7. Coop
COOP
It’s all I can do to restrain myself from throwing Nese’s luggage into the ocean. She just blithely dragged her wheeled bag across my private space.
I walk over to the grassy area and deposit her two bags.
My Zen masters tell me to practice mindfulness.
Right now, this means to acknowledge my feelings without assigning judgment.
Fine. I feel as though I want to strangle this woman-child who barreled through my garden without any regard for what I had carefully cultivated. Like everything she touches.
There. Acknowledged.
What’s the next appropriate thing for me to focus on? Treat this temporary setback as a learning experience. I’m sure Nese had no idea what this oasis of tranquility means to me.
She better not.
What can I learn from this other than she has no regard for inner peace? Perhaps I can teach her. Hardly. Next.
Reflect on acceptance. What are her actions meant to teach me? All I can think of is her disregard for something sacred to me. Maybe I’m supposed to educate her about boundaries?
Her voice registers. “Coop. I’m sorry.”
At least she’s sorry for what she did. That’s a start. My face remains taut.
“What’s a Zen Garden?”
Apparently, she was sorry for not understanding my term of art—not for ruining it. Concentrate on compassion. Teach her about the meaning.
In the calmest, most regulated tone I can manage given the situation, I begin.
“When I bought this house, the first change I made to the property was to install this Zen Garden. It’s a traditional Japanese landscape designed to evoke tranquility and contemplation.
The simplicity aligns with Zen Buddhist principles, which focus on meditation and mindfulness.
” I study her to determine if she understands.
She checks out the garden. “It looks like a nice place to sit and… think.”
“Yes, but it’s more than simply thinking. I meditate here. See that rake?” I point to the tool lying on its side.
She nods.
“I use it to rake the white sand. The lines”—that she dragged her bag over—“mimic the waves from the ocean, which symbolize both fluidity and stillness at the same time.” The lines now look like someone shot them up with adrenaline… because she basically did.
She uses her toe to disturb more of the lines. “You rake the sand? Like, for real?”
Inhale. Exhale. “I do. It’s part of the ritual.”
“I’ve never heard of anyone doing this before. You do it for fun?”
My patience wears thin. “No, not for fun. I do it as a component of my meditation practice. To reduce stress, center my thoughts, and gain mental clarity.”
“By raking sand?”
I explode. “I’m trying to explain it. The rake is a tool to help me clear my mind. Does this make any sense to you at all?” Perhaps stillness isn't something she’s ever been taught to value.
Her chin raises. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child. Simply because I don’t know about this Zen Garden, doesn’t mean I’m ignorant. It seems weird to me, raking sand outside.”
I sigh and modulate my voice downward. Calm. “It’s not only the raking. I deliberately placed each of the rocks around here, in order to create balance and guide my gaze, inviting deep thought.”
“So you put these rocks out here on purpose?”
I’m done with this conversation. “Let’s go inside and I’ll show you your room.” I bend down and pick up her luggage. Using the grassy path, I proceed to the door. I don’t hear the crunching of sand under her carry-on, so I turn around. She’s walking on the grassy pathway as well. Good.
Opening the door, I wait for her to precede me into the hallway. As she passes, she says, “It seems I ruined your garden. I’ll rake it after I get settled.”
My response is immediate. “No.”
Her head tips up to mine. “I made the mess, so I should clean it up.”
“Listen, I appreciate your offer, but it’s my Zen Garden to cultivate and maintain. I’ll return it to order as part of my practice. Now, let me show you to your room.” I take off down the hallway, to the room farthest away from mine. Why did I think it was the smart thing to invite her here?
Oh yeah. Because she sacrificed some of her vacation to help me.
Damn.
Stopping in front of the guest room, I say, “Here you are.” I open the door.
“There’s a dresser and closet for all your things.
A bathroom is attached, which has towels.
I’ll let you settle in. Text me if you need anything.
” I must get away from her and practice some deep breathing exercises. Pronto.
She touches my arm. “Thanks, Coop. This means a lot to me.”
I place her luggage inside the doorway, give her a nod, and take off for my Reflection Room. Since my Zen Garden is a disaster.
Sitting on the pillow, I try to let my mind blank but the memory—both visceral and auditory—of the sand being displaced runs on repeat.
At least Lillian doesn’t make an appearance this time.
