Page 37 of Writing On The Wall

He shakes his head like he doesn’t get it. Typical.

He’s unknowingly just placed the last straw on this camel’s back.

“I’mshort, okay? You think Ilikenot having access to the top shelves at the grocery store? Or having people talk to me like I’m a kid? Or not having the freedom to wear a pair of those fugly Crocs? Everyone keeps saying it’s like walking on air, but I’ll never know, because they’d make me look evenmorelike a child.”

By the end of my rant, I find myself gasping for breath, realizing that perhaps the tightly sealed lid on the jar containing my feelings isn’t quite as secure as I once believed.

There are people with much harder struggles than ours, Ivy,My mother would always say. With a husband so hell-bent on philanthropy, I’m sure she got plenty of practice with stuffing her own feelings into a jar.It’s never good to focus too much on our own problems,was another phrase I regularly overheard.

As unhealthy as it is, keeping the lid on tight has just become a matter of survival.

Ethan’s eyes move around the room like he’s seeing things from my perspective for the first time. “Look, I’m sorry. I can’t say I get it, but I can see that it must be hard for you.” He looks away while one hand clenches over the knuckles of the other.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I groan when I pull it out and read Ross’s messages.

Ross

I’m so close to getting your money

I just need $1000 and I’ll be set

I’ll add it to what I owe you. Promise

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. It’s my brother. He’s…” A heavy sigh escapes from my chest. “I dunno what he is…” I look up, mirroring the frown on Ethan’s face. “Anyway, it’s just not what I need right now.”

“Anything I can help with?”

Why is this man so intent on helping me? He does it with such reluctance but then his actions occasionally do the opposite.

“You’re already helping me, Ethan. And I am grateful.”

His mouth lifts with the smallest hint of a smile, but his eyes soften, telling me how much he likes the acknowledgement and begging me to continue letting down my guard. But I’ve already revealed too much.

He must see a change in my expression because he purses his lips, regarding me like I’m a ticking bomb. “I’ll get started on the ceiling board,” he offers after a while.

“I’m heading out soon.” I reply, unsure how to get the bits of vulnerability I let escape back where they belong. “Oh, the money came through from the lawyer. Can you…” I want to say give me your receipts, but it’ll take me forever to figure them out. “Can you send me a CashApp request for the amount I owe you?”

“Sure,” he says, his features softening while he holds mygaze. It’s a look that says he understands, and it causes a rush of warmth inside me.

“You’ll lock up if I’m not back when you leave?”

He pauses to frown. “How long are you planning on being out?”

“How long are you planning on beinghere?”

“Fine. Yes, I’ll lock up while you galavant,” he grumbles, that frown turning into a scowl.

“Thank you.”

As I walk into the living room, a pang of guilt hits me. I consider going back to apologize, but then my eyes land on the list on the wall and the note Ethan left me last night.

I grab one of his weird pencils, a crazy, scary idea forming in my head. Despite Ethan’s grumpy demeanor—directed at me alone, it seems—the fact is, he’s still going out of his way to help me. Maybe it’s time for me to grab onto that olive branch and make this situation more pleasant for both of us.

Except the thought of accepting Ethan’s olive branch makes me want to hurl.

Just do it, Ivy. It’s the right thing. Who cares what he thinks, anyway?

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