Page 54 of Sunset Catchers

He barges down the steps of my porch.

“Look, the sky is turning pink!”

He quickly looks at it, then remembers he’s mad at me and blatantly ignores the sky, staring down at his feet.

“I’m sorry,” I yell as he stalks off toward his cottage.

More laughs burst out of me once he made it inside his own cottage.

“I can hear you laugh,” he yells back. I laugh even more. Then: “Do you want some ice cream?”

“Do you have chocolate?”

“Yes. It’s your favorite.”

“Yes to ice cream!” I yell, smiling big.

13

I’m a mess.

There is a cloud over my head, heavy with the anticipated storm that’s swirling inside me. My whole body is coiled tight. The air around me feels insufficient to inflate my lungs, like when you step outside and it turns out to be windier than anticipated, and you get hit by a gust, leaving you gasping for air.

And Levi—who walked into my cottage, took one glance at me and just knew about the disarray inside me, is fairly confused. Even though I’m trying really hard to appear as normal as possible, he knows something is up, but can’t put a finger on what exactly is going on with the neurotic girl he has to spend all of his days with.

I usually don’t have witnesses when I’m feeling this way. When my emotions are leashing me, making me their unwilling hostage, I’d typically call in sick because of a common illness. I do wish I was suffering from seasonal allergies right now. That I could just pop an antihistamine pill and feel better in twenty minutes.

But what I am suffering from is imminently uncurable.

I am feeling sick to my stomach over one single thing: a missed call from my mother. Well, as missed a call can truly be when you’re watching your screen the whole time your phone is ringing.

Imagine the state I’d be in if I’d answered it. Category 5 tornado, for sure. I shudder against the thought, rebelling against the idea. Circa 2018 is not an era I want to revisit.

It’s frustrating that I am still here and that I still feel this way about it. That I never learned how to cope.

I grew up with a mother that was always a big supporter of my keeping my emotions inside. Crying was annoying. Laughing too loudly was irritating. Throwing a fit was embarrassing.

Instead of properly processing my emotions, I wore them like a scratchy, ill-fitting sweater. One that never got softened or stretched by time. Quite the opposite; it shrank until it suffocated me. Until it was impossible to take off. Until adding my overflowing feelings to that sweater was the only thing I knew to do with them.

Then I met Junie, who is a champion in the sharing of mindsets and is quite emotionally intelligent. She is the only one with whom I’ve shared some of what afflicts me. She gets the messier, raw version of me, while everyone else gets the curated one. Levi gets a mix of both, which is confusing as heck for my thick skull.

It’s easier for me when everything stays in their dedicated folder. My feelings are classified in the personal life folder; Levi is in the work folder. But now, all my pages are haphazardly stored away. This cottage is home and work, and Levi is both my coworker and my friend.

My mind secretary is doing a poor job right now.

Levi’s frown turns worried when he sneaks a careful peek my way. I need to claw my way out of that emotional sludge; it’s time to pick one of my usual outlets.

Talking to Junie. Can’t do. She