Chapter 29 #3
My legs trembled the moment my feet touched the floor, and I moved like I was ninety-five years old. Every step made me feel the ache right there , and every ache brought a new wave of random chaos from my mouth.
“Limp biscuit lightning rod! Sweet baby ow! Jesus—okay!”
Imanio finally looked up, smirking as he set his phone aside. Ms. Shirley covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.
“I’ll be downstairs eating breakfast if you get out before I’m done,” he said. “Although I don’t think you will be.”
I gave him a lazy glare and nodded, biting back a smile as I held onto the bedpost for balance.
Ms. Shirley looped her arm gently through mine and helped me down the hall. I limped beside her like a wounded soldier on a mission. She walked slowly, like she was holding back laughter with every step. I could feel her trying to be professional, but every few feet, I blurted something wild.
“Macaroni machete! Oooh—I swear this man broke my pelvic soul—cramp carnival!”
Ms. Shirley pressed her lips together hard, eyes twinkling.
“Take your time, baby,” she said, steady and calm. “No judgment here. I’ve seen worse.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Define worse —devil dick damage!”
Ms. Shirley finally let out a chuckle as she guided me into the bathroom. When I entered, I was taken aback—in awe. That wasn’t just a bathroom; it was a whole experience.
Floor-to-ceiling marble tile gleamed beneath soft golden light, a custom waterfall feature trickled into the back wall, and tropical plants curled around the window edges, casting delicate green shadows.
But the real centerpiece? A freestanding, deep oval tub—glossy white with gold claw feet—sat in the center beneath a skylight, where the morning sun poured directly down. Steam curled from the surface like a silent invitation.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Ms. Shirley chimed in, smiling proudly. “Oh, what I would give to relax in one of those.” She sighed, her voice trailing off like she already knew that happening wasn’t ever in the cards for her.
“I’ll ask Imanio if y-you could one day,” I said, completely serious, stepping further into the bathroom.
She shook her head quickly, chuckling softly. “Oh, no, dear! That won’t be necessary… just wishful thinking.”
I paused, resting my hand on the edge of the tub, the warmth of it grounding.
“Dreams… do come true,” I commented quietly, placing a few fingers in the tub to test the temperature. “J-just look at m-me. I never thought I would live in a house like this either—tampon trampoline! ”
Ms. Shirley didn’t say anything; she just nodded.
I didn’t push. Instead, I let the moment breathe, then shifted gently.
“I’ve never seen a bath so beautiful,” I gushed, trying to bring us both back to something light.
Ms. Shirley smiled again, fuller that time. “Then let it treat you right, today. But baby, this here ain’t no regular soak; this is what I call a healing bowl for the broken and blessed .”
“Wh-what’s all in it?” I inquired.
She leaned over the edge of the tub and pointed with pride.
“Just some oatmeal milk to soothe the skin, some organic rose oil, a few drops of eucalyptus for the swelling, and a little crushed lavender for your nerves. Oh—and three handfuls of Epsom salt, ‘cause Lord knows you gon’ need help standing later.”
I squeaked.
Ms. Shirley gave me a sideways smirk. “Don’t act shy, now. That walk told me everything I needed to know.”
The outburst tumbled out, loud and ridiculous, and I buried my face in my hands as my cheeks went up in flames.
“Pickle juice panic button!”
She cackled. “Mm-hmm. Ain’t no shame in being broken in right. Just rehydrate yourself and stay off them knees today.”
“Okay, thanks.”
I stood there, stiff and unsure, waiting for her to either leave or turn around so I could undress.
She raised an eyebrow with a small grin. “Oh, you want me to turn around?”
“P-Please.”
Ms. Shirley chuckled and turned her back with her hands folded patiently in front of her like she’d done that a hundred times.
I took a deep breath… then another. Carefully, I let the towel slip from my shoulders, every movement slow and aching. My body still remembered him —every stretch, every press.
I stepped one foot into the water and winced.
“Ow—good grief—Nipple napkin—ugh!”
“Are you okay, back there?”
“Mm-hmm,” I replied— somewhat lied.
The heat licked up my leg, almost too warm against skin still aching from the night before. I gritted my teeth and began lowering myself in, breath catching with every slow inch.
“Holy potato preacher!” I yelped.
My hand jerked involuntarily, splashing water against the side of the tub. A spray hit my shoulder, and I cringed—both from the sting and the surprise.
