how does it feel to be back home
This isn’t my home
<3
but it’s alright. Much more comfortable than a hotel
let’s face chat tomorrow
I smile at Holland using an emoji—also the term “face chat." The man is technology challenged, by choice, so the fact that his cell phone is even charged is a win. How things have changed, for both of us, since that fated day with my missing boxes for a client event at The Emerald Canopy Lodge.
There's nothing quite like not being able to find a bunch of boxes, with thousands of dollars of client items, and just as you're giving yourself the verbal beatdown of the ages, a handsome—but grumpy—lodge owner walks in withthem. I'll never forget the first time Holland spoke to me with his casual, but so hot, "I'm guessing these belong to you?" His voice both rugged and velvety—a sound that's burned into my memory.
I owe my new life to those missing boxes. Now, there have been people who have flat out tried to make me feel bad about my choice insinuating I gave in and uprooted my city life for what amanwanted. People love to push their own insecurities onto others. It's not a secret I love the city—I always have—but being loved by someone like Holland gave me clarity on my love for the city. Maybe I needed the buzz, the constant feeling of something about to happen, because I didn't have someone I wanted to be still with.
Cheesy or not, it's the truth.
Holland and I text for a little while as I get settled. I unpack every single item from my suitcases and get myself comfortable. One of the many things therapy has taught me, and my uniquely wired brain, is that I feel best when I’m prepared, no matter the situation.
Therapy also reinforces how no one, not even me, can prepare for everything, but I’m still learning.
After unpacking groceries and stocking the fridge, I pull out the things I’m most excited for: a massive pad of sticky notes—I know just the place for it—and new markers. I open a closet door, greeted with a familiar creaking sound, and find the easel I hoped was still there. After wheeling it back to the kitchen, I pop the sticky notes on.
Is there anything better than a blank piece of paper?
My hands rest on my hips, touching the high-waisted leggings I can’t get enough of—buttery smooth is an understatement. I shift my weight, back and forth, before taking the first piece of paper and sticking it to the wall. My fingers run along the edge, making sure it’s secure and straight.
Typically,I wouldn’t want work staring at me in the kitchen, but this is different.
I can't help but think back to the day when this whole project came to be.
A window pops up on my laptop: incoming Zoom call from Stella.
What? Why? There’s nothing on my calendar. Oh god, am I getting fired? No, that doesn’t make sense. But why else would my boss randomly ask for a Zoom meeting, at 4:30 PM on a Thursday?
My hand trembles on the track pad. I take a deep breath and click join, praying someone from HR isn’t also in the waiting room.
“Ivy! I know you’re probably spiraling but this is a good call. I promise.”
I sigh out a breath that’s audible to Stella on the other end, her hand on her chest, eyes compassionate and wide.
“You can’t do that to me!” I say, my heart rattling in my chest.
“I thought I had this scheduled. That’s my bad. I promise, you’re not getting fired or anything like that.” Her voice is level and clear, which is something I love about her. She takes my anxiety seriously and tries to support healthy boundaries.
“I’ve secured the funding from the board for a special event. I’m envisioning a red carpet, black tie situation.”
“Ooooh, you know I love a red carpet.” I shimmy my shoulders.
“We’re thinking invite only, key clients plus celebrities and athletes, all in the hopes of raising some money. And brand awareness for Sparks.”
This is the first I’ve ever heard of Sparks even considering something like this. My stomach flips in a good way—this sounds like fun.
“Which charity?” I ask, leaning my elbows on my desk and resting my chin on myhands.
“A 50-50 split. Ours and Yours is a non-profit focused on bringing mental health resources to high school and college students. Chin Up is for anyone impacted by sexual assault or domestic violence. They help people leave bad situations, as well as providing things such as self-defense classes,” Stella explains.
Tears fill my eyes as Stella becomes blurry on the screen. She pauses, giving me the moment she knows I need. These charities are not random. Both topics are sewn into my being; they’re both important in a way that I can’t put into words.