Instead, a short girl with an even shorter haircut and eyebrow piercing dances around my brain.
After trying for over an hour to concentrate with no success, I leave for the Zen Garden.
Might as well be useful and fix it up. Hopefully, I’ll be able to find the calm that was missing earlier.
As soon as I enter, I freeze. Nese has the rake in her hand and is putting lines back into the sand. I stride over to her, my temper having dissipated when I was trying to meditate.
“You don’t have to do this. Really. The process of raking soothes me.”
Dark blue eyes, the color of the deepest part of the ocean, hold my gaze. “I’ve only been out here for a short while, but I’m finding it relaxing.”
Her admission shoots through my heart. “I agree. The way the sand sounds as you rake it can be hypnotizing.”
She rakes the sand again. “I can hear that.”
I stare at her. “I never would’ve pegged you as a closeted Buddhist.”
She throws her head back and laughs. “No way. I’m not part of any sort of religion.”
“Buddhism isn’t a religion in the traditional sense. More like a philosophy or a way of life.”
“Oh.” She pokes at the sand. “All that aside, your Zen Garden is a nice place. If you are keen on quiet and all.”
I smile. “There are worse things.” I approach her, arm outstretched. “I can handle things from here.”
She gives up the rake without further protest, and I follow her lead in redrawing the lines. A calm washes over me at the familiar sounds.
My peace soon is interrupted.
“I hope it won’t take you too much time to fix this. I can’t imagine how long it took you to do it initially. What? Like a week?”
“To place the lines in the sand?” At her nod, I reply, “I spent roughly a month to finally be satisfied with the design. I’m usually out here daily when I’m home.”
“Daily? Oh, you mean to meditate, not to rake.”
“Actually? Both.” I continue rearranging the sand. I have to admit, the lines she did were almost right on target. “You did a really good job out here. Thanks.”
She beams at my praise, and watches as I work the garden. “So, are you meditating now, or can we talk?”
“I can safely say meditation is eluding me.” I put the rake back to the side and return to her. “What are you thinking about?”
“Shopping!”
I push my sunglasses up the bridge of my nose. “I should’ve known.”
“I’d like to chat about what you like and what pieces you want in your wardrobe. Since you never sent me any photos of you in an outfit you were proud of wearing, what’s your favorite item of clothing?”
When she pauses to take a breath, I shake my head. “Nese, I really don’t think about clothes. I grab something and put it on. So long as it’s clean and not tight, I wear it.”
“Ah ha! I knew you had standards. Whatever you’re wearing can’t be tight and must be clean.” She holds up two fingers. “What about fashion forward?” She steps back. “Wait. We’ve already discussed how you avoid following trends.”
I can’t. After working on my garden, this talk about replacing my wardrobe is over the top. “It’s been a long day, Nese. I’m calling it. How about we meet at ten tomorrow to resume shopping?” I take a step toward my house.
“Don’t you want dinner?”
I wave. “My housekeeper left food in the fridge. Feel free to enjoy anything you’d like.” Without waiting for her to respond, I walk to my bedroom.
Once inside my personal sanctuary, I realize I don’t have any pajamas, as they also were in my luggage. Whatever. I strip, take a quick rinse, and slip into bed naked. Some life of a rockstar I’m leading.
After a brief morning meditation session, I choose one of my new shirts and put it on over my new pair of jeans. Tying my sneakers, I leave my room to search for my houseguest, whom I find in my kitchen. Stirring something in a bowl.
My fingers fly to my sunglasses, which I take off and tuck into my shirt. “What are you doing?”
She continues stirring as her face breaks into a wide grin.
“Your kitchen is fully stocked. I mean, like it has every spice known to mankind, and then some.” She holds up a whisk, covered in whatever she’s making.
“Utensils, too. I had at least five whisks to choose from. You must really hate life on a bus—you never get to cook.”
“No. Uhm, well, I don’t cook.”
Her mouth drops open. “Then tell me how it is that you have a gourmet kitchen in your home?” She places the bowl on the island.
“My mother loves to cook. She bought me all these things.” I motion toward the kitchen.
Nese picks up the bowl again. “Now that makes sense. Does she live nearby?”
“No. My parents live in New Jersey, near where I grew up.”
Nodding her head, she adds a slice of bread to the bowl. “Smart. Staying a continent away fosters better relationships.” Her hand hovers over the griddle. “Nice and hot. I hope you like French toast.”
