Page 66 of The Fix-Up

—Ellie

P.S. Sorry about leaving my, ahem, unmentionables hanging in the bathroom to dry.

Eleanor—

How else should I say it? Let’s chat? Is that better.

Let’s chat ASAP.

—Gilbert

P.S. No comment.

Gil, Gil, Gil?—

Let’s chat is better. I guess. Or, and I know this is crazy, how about just start talking instead of telling me you need to talk and then I can skip the anxiety of waiting for us to talk.

—Ellie

P.S. I did think hanging everything from my bedroom doorknob was a bit much.

After that text from my mom, the day had only seemed to pile more on me. Work had gone sideways almost immediately with one wrong order after another. Iris had a party of five who’d dined-and-dashed, which had her seeing red. A big order of produce came in without a potato in sight.

By the time I dragged myself home, got caught up on all the first grade drama from Oliver, made dinner, and cleaned up from dinner, I was done. I stumbled into the living room and kicked off my shoes. The groan I let out was embarrassingly loud, but my feet felt like I’d gone to town on them with a meat tenderizer.

I splayed out on the couch and stared up at nothing. It wasn’t just the physical exhaustion getting to me today. That kind of tired I could handle. It meant I’d put in a good day’s work. It was a bone-deep exhaustion and loneliness. I felt that kind of exhaustion all the time as though I was a computer with a program always running in the background. I was one keystroke away from giving up and crawling into bed and never getting out of it.

Sometimes, life could get a girl down. And sometimes, I couldn’t put my finger on any one thing that brought the feeling on. It just…was.

Oliver perched on his knees at the edge of the couch. I smiled at him. “Buddy, why don’t you go play in your room for a little bit?”

He put his little hand on my cheek and stared right into my eyes. “You look sad. It’s okay to be sad, is what you tell me. Do you need me to kiss you and make you feel better?”

I brushed his hair off his forehead. “You know what? I think that would help a lot.” I turned my head and tapped my cheek. A grin escaped at the loud smacking kiss he gave me.

Oliver pulled back. “Is that better?”

“Yes. My turn.” I threw my arms around him and squeezed. He broke into giggles as I rained kisses on his face.

Finally, I let him wriggle free and he ran off down the hallway toward his room. A little Oliver Therapy was always good to brighten my mood. But still, the sadness lingered. More so than usual lately.

Sunny said we needed to allow ourselves to “feel the feelings.” My natural inclination was to push those feelings down deep and keep on smiling. And for the most part, that’s what I did. But Sunny was right. Sometimes I just needed to feel the feelings.

So, I did.

I set the timer on my phone to three minutes to attend a pity party of my own making. I closed my eyes and let the worry and doubt and fear of all the things—being a single mother, being alone, the café, this house, the disappointment I’ve been to a lot of people, that weird noise the toilet kept making—I let all those things crash down on me.

But just for three minutes. Because the same things that exhausted me also needed me to be okay. And I would be okay. I’d proven that to myself the last three years I’d lived in Two Harts. I could come back from my mistakes. I could be a person I was proud of. I could be strong for my son and a good friend to Ali and Mae. I could be a good business owner and muffin maker. I could do all those things.

It’s just that sometimes I needed those three little minutes to remind me how far I’d come.

At around two minutes, forty-two seconds, someone cleared their throat. I cracked open an eye to find Gil hovering near the couch, staring down at me with something that might have been concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m feeling my feelings.” The timer beeped on my phone. “I’m done now.”

“Feeling your feelings?” He took a step back as I sat up.

“You should try it sometime. Might make you smile more.”

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