Why did he break the rules just to text me?
If he loved her, why was he awake at three in the morning, talking tome?
A question like that would draw out the guilt from earlier, or worse, make him stop talking to me altogether. And I couldn’t have that because deep in the darkness of the night, I felt seen by Mr. Ellis, wanted and cherished. That isn’t an easy thing to let go of.
But unfortunately, sleep ended up stealing me away in the end.
Hisnocame around three-thirty. It’s almost nine now. I wonder if he’s awake.
I don’t get the chance to find out because Mom comes barging into my room, arms full of freshly washed laundry, whistling a cheerful tune.
“Oh, look, she lives,” she teases, placing the folded clothes on my long, white dresser.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I slide my phone under my pillow, pretending I had a sixteen-hour sleep instead of five. “It’s only eight forty-five. Don’t be so dramatic.”
She finishes setting my clothes aside and comes to my right, placing a sticky, glossy kiss on my forehead. “You don’t feel so warm now. Are you up for some furniture shopping?”
Not really, preferring to spend all my time in bed, hopefully texting Theodore. But I made a promise, and I never break those.
“Yeah. Let me get ready, and then we’ll go.”
She ambles away happily, looking forward to spending the day with me and not alone like she does the rest of the week.
I spend another two minutes in bed, stretching and rolling around in my still-warm sheets, thinking over my plans for the day. Other than shopping with my mom, the only thing I have on my list is decorating my loft and starting a few projects. I'm bound to burst with inspiration from all the happy endorphins swimming around my system.
As I jump from the covers and begin fixing my bed, I remember my phone under the pillow. My battery percentage is at a seven, ready to die at any moment. Before I shut it down and connect it to my charger, I send the message I should have sent last night.
Good. I would hate to share you.
“What about this one?” my mom asks, running her hands over the wood top of a rolling industrial workbench.
Walking away from the chiseling display, I stop by her side, kneeling to inspect the steel bottom, checking its sturdiness. The last table I got, my instruments ended up denting the entire base from their weight. I have more tools now, and I don’t want to spend four hundred and fifty dollars on something that’s not going to last.
My mom has the same idea, calling over a nearby employee to go over the pros and cons of this brand. I find myself zoning out as they talk, my mind going to Mr. Ellis.
He still hasn’t responded to the message I sent at nine. It’s two in the afternoon now.
I wonder if his wife is home, and that’s why he hasn’t replied. The thought ignites a bit of annoyance inside me, but I suffocate it, not wanting to ruin my day being irritated.Not like I have any right to be, anyway…
At some point, when my mind was wandering, my mother finished her conversation with the employee and decided that this workbench was the one for me.
“It’s going to look so beautiful by that window in your warehouse, sweetie!” She eagerly crushes me in her motherly embrace. Her scent of warm coconut and hibiscus wraps around me like a blanket, sheathing me in comfort while my mind works to unravel from boiling impatience.
I need to release this pent-up energy, or I’m going to explode. “I love it, Mom. Could we have it delivered today so I can start working?”
The employee lingering at her side says they can within the next two hours, as long as someone is there to sign.
After payment and delivery instructions, we hit two more stores, the Artarama, for some clear tape and sponges, and then to The Panda Wok.
“You know how you get when you work.” Mom laughs, ordering what looks like an obscene amount of food.
Somehow, I become more ravenous than usual, able to tear through not one but two containers of orange chicken, Lo mein, and steamed vegetables.
Once our meal is packed, Mom and I head straight to the lofts. We sit with our backs against the wall, the orange glow from the sun beaming through the window above our heads as we eat edamame and crispy pork wontons.
The delivery truck arrives shortly after four. The movers were kind enough to set up the bench directly under the window, making sure the wheels are secure before heading to their next destination.
“Are you sure you want to be here alone? I don’t mind staying! You won’t even know I’m here,” my mom says, eyes wide with hope that I’d ask her to stay.