“Okay, okay, okay,” I whispered, trying to calm myself and breathe through it. But my body still twitched in protest—still remembered too much.
The tics were flaring because the water was a little too hot for my liking—sure. But it wasn’t just that; it was everything.
The soreness. The memory. The newness of being cared for like that.
The water swallowed me slowly, and I finally settled, inch by inch, my chest rising and falling as the ache turned into something almost soothing.
Almost.
“You done?” Ms. Shirley called over her shoulder, amusement already in her voice.
“Ye-yes,” I managed, adjusting my legs in the water with a soft groan.
Ms. Shirley turned around and smiled, eyes twinkling when she saw me.
“Well, look at you. You look beautiful, baby; like peace finally found its way to you. Does the temperature need to be adjusted?” she asked kindly.
“It’s fine,” I answered truthfully.
The sting was still there, but it was softening. My body was starting to adjust—slowly, reluctantly, but it was happening.
“Well, I’ma go so you can enjoy this moment. Do you need anything before I leave?”
I shook my head gently.
“N-no, ma’am. I… I think I’m good. Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome. Now take your time, baby. Nobody is rushing you.” Her voice was gentle as warm honey. “This tub was made for queens, and you’re finally sitting in your throne.”
I glanced down at the bubbles, fingers fidgeting beneath the surface as something heavy pressed against my temple—a question.
One, I wasn’t sure I had the right to ask.
My voice wavered soft, almost childlike. “Be-before you go… can I ask you a question?! ” I winced but didn’t back down, my fingers still fidgeting beneath the water as I looked up at her.
Ms. Shirley paused at the door, her hand on the knob. She turned around with a soft smile; her head tilted slightly like she already knew that wasn’t going to be a light one.
“Sure, baby,” she replied, easing back a step. “What’s on your heart?”
“Have you… ever done this for anyone else? Any other woman who came over?”
Ms. Shirley smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling, but there was no teasing in her face, just truth.
“No, baby… you’re the first. And for the record, aside from family and staff, you’re the only woman who has been in this house.”
She leaned in a little, her tone firm and full of that matter-of-fact sweetness only women like her could pull off.
“So you gotta be special, ‘cause I don’t roll out no royal treatment for just anybody. And I sure as hel—” she caught herself, “ Heck , don’t draw baths for folks who don’t deserve it. I wanted to ask him why me ? I’m the chef, not the maid.” She added with a playful eyeroll.
I laughed, a little caught off guard—but it felt good.
Ms. Shirley chuckled, too. “But,” she added, settling her hands on her hips, “the fact that he asked me, made me pay attention. That man doesn’t ask for nothing unless it matters . ”
She gave me a once-over, her expression softening.
“So, I guess that makes you a diamond in the rough.”
A diamond in the rough.
It was a phrase I had never heard directed at me before—not truly.
No one had ever acknowledged my potential like that, out loud and with sincerity.
For so long, I felt more like a cracked shell than a precious gem—awkward, different, and too much in all the wrong ways.
My Tourette Syndrome made certain of that, throwing unexpected tics and sounds into my life, causing stares and whispered judgments.
Life's challenges only compounded the feeling of being an outsider in a world that rarely seemed to have a place for someone like me.
And yet, there I was, in that moment, being seen by Ms. Shirley, whose encouraging words could turn a rough day into one filled with hope; by Chi, with his infectious laughter and ability to make anyone feel included; by Dessign, whose vibrant creativity always reminded me of the beauty in uniqueness; and by Imanio, who had a way of making me feel understood without needing to say much at all.
Perhaps, for the first time in a long time, I was beginning to see myself in that light too.
I glanced up at the ceiling, the steam fogging the corners of the room, and whispered under my breath, “Maybe I am,” I responded.
“You are,” she reassured me. “Now soak, breathe, and let this moment belong to you. I’ll tell your husband to stop pacing outside the door like he ain’t the reason you need a bath in the first place.”
I chuckled.
Once she left the bathroom, I eased deeper into the water with a soft gasp, letting the heat envelop my sore limbs like a hug from the earth itself. The scent of rose, lavender, and clean citrus wrapped around me. My tics were calm, and my mind was still.
I leaned back against the built-in headrest and exhaled.
My body hurt. But my heart? It felt light.