Page 19 of Built to Last
“I don’t mind since I know you, sort of.” Unlike some of the rude and invasive questions I’ve been on the receiving end of from strangers, Phillip’s curiosity doesn’t bother me. Probably because his question comes from a place of wanting to learn instead of a place of judgement. I move closer to give him a better look. “This pair is technically for exercise, the rubber dots on my palms are to help stop my grip slipping. You can get compression gloves without them but I prefer these ones for when I’m working.” My grip strength isn’t always that great and the rubber helps stop my paintbrushes and pencils from sliding against the fabric.
“Ok. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to make you more comfortable. I can still put the heater on if that will help, I know the cold can aggravate sore joints.”
“Thanks, I’m good for now.” I shift my feet, suddenly uncomfortable with his attention. I’m oscillating between happiness over his considerate offer and frustration that he thinks I need help. Before I can settle on one feeling over the other he moves on.
“Alright then.” He walks to the side of the room where two of the panels lean against the wall. A quick glance tells me the others are propped up against the opposite wall. “I thought you could work over here and outline the two left sections and I’ll do the two for the right side. That way we’re both doing one large and one small.” Relieved the conversation has shifted back to work, I quickly agree.
I’m not ashamed of wearing the gloves. Why wouldn’t I use something that makes me more comfortable? Unfortunately, noteveryone sees it that way. Malcolm was especially rude about me wearing them when we were together, one of the many reasons I eventually left him—the man is an arsehole. If Phillip asks why I need the extra support I won’t lie, but it’s not a conversation I enjoy having—nor is it information I share with everyone since it’s my private business.
Maybe giving him a heads-up in case I have a flare-up while we’re working together is a good idea. Not that partnering on a project gives him a right to the information, but I will need to pace myself and it might be easier for him to understand that if he knows why. But Phillip and I have been getting along so well, I don’t want him to turn out to be an ableist arse like Malcolm or wilfully ignorant like my parents. It would ruin everything. Not to mention we’ve barely started working together and I do not have the patience to deal with either of those outcomes for the next few weeks. I’ll play it by ear for now.
Phillip points out where I can find a tape measure and pencils then crosses to his side of the room.
“You mind if I put some music on?” His hand hovers over a wireless speaker on the worksurface that stretches along the back wall.
“Go for it.” He connects his phone to the speaker and classic rock fills the room. We work in companionable silence, bar the background music. I chuckle softly when Phillip is unable to resist singing along to a couple of the songs after a while. He’s a man of many talents but singing is not one of them. That doesn’t faze him though. He’s so comfortable in himself. I simultaneously admire and envy him for that. Phillip’s off-key baritone is oddly comforting and after a while I catch myself quietly humming along with him.
Chapter Eleven
Phillip
We’ve finished sketchingthe outline of the set onto all four wood panels in good time, now we can move onto cutting. I’m about to suggest we do just that but one look at Rose has me quickly re-evaluating my plans. She’s bent over stretching out her back and takes longer than she should need to uncurl back to standing. She’s obviously hurting and in need of a break. I’m not sure why she didn’t say something sooner, but now I’ve noticed she’s struggling in silence I won’t ignore it.
“How about a coffee break?” Relief sweeps across her features at my suggestion and she quickly agrees, following me through to the kitchen. “Have a seat.” Rose pulls out the same stool she sat on earlier but there’s a stiffness to her movements that wasn’t there before, almost like she’s holding herself carefully to avoid pain. Is she injured?
“You can go through to the living room and sit on the sofa if that’ll be more comfortable,” I offer.
“Am I that obvious?”
“Maybe I’m just paying attention.” She tucks the stool back under the counter with a sigh.
“I should have stopped for a break earlier, I just didn’t want you to think I wasn’t taking this seriously,” she admits, tuggingnervously at her sleeves. There’s a weight to her words that tells me her concerns are coming from experience. Hot, irrational anger fills me on her behalf and I find myself wanting to track down whoever made her feel that way, but my anger is no good to Rose. What she needs from me right now is support.
“Why don’t you get settled and we can talk about that in a minute.” She bobs her head in agreement and I watch her walk through the open-plan space to the living area, noticing the wince she tries to hide as she gently sinks down onto the large tan sofa. I quickly finish making our drinks then join her.
“Here.” I hand Rose’s mug over and settle down on the sofa a respectable distance away but still close enough that her intoxicating honey-vanilla scent curls around me.Now is not the time.Before the elephant in the room can grow any bigger, I decide to just dive on in. “Anyone who thought you weren’t taking a job seriously obviously wasn’t paying enough attention.”
“Thanks, but you barely know me. What makes you so sure?”
“Because someone who didn’t care wouldn’t take on a major project just to help out a friend. They wouldn’t have come up with two amazing designs in such a short time and they sure as hell wouldn’t agree to do extra work just so they could learn about a process they don’t really need to know more about.” Eyes wide in the wake of my impassioned speech she stops fiddling with her sleeves. “I know we don’t know each other all that well yet, but we’re going to be working together for a while. I don’t want you suffering in silence because you’re worried I’m going to be a dick about you needing a break. I want you to be comfortable working here. If there’s something I can do to help with that, I hope you’ll let me know.”
She takes a fortifying sip of coffee before replying, “I appreciate that. Thank you.” Just when I think that’s all she’swilling to share for now she continues. “If we could move one of your dining chairs out to the workshop that would be a big help.”
“Consider it done.”
Her brows raise incredulously. “Just like that? No questions?”
“No questions. If you want me to know, you’ll tell me. I just want this project to be an enjoyable experience for both of us.”
“Thanks.” She bites her lip, debating sharing more. “I know it’s not something I have to share, but I’d rather explain everything now just in case we need to work around it down the line. I’m hypermobile and have chronic pain and fatigue. I won’t go into all the details but what having all that boils down to is I need to pace myself to help avoid a flare-up. They still happen even when I’m doing everything right, but not overdoing things helps.”
“Thank you for sharing that with me. Would you mind explaining what a flare-up is?”
“They can differ from person to person, even when people have the same chronic illness there can be some variation. For me they range from an increase in my usual level of pain, to migraines, to fatigue so bad I can’t stay awake.”
My thoughts are racing and I take another sip of coffee to give me more time to formulate a response. I had not been expecting all that. I thought she might have a temporary injury we’d need to accommodate, but Rose is dealing with so much more. Suddenly something she said flashes through my mind like a neon light and the question is out before I consciously decide to ask.
“When you say more than your usual level of pain…?” I trail off unsure of how or if I should continue. Luckily Rose doesn’t seem to mind the question. If anything, her weary sigh tells me she’s used to it.
