Page 43 of Miss Humbug
Okay, that sounded almost…romantic.
I put on my gloves and followed Ethan outside. We approached the barn, weathered but sturdy, a fixture of my childhood. Not much appeared to be different around here. He’d said his parents were resistant to change. If their resistance risked the business itself, that made for a real challenge. Losing the tree farm would be a major blow for Ethan.
He led me into the barn. “I made myself a woodworking station over here. Small, but it gets the job done.”
A wooden sign hung above the work bench carved with the words Sawyer Woodworking Inc. I nodded toward the sign. “Your second career?”
“Nah. Just something I do for fun. I made those shelves over there. Half my apartment is furniture I’ve scrapped together. If I nick the wood so it’s not good enough to sell, I’m the only one who’ll notice.”
“You sell your work?” He’d always been crafty with wood, doing projects for 4-H as a kid.
He shrugged. “A few things here and there at a local shop.”
We left the barn and progressed through a gate into the tree farm itself. Rows of frost-tipped evergreens greeted us. “How’s your dad doing?” I asked.
“He’s alright. Working on the books from home. Ordering us around using every form of technology available.” He grinned. “As long as he doesn’t show up here and risk injury, he can send me as many texts as he wants.”
Our boots crunched against the lightly frozen ground. The crisp air tickled my nose and woke me from my cloudy thoughts. But to truly feel free of the clouds, I needed to further process.
“I feel a little let down about some things,” I admitted. “I didn’t tell you this because it’s embarrassing. I offered to volunteer again at the respite center, but they need a six-month commitment. I can’t commit when I don’t know what’s beyond these next few weeks.”
He slowed his pace. “Marlowe. You’re enough as you are. Right now.”
“I wasn’t asking whether I was enough for anybody.”
“The way you described it, you’re a failure because you can’t commit to the volunteer role. You’re facing a lot of changes. It’s okay to not have it all figured out.”
“I know,” I snapped. My own sharp tone surprised me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so defensive.”
Ethan stopped. “You’re hard on yourself. You always have been. I just can’t figure out why. Your family loves you regardless of what you accomplish. You know that, right?”
“Yes.”
Of course they did. They’d told me as much.
“Then what is it?” he pressed.
Deep down, I knew my family would forever view me as the baby who needed coddling and special treatment. Hadn’t I proved over and over how much I didn’t need them? That I could stand on my own?
Why couldn’t they believe it?
No. Why couldn’tIbelieve it?
I glared at Ethan. “I hate when you’re right, you know.”
He reached his hand to mine. “It’s a tough life, being right so often.”
His joking didn’t lessen the skip in my heart. The pulse of heat through his touch injected helium into my thoughts, making my head feel light as air. I smiled, a genuine smile.
But the happy moment was fleeting. Those murky, ocean-deep thoughts lurked. “Okay, truth? I’m finding it hard to know what to do with my life and what to make of myself.”
Big understatement. I hadn’t admitted this out loud to anyone. “California has been my home since I started grad school, and here I am graduated and a few years into a career, but it still feels…temporary. I can’t explain it any other way. I’ve always had a goal. Get into my top choice colleges. Graduate with honors. Ace the entry exams for grad school. Get accepted into a good graduate program. Achieve my degree and find a great job. Excel at my job and get promoted.” My breath puffed into a cloud in the cold air. “Then it all stopped.”
I looked at him, waiting for an impatient glance at his phone. Ethan watched me with what I could only surmise was active interest.
“I never imagined it stopping. That feeling of anticipation about the next thing to do. The next thing to achieve. I wasn’t supposed tolosethe job.” I sighed. “You’d think my next big thing would be to get a bigger, better job.” This was the hardest part to admit. “I don’t know if I want that anymore.”
“Your worth isn’t dependent on your job.” A soft beam of sun hit his face from an opening in the clouds. “Or anything you accomplish. You’re special because you’re you. You always have been.”
