Page 70 of Ripped & Shipped
Ever since the fire last week, I’ve felt an extra layer of concern for Ella Mae. She puts on a great act. Always has. But I saw her eyes when she let me close to her on that curb. And she was scared. I just want to make sure she’s moving past the incident and not carrying around unnecessary guilt—hypocrite that I am. But my guilt isn’t unnecessary. Both Alex and my mom are living testaments to my reckless decisions and selfish choices.
I glance around the kitchen. On the counter next to the sink there’s a jar with a label that says,No more apologies. A few dollars sit at the bottom. I wonder what that’s about.
I walk down the hall and out the front door, not wanting to encroach on Ella Mae’s privacy more than I already have this week. But then I open my phone to the Instagram app as soon as I’m outside. Meg must have had a reason to mention ImSOBeefy.
I tap Ella Mae’s account and flick through her posts, scanning the comments under each one. There are hundreds of comments. Nearly a thousand under the live of her doing yoga on the porch last week, and over a thousand under the one of her with me and Champ in front of the smoking house.
How does she keep up with all this—and more importantly, why? It’s so draining. At least for me, it is. I feel the life being sucked out of me as I read comment after comment saying how amazing she is, or giving sympathy, or commenting on her body, or her looks.
I don’t even realize how tight my jaw has gotten at first. I’m actually grinding my molars as I read some of the things these guys say to her. Who says this stuff to a total stranger? To anyone for that matter? Slimeballs.
The comment from ImSOBeefy on the yoga fire video jumps out at me.Hey, babe. I hope you’re okay. If you need a hero, I’m here for you.
She doesn’t need a hero. Especially not you, SOBeefy. And, babe? He doesn’t get to call her babe. As usual, Ella Mae didn’t answer him. It seems like her approach is to hope he’ll take a hint if she ignores him. He’s not taking the hint.
His next comment under the pic of me, Champ, and Ella Mae is,That guy again? I sure hope he’s your brother. I don’t like sharing. I know you understand me. Let’s meet up. I’ll kiss your boo-boos.
Uh. No. You won’t kiss anything. And I’m not her brother. I’m her … Not relevant what I am. I’myourworst nightmare, that’s all you need to know, BeefyDude.
I scroll through a few more comments. Each one is more aggressive and forward. In one he says,I’m so glad you’re single. Keep some room in your life for me, Ella Mae. Why don’t these comments bother Ella Mae? The fact that this guy is actually beefitupfitnessdude, back again, unwavering in his pursuit, makes him more of a threat. Ella Mae needs to know.
I pace the porch, considering my options. Ella Mae’s so quick to shut me down whenever it seems like I’m pushing her to take action on her own behalf. She’s far too independent to take direction from me. So, I have to make this feel like it’s her decision. She really should consider faking the appearance of a relationship. That would probably send a strong message to this creep.
All we’d have to do is post a few photos online together. She could say whatever kinds of things she says … something ridiculous and over-the-top about how much she loves her boyfriend. That would send the message to all these guys, not just the meathead.
The air is getting warmer. I need to finish the work on the porch before it’s too hot to be comfortable doing physical labor. Once I’m done, I’ll figure out what to say.
It takes a few hours to cut out the burnt section of the porch and replace the framing, measure the replacement boards and secure them. I’ll come back tomorrow to paint everything. I pack up my tools and throw them in the back of my truck. While I was working, I had a brainstorm. I’m hoping it will work.
Instead of going in to talk with Ella Mae, I drive into town and park in front of Dad’s office. When I walk in, Shannon greets me. I haven’t seen her in a few days.
“Hey, Chris. How are you?”
“Fine. Just doing a little work for the Graynors on their rental.”
“Yeah. Meg told me about the fire fiasco.”
“It was an accident. Could have happened to anyone.”
“I know. I wasn’t going to come down on her.”
By her, we both know she means Ella Mae.
“Good.”
My sister gives me a look that feels like she can read my mind. I sure hope not.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her.
“Why does everyone ask pregnant women that question?”
“I guess we just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m great. I get a little queasy in the morning, but so far, so good.”
“That’s awesome.”
The smile that takes over my face feels deeper than my usual grin. I’ll admit, I can’t wait to be an uncle.
