Page 54 of Writing On The Wall

Except Ethan already knows Toby and I aren’t really dating.

Dang it.

I kick an empty box on my way to the kitchen, sending it flying down the hall.

I shouldn’t be thinking of ways to make Ethan jealous, anyway. And it’s a good thing I’m not jealous. Jealousy is very unbecoming on a woman. That green-eyed monster is capable of unleashing a host of uncharacteristic behaviors.

I stalk over to the master bedroom and grab the ladder. The ceiling trim and fixtures need to be removed, and I’m about to show it who’s boss.

When I started this renovation fiasco, Ember very kindly discouraged me from climbing higher than three feet. And I may have a slight propensity for injury, but today’s frantic need to accomplish a task overrides her warning.

However, it turns out carrying a ladder that’s taller than I am isn’t as easy as it seems. The walls gain a few more scuffs and my arms accrue new bruises as I drag the darn thing into the living room and stand it up.

I get some music going while I prepare by performing all the steps Ethan showed me before starting on this kind of task. Okay, first safety step—shutting off the power. These fixtures really are hideous, and while the room already looks considerably better by the time I’m done removing them, the job feels less empowering than I’d hoped. I stare at a hole in the wall as it morphs into Sandra’s face. I don’t even know what she looks like, but my imagination has conjured up a big-haired, over-perfumed woman that I’d kind of like to push off of a ladder.

Nope. I don’t care what Ethan’s date looks like or how she might be hanging all over him right now.

I need to demo something.

Smashing a wall would be ideal, since I’d get rid of some of the unfortunate rage that’s started building up every time I picture Ethan flirting with his date. But I have no idea how to do that safely.

I hate how much this is affecting me. He just proved he can’t be trusted by openly flirting with me and dare I say almost kissing me while he already had a date lined up for the same evening. Men like Ethan—peoplelike Ethan—they always let me down. Sooner or later, they find a reason to leave or discover the next best thing. Something less complicated and less broken.

That feeling of yearning for someone to have my back is at war with my need for self-preservation. Maybe one day I’ll find another Toby, one I’m actually attracted to. A guy who’s stable and reliable but still makes my heart skip a beat.

That’s the type of man I’m holding out for. Not an arrogant, cocky ding-dong who looks mouth-wateringly good in well-fitting jeans, a white tee, and a toolbelt.

I turn the power back on before climbing to the top step of the ladder, giving a knock and a tug on the trim around the ceiling. It’s horribly outdated and should be easy enough to pull off. The pile of tools Ethan left in the corner should have something to do the trick.

I pause for a few minutes to pull up a Youtube video that explains the process simply enough to give me the confidence to tackle the job. As long as I get to use a hammer at some point, this’ll be great. Climbing back up the ladder with tools in my arms proves tricky, but I manage without incident.

I’m totally killing this ladder game. Ember will be so proud.

I follow the Youtube instructions and whip out that carpet knife, wielding that bad boy to carefully slice along the molding. I switch tools, using the narrow spatula-looking one to wedge beneath the seam. Now to work out my rage with that hammer. It’s not necessary to complete the job, but I wiggle the spatula just enough to loosen the trim, then move on to the hammering.

I watch as the wood falls to the ground with a satisfyingcrack. Then I turn, letting out a loud shriek and throwing my hands up in shock when my eyes meet the gaze of a very angry-looking Ethan beside the ladder.

The next five seconds feel like they stretch over two hours.

Tools fall. The ladder wobbles. I think I shout out another curse—probably a celebrity name. The legends make such wonderful expletives. You want a good cuss word to shout out, try yellingDavid DuchovnyorSchwarzeneggernext time you stub your toe.

Meanwhile, I’m still falling at an unfair rate. I’m the cat who’s used up her nine lives, and my slow descent forces me to face every one of the regretful decisions I’ve made over the last five minutes.

Ethan’s deep scowl spreads into a grim line as he balances a pizza box on one arm and clenches a six pack of root beers in the other. Days from now, I’ll marvel at my ability to notice these small details with such clarity, assuming I survive.

The slow-motion montage finally ends, and I force my pinched eyes open, groaning. This feels like a reenactment of Dr. Suess’sFox In Sockswith me splayed out on top of tools, on top of a smushed pizza, on top of leaking root beer, on top of Ethan, who’s spread out on his stomach, on top of an empty, overturned pizza box.

Every girl dreams of being caught while falling off a ladder, landing in the strong arms of her knight in shining armor, right? But I certainly didn’t plan this, because if I had, my hero would have actuallycaughtme.

And while the smell of root beer and pizza would normally elicit cheerful feelings, the bruises I can already feel forming on top of my other bruises are ruining the effect a little.

“You okay?” Ethan grunts as he pulls himself out from beneath the wreckage.

“Yup,” I manage without groaning.

A burst of laughter springs forth when I notice the sauce and bits of topping smeared across his cheek, like he was slapped with a slice of pizza. I point and continue giggling deliriously.

He looks unimpressed as he wipes it off with soda-soaked napkins. I move to help him, but he stops me.

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