Page 92 of All Her Broken Pieces

“But sometimes she can be super annoying! She wants to play it the wrong way, and she’s so bossy.”

Ethan kneels so he’s eye level with her. “Erin, we’ve talked about this. It’s not nice to call someone bossy just because they know what they want or because they disagree with you. How would you feel if someone did that to you?”

“I would be mad. I’m sorry.” She hangs her head as she speaks and pushes her toe into the carpet.

“It’s okay, squirt,” he says as he ruffles her hair. “How about you and Evie go play ponies in the basement? I want to introduce Bridget to your sisters and show her around the house first.”

“Okay. It was nice to meet you.” She smiles and throws her arms around my waist in a quick hug before running off.

Ethan grins at me. “She likes you. Not everyone gets an invite to the Pony Palace on the first meeting.”

His words are oddly comforting, and I smile in response as he leads me up the stairs and down a hallway before stopping in front of a room. He knocks on the door and waits. Two knocks sound faintly from inside, and he opens the door.

Inside, the blinds are open and every light in the room is on. A girl sits at a table near the window, hunched over, her fingers digging through a container of beads. This must be Lizzy.

“Hey, Lizzy girl. Can I introduce you to someone?” Ethan calls, his voice even, his volume low.

Lizzy nods quickly as she continues working, her focus unchanging.

Ethan guides me to the table and pulls out the chair for me on Lizzy’s right. He crosses behind her while trailing his hand along her shoulders as he settles into the chair on her left. “Lizzy, I brought Bridget here to meet you.” She nods as she continues working on her bracelet.

“Hi, Lizzy, I’ve heard so much about you.”

She reaches into her box of beads and pulls out a bracelet before balling it up in her fist and holding it out in front of me. I stare at her hand for several seconds, unsure what to do.

“She wants to give you something. Hold out your hand,” Ethan clarifies.

With my hand palm up, I extend it out just as her hand opens, and the bracelet falls into it. She points her finger to her chest and then reaches out to tap against mine. She then points at Ethan, and his smile is warm and bright when I look at him.

“She’s saying she made this for you and that she’s thankful from the bottom of her heart.”

“For what?” I ask, my attention directed at her.

Her eyes flick up and hold mine for a millisecond, and I’m struck by the beautiful blue hue before they look down at my hand, her finger urgently pointing to the bracelet. Holy shit, she looked at me. I glance over at Ethan, and he beams back at me.

“She likes you,” he encourages, fully understanding the importance of this moment.

Turning the bracelet over in my hand, I examine it closely. It’s beautiful. There are blues and purples, some glass are almost crystalline. And there are a series of numbers, each separated by a heart.

“This is gorgeous. What do the numbers mean?”

Lizzy points at Ethan and then me before clasping her hands together.

I read out the numbers. “Six, seventeen, fifteen.”

“That’s my birthday, the night we met, and your birthday,” Ethan explains.

Something warms in my chest, and I swear I can feel the cracks in my heart heal from the love in this room, from these two souls that see value in me.

“This is incredible,” I gush as I slip it on my wrist and look at Lizzy. “Thank you. I love it so much.”

She lays her forearm in front of me, her palm up as she continues arranging beads with her left hand.

I look at Ethan in confusion, but he’s already out of his seat and pulling something from her dresser. It resembles a sponge, and he reaches for Lizzy’s hand. “Here, I’ve got it. Give me your arm,” he gently commands, but she moves it from his reach, making several grunts as she thrusts it closer to me. He laughs and asks, “Are you sure?”

Her head nods enthusiastically as her left hand continues sorting beads.

“Here.” He hands me the strange sponge, and I take it, unsure of what to do next. “It’s a surgical brush. It’s part of her sensory diet. When she gets overwhelmed emotionally, she likes physical touch to calm her down. It’s called brushing therapy.” He reaches across the table to offer me his arm. “You run the brush up and down her arm applying gentle pressure. Try it on me, and I’ll let you know if it’s too hard or soft.”

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