Chapter 3 #2
My superpower, thankfully, is getting through a day while freaked out, yet not letting my clients see even a hint.
I got into VA-ing because I have a background, and even a degree, in Stage Management for the theatre.
But I decided after my third and final internship at an adorable local company that the hours really didn’t suit the kind of life I wanted, even if I was really good at it.
My advisor always told me to be like a duck, smooth above the water and paddling like hell below.
“Actors can sense fear,” she’d say. “Never let ‘em see you crack.”
Now my clients are my actors, and it’s all worked out really well.
Sure, I had to work some jobs that had absolutely nothing to do with my degree for a few years before I fell into VA-ing when my old boss needed to suddenly work remotely, but once I’d gotten a taste, I knew that I’d be stellar at it. And I am.
Days like today are a dime a dozen for me.
I go about my day on the edge of a panic attack, Henry sleeps, and I keep my clients’ lives running like a well-oiled machine.
Reservations are made, tickets are purchased, school lunch accounts are refilled, and resumes for new nannies are sent along in spite of my brain.
The monotony of the day doesn’t lull me into a sense of security; I jump when the delivery truck crunches down my gravel drive.
When he was younger, Henry used to bark at sounds outdoors, but now I’m lucky if he wakes up.
Soon, even the delivery trucks won’t be able to get down my road, and they’ll leave them with the intrepid mailman instead.
Those big corporations might not let their trucks come down my snowy dirt road, but the good ol’ postal service doesn’t stop service here unless it’s really bad.
I’ll get them when I can bring myself to walk down my long driveway to the mailbox.
Or, lucky me, Tom will take them to put on my porch even though I’ve asked him not to.
As soon as I hear the wheels, I yell at my smart speaker to turn off all the lights and run to my kitchen where I can watch the drive from a safe distance. Henry doesn’t move from his space by the fire—he’s used to my antics by now.
“I am safe. I am in my home. He cannot come inside.” My mantra is flexible when needed.
I crouch low and look over my countertop, past the dining table, past the couches and ideally placed cushions, and out the front window to where I can barely make out the truck through the sheer curtains.
My heart thumps as if I’m running a marathon as I watch the shadows outside while repeating my mantra.
The brakes squeal as it pulls to a stop, and I hear the door roll open before there is the telltale clomp of footsteps on my porch.
This poor delivery man must think I’m never home, because no matter what day or time he comes, the lights are out.
Some days, when I can’t bring myself to open the door and fetch the packages, he has to pile new ones on top.
The only way he probably knows I am real is because the packages do eventually disappear, and I gave him a holiday card and a gift card for coffee last year.
Otherwise, my house might as well be uninhabited.
This time, between my mantra and how quickly he leaves, it seems I’ve beaten back my panic. See! I am safe. He brought the packages and left, and now I get to look through the boxes!
It’s the little things that help me keep it together these days.
I’m eager to see the wrapping paper for Fae, so I wait for him to drive out of sight before turning the lights back on and scurrying out to claim all of my packages. There are more than I expected, but that’s not that odd. After my freak out last night, I can barely remember what all I even bought.
It’s a blur.
I want to ensure they are all right for Fae, so I start piling the boxes on the dining table and immediately open them. The first few things look as I expected, but things turn south when I open a second box long enough for wrapping paper. It’s entirely wrong.
This is not the brown package paper I ordered, it’s black with sparkles that remind me of stars.
It’s gorgeous, but definitely not the style I wanted for Fae.
I smile as it glitters in the light, because it feels like something I’d pick out if I had no constraints.
Dark, a little edgy, but still festive as fuck.
I haven’t been into that style of thing in years, not since my brief emo phase had my parents sending me to therapy in case I was depressed.
I’d tried to explain to them that liking dark or goth or emo things didn’t mean I was depressed, it just meant that I liked that stuff.
Since then, I’ve steered clear of anything too dark when it comes to decor or clothing.
This wrapping paper is cute enough that I might not even return it.
I haven’t bought my own wrapping for the year, and I think I could still do something with it that won’t have my parents flying out to me in a panic.
When I open the third box and find the missing second brown roll, I smirk.
I guess I got a freebie, maybe they’re running a promotion.
Before long, I have all of Fae’s packaging arranged but one box. It’s possible the theme park popcorn bucket I’d ordered for Maria arrived, but if so, that would be super quick.
I crack it open and stare inside. Inside are ribbons, silver and gold, that match the black sparkle paper perfectly.
There are little tie-on address tags, all black, shaped like moons and stars.
At the bottom of the box there’s even some clear tape, scissors, and a shiny green paint marker, presumably to write on the tags.
Did I order myself a set? I don’t remember doing so, but I was really upset last night. I vaguely remember seeing some of this stuff… Either I actually put it in my cart, or I got someone else’s order who has great taste. There’s only one way to know, I suppose.
I open my email, and sure enough, there’s a confirmation—at like midnight—for an order I placed for these exact things. It’s a separate order, but it’s possible they processed it separately, or I woke up in the middle of the night to get it and I don’t remember…
Okay, I guess this is something that’s happening now.
My eyes sting as tears threaten. The back of my jaw aches, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop myself from crying. I know I have trouble sleeping, but otherwise… I sort of thought I was getting better.
It’s super rare that I can’t make it onto my porch to get packages, and I’ve been getting the mail from my mailbox at least twice a week. I’m not ready for a trip into Boston, let alone home, but I’d hoped to be able to get my own groceries in the New Year.
So much for that New Year’s resolution.
Because ordering stuff in my sleep? Losing time? I’m pretty sure that’s bad.
Like, bad-bad.