I put my head in my hands and then rub my temples. There’s no amount of deep breathing or problem solving which will bring back the time and effort lost from this.
“There’s nothing we can do besides delete it and redo the content for the next few days—get as far as you can with the rest of today. Can you do that?” I ask while my hand is on the door, eager to close it.
Olivia nods, pressing her phone to her chest.
I put on my fakest smile and nod my head up and down.
“Awesome. Let’s meet tomorrow morning to figure out the rest,” I say right before closing the door.
If there wasn’t rice on the floor, I’d slide my back down the door and cry right here, but the thought of smashing rice into the carpet is too depressing, so I go to the side of my desk. I sit on the floor, lean back, and put my head in between my knees.
The tears are quick but the anxiety attack is quicker.
I didn’t even realizemy phone was dead. I plug it in, and as soon as it has enough juice, the notifications pour in: missed texts, calls, and a call from Holland.
I prop my phone up, using my laptop charging cord and a tape dispenser, and FaceTime Holland. Just when I think he’s not going to pick up, his face fills the little screen. Simply seeing him lifts some of the heavy I went through today.
“Baby!” he says, his tone lifted and a smirk pulling at one side of his mouth.
“I’m sorry I missed your call earlier. Today’s been… something.” I finish typing out an email, click send, and shift my attention to my phone.
“Are you still at work?” Holland’s face looks around, taking in the background which is obviously not my apartment.
“Yes, today was a disaster. I’m almost through my to-do list for the day and I’ll be—”
He interrupts, “Did you eat? It’s almost 9 PM.”
Is it really? I knew it was late but didn’t think it wasthatlate.
My lack of answer gives me away.
“Ivy. You need to eat. You also need to go home. The work will be there tomorrow.” The softness in his voice makes me ache for him, for my real home, his arms around me.
Naturally, I burst into tears. I launch into the long list of everything that went wrong today, leaving no detail spared. Holland listens to all of it, only interrupting to ask clarifying questions when the crying strangles my words.
When I’m done, Holland pauses, letting me wipe my eyes and try to gather myself.
“Wait a second, so a company sent you a rice sculpture, for a winter charity event? Rice, like the grain?” He laughs through the end of his question.
For the first time in a while, I let out an honest laugh. It’s not one fueled by discomfort or sarcasm, but because something is funny.
“Yes! It makes no sense. You get it.”
“I don’t know about that, but I get you. I’m sorry today was hard. Tomorrow might be better… I’m betting there’s going to be less rice, at least?” Holland shrugs his shoulders. He’s sitting at the small table in the kitchen and seeing him in our space makes me feel better. “You’re doing a good job, Ivy. Sparks is lucky to have you and this event is going to be amazing.”
“I hope you’re right.” I dab the last of my tears.
“And don’t ask yourself if you’re giving enough. From here, it might be too much. Don’t forget to take care of the woman I love so much.” And if that wasn’t sweet enough, Slate howls from somewhere. “Pretend Slate agrees and isn’t being teased by a bird through the patio glassdoor.” Holland laughs.
“I love you,” I mutter as I slump back into the office chair, my stomach rumbling like my life is an ironic sitcom.
“Get out of the office, grab Thai food on your way home, and put Spider-Man on.”
I put my elbows on my desk and set my head in my hands, grinning at Holland. I’m thinking back to when we first met and I asked if he was named after Tom Holland. Obviously he wasn’t, considering he was born years before Tom Holland.
“I’m going to pack up and do just that. I’ll text you when I’m home.”
Holland waves and ends the call.
