Page 26 of Shut Up and Drive

“Don’t knock it ’til you try it,” he replies. “It relieved a lot of stress for me.”

“You? Stressed? That’s impossible. You’re the most laid-back person on the planet.”

“Maybe back in high school,beforethe whole world came tumbling down on me…”

My mind immediately flashes to theaccident and the burden he quietly carries because of it. We never talked about it after that night. It was the redheaded stepchild of conversation between our two families, and even within my own family, it was a sore subject. Something we brushed under the rug and completely ignored, until we pretended for so long that the elephant in the room became part of the decor.

“I think you could use a breathing session. You carry a lot of tension in your shoulders,” Thane continues.

“Well, I have a very demanding job. I’m on my feet all day, and one small mistake can really mess up a macaron. Meringue is very temperamental, you know.”

“Then you definitely need to learn diaphragmatic breathing. You can’t carry the pressure of a messed-up macaron on your shoulders.” He laughs. “And this is something you can do in the walk-in fridge or outside on a break if you need to.”

“Okay,Breathing Guru, teach me how to do something my body does involuntarily already.”

Thane’s thick laugh rumbles again on the pillow next to me, and I want to bask in its rich warmth like a lizard on a rock.

“You can do this sitting, standing, or lying on your back. Just find a position that is most comfortable to you.”

“Okay. I’m ready,” I say, adjusting.

“Next, put one hand on your chest, and one on your stomach.”

I move my hands into place.

“Now, take a regular breath in. Notice how your chest rises more than your stomach does?”

“Yeah.”

“Now breathe in and out again, but this time do it from your stomach. You want your bellybutton to rise and fall. Did it?”

I nod. “Mmhmm.”

“This time, breathe in as deeply as you can without causing tension in your chest and shoulders, but enough that it really stretches out your lungs.”

I take a deep breath in and hold it at the top of my capacity.

“Now, slowly let it seep out of your mouth like you’re controlling the airflow out of the end of a balloon.”

Instinctively, my lips purse and I make apffftsound on my breath out. It’s loud and goes on forever. About halfway through my flappy-lipped exhale I realize that I’m the only one who sounds like a whoopee cushion. Thane’s is more like wind through a small space, and a whole lot quieter than mine. That is, until he bursts out laughing.

“What?” I say, letting the rest of my breath out all at once.

“You weren’t supposed tomakethe balloon noise, just control the air through your lips!”

“You didn’t say that! You said like a balloon! So that’s exactly what I did!”

I lie there, my face flushing as I hold back a weird combination of embarrassment and the urge to laugh.

Thane’s poor attempt at self-containment shakes my side of the bed, and I elbow him in the ribs.

“Ouch! Okay, I deserved that. Let’s try it again. This time, make a circle with your lips. You’re blowing the air out slowly, not doing a Bronx Cheer.”

“That would’ve been helpful information the first time around,” I say sarcastically.

We each take a deep breath in, but as I near my lung capacity, I begin to laugh. It forms deep within, and once it starts, I can’t stop it. Kind of like those times in church as a kid when I knew I wasn’t supposed to laugh. But the forbiddenness of it made it that much harder to hold in.

Yeah, it’s one of those kinds.