Not a question. “I’ll get the plates.” I busy myself with setting the table while my houseguest prepares breakfast. Never pictured this happening. It’s pleasant to be surprised—in a good way this time.
Placing a platter on the island next to where she’s working, I say, “You didn’t have to do this, but I appreciate it.”
“It’s the least I could do since you’ve given me free room and board.” She flips the bread. “Not to mention letting me work on your Zen Garden.”
“About that.” Guess now is a good time to let her know no lasting harm was done. “I apologize if I sounded high-handed about it yesterday.” I crook my lips upward. “Not very Zen of me.”
In what I’m coming to understand is her signature move, she tosses her head back and laughs. “Coop, I never knew you had a sense of humor. You’re actually funny when you want to be.”
Funny? No one has accused me of being funny since, well, before Lillian. “Don’t mention it.” Seriously.
“Your secret’s safe with me.” She elbows me in the ribs. “Now, prepare to be amazed at the world’s best French toast.”
She puts several slices onto the platter, which I dutifully bring to the dinette. I return to the kitchen, where she loads my arms up with maple syrup, berries, bananas, whipped cream, powdered sugar, walnuts, peanut butter, hazelnut spread, and chocolate chips.
Finger over her lips, she says, “I think that’s all.”
At the table, I deposit the vast assortment of toppings. I can’t image using most of these—maple syrup is the only thing I’ll need.
From the kitchen, Nese snaps her fingers. “Agave. This stuff could run UC for a week.”
It’s my turn to chuckle. “I didn’t know I had half of this. For the record, all I need is maple syrup and butter, and I’ll be good.”
“Butter!” She rushes to my fridge. “Here you are.” She puts the butter dish in front of my place setting.
From my seat, I watch in fascination as she tries all the toppings until she’s satisfied with her concoction.
She takes a big bite, followed by leaning back against the banquette wearing a huge smile.
Since she went through all this trouble, I mentally prepare to love the French toast—even if I hate it. I take a small taste.
The flavor pops. There’s a spice I can’t quite place that makes this dish sing. “This is delicious.”
If possible, her smile widens. “You really like it?”
“I do. What spice do you have in it?”
She shovels another piece into her mouth. After she swallows, she says, “Allspice. I was using nutmeg for the longest time, but I read somewhere about allspice, which combines cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg. Once I tried it, I knew I had the winner.”
I hold up my fork, filled with the French toast. “That you do.”
When I finish my first slice, I ask, “Do you mind if I have a second?”
“Would I mind? Let’s see … since this is your house, I don’t think I can deny you. Besides, I made three slices for each of us, so go right ahead. Maybe try something other than syrup on it this time. Changes the flavor profile. For the better!”
Wow. So much commentary to answer a simple question. I accept the platter from her and place another slice on my dish. Since she’s so keen on me trying it a different way, I add some berries and agave.
I pick up my fork and glance at her. She’s watching me like a groupie. My eyebrow raises. “Seriously?”
She giggles. “I was excited to see you try it a different way. Go ahead, eat.”
The utensil approaches my mouth, with Nese intent on my every movement. “Seriously? How about focusing on your food and leave me to mine.”
She huffs and cuts another piece of her own French toast. I wait until she’s concentrating on her plate to take a tiny taste. Damn. This girl can cook.
“Fine,” I admit. “I prefer this to my old way. But only by a hair.” I take a bigger bite and the berries explode in my mouth.
“Told you.” She takes another piece for herself.
In the end, I eat four pieces to her two. I try the whipped cream, hazelnut spread and nuts, but the berries are my favorite. My usual syrup and butter ranks third now. “This was the best breakfast I’ve had in a long time. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
She attempts to stand, and I place my hand on her shoulder. “No. You did all the cooking. It’s only fair that I clean up.”
I gather the dishes and approach the sink, only to hear her gasp. Pivoting, I ask, “Is everything alright?”
“I was going to compliment you on your outfit. The jeans and shirt look great on you.” She points to my feet. “However, those sneakers have got to go.”
I bow my head. “Why? They’re fine.” I lift my foot. “No holes.”
Her eyes slam shut. She reopens them after a full minute. “If whether shoes have holes is your sole criterion, I have a lot of work to do with you. Let’s make a shoe store our first stop.”
The morning was going so well.