Maybe it started years ago, back when her smiles and laughter would stir the funny sensation in my chest I’ve come to recognize as my adoration for her. It grew the more I started doing things just because I know they’ll make her happy—I’ll do everything in my power to make sure she has a million good days.
At some point, she became a vital part of my life. Without her, I won’t be able to breathe, to exist.
Eve is my person. Simple as that.
I don’t want to hide my feelings for her or our relationship. She’s mine and I want everyone to know it. Including her brother and her dad.
THIRTY-TWO
EVE
It feelslike my calendar reminder is mocking me every time it pops up at the top of my tablet. I swipe it away with an irritated flick, going back to the packaging design I’m illustrating for the market.
More like failing to illustrate because every line I draw feels wrong. I erase the crooked stroke and roll my neck. It eats at me when I can’t connect to my creativity easily.
Once again, time has gotten away from me. It’s the last week of November and I only have two weeks left before the maker’s market. I’m dedicating as much time to prepping for it as I’m able to between my bartending shifts, helping Mom plan the potluck she’s throwing next week, and squeezing time in with Cole.
We’re at his apartment, lounging in bed. He’s watching the livestream of the Flyers playing the Bruins at TD Garden on his laptop while I’ve been curating which of my products I want to bring. Even with all the research I’ve done and countless screenshots I’ve saved to give me ideas, it all feels like too much.
I switch positions for the millionth time from laying on my stomach to sitting up, lasting only fifteen minutes before my neck begins to ache from hunching over. I flop back onthe pillows, propping my iPad against my leg. This is terrible drawing posture, but for a short time it works to get the idea down.
I hate it five minutes later, scrapping it to start over for attempt number three at this label sticker for my earrings.
“I know,” Cole says at my sigh. “I can’t believe that call, either. That goal was totally good.”
I hum, feeling bad that I’m not really paying attention. It’s not his fault that I’m having a bad day.
Closing the flap on my case to reset, I zone out. Thoughts collide with ideas crowding my head. I pinch my lip between my thumb and finger, brows furrowed as I sift through it all. There are way too many things on my mind. I know it’s why I’m having art block.
I set my iPad aside, curling against Cole to watch the last ten minutes of the game with him. He grumbles when it freezes. I end up on my phone, looking through my inspiration board for my vendor table. Imposter syndrome prods at me, making me question who I think I am, taking part in this market.
He groans, shutting his laptop. “What a game.”
At least I’m not the only person in the world having an off night. He puts his laptop away, then comes back to bed. A light in the corner of my eye distracts me.
“You have a text.”
“Hand it to me?”
I unplug it from the charger and pass it over. He scoffs when he reads it.
“Who’s that?”
He stretches across me and tosses the phone back on the nightstand. “Easton put me in this group chat with his teammates last season. They come to me first before they ask your dad for something they want.”
“They’re like you’re little ducklings,” I say with a laugh.
“Yeah, that blow my phone up at all hours of the day.”
He lays his head on my chest. I play with his thick hair.
“It’s nice to know they trust me enough to come to me when they need something. Makes me feel like I’m doing something right.”
“At least one of us is,” I mumble.
He lifts to his elbows to study me with concern. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. I think I took on too much for a first event by doing such a big market. Maybe I should back out. There’s so much more I need to prepare. The camper isn’t ready.”
