter and puts her hands on her hips. “This is a place that exists to help people, in any way that it can. You bring so much positivity to our association, and if we can give even a bit of that gift back to you, we want to do it. This isn’t about money. This is about kindness and gratitude and helping the people we care about.”
Guita is hard to argue with even on a regular day. When she goes full on Meditation Mother on me, I can’t say no to anything she asks.
“Merci,” I murmur. “That means a lot. I still don’t think this is right, though.”
“Would knowing how much you’d make per week change your mind?” Luc asks.
He gives me a number, and my eyes almost pop out of my head. With the extra hours at the studio, I’d be doing well enough to keep both my andmaman’s fridges full of food—cheap food, but still, food.
“Does that interest you?” Luc prompts.
“I think that would interest anyone,” I joke. “That would make a big difference for my family. How many sessions a week would it be?”
