Chapter 32 Eve
THIRTY-TWO
EVE
It feels like 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 on the 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.”
“But you are. Come here.”
He rolls to his back, taking me with him. His embrace feels so safe, as if he’s the only one able to chase off the stressful doubts eating at me. I burrow closer, tucking my nose against the crook of his neck to inhale his warm, musky forest scent.
“Talk to me,” he encourages.
“I’m overwhelmed,” I admit. “When I applied, I didn’t think I’d get in. Then I didn’t think about how long it would realistically take me since I’ve never done this before. I should’ve looked for a smaller pop up event to try first so I know what to expect.”
“Would you be happy with yourself if you back out?”
I purse my lips. “No. It would feel good because canceled plans weirdly feel freeing, but I’d be disappointed I missed out on this opportunity. I don’t like giving up.”
His fingers card through my hair. “Okay. So you’re not going to cancel your table.”
I sigh. “No. Doesn’t make me feel better now, though. I’m checking things off my to-do list, then remember something else I need to get done. It’s never-ending.”
“Do you need help? You know you have me. I’m sure Benny and Jess would offer advice if you went to them.”
I slide my lips together. He’s right.
“I know, I just—I wanted to do it myself. I—”
When I break off with a frustrated sound, he soothes me with a calming touch, lulling me back from my snapping point once I’m too overstimulated.
“It’s okay. Take your time telling me. I’m listening.”
My throat twinges and I press my face into his skin. He always takes care of me. I swallow, gathering myself before continuing.
“This is hard to explain. I know it’s better to ask for help when I need it.”
“But?”
“I have trouble giving up control. I like doing all the parts myself. Except I know that means if I mess up by procrastinating or forgetting, I only have myself to blame.”
“There’s no blame. It’s okay to not do everything perfectly, right? Waiting until you get it all perfect will only slow you down. You do what you can—and I believe in you, Evie. You’re capable of so many great things. You’re putting yourself out there. That’s something to be proud of.”
His gentle, reassuring words wash over me. I cling to them, needing his comfort to anchor me from floating away into a spiral.
Perfect is impossible. No matter how much I fixate on my tendency for perfectionism. I have to embrace that owning my own business is messy. I can’t control everything.
I trace patterns on his chest. “Why do you have to make so much sense?”
His embrace tightens. “I’d be a shitty coach if I couldn’t strategize and give good pep talks. Take things one at a time, okay? And ask for help if you need it.”
“Yeah.”
“How about you take a break to give your mind a chance to reset. I’ll make you a snack. Would that help?”
I mull it over. “I do like snacks.”
“I know.” He kisses the top of my head. “Let me take care of you, okay? Don’t hide it from me when you’re struggling. I can’t be there for you if you don’t rely on me.”
I rise on my elbows to kiss him tenderly, pouring all my gratitude and love into it.
“Don’t know where I’d be without you,” I murmur.
“Hangry and skipping meals, I bet,” he teases.
I scoff. He tickles my sides until I burst out laughing. When he lets up, I catch my breath, grinning at him. He cups my cheek, green eyes brimming with fondness.
“There’s my girl.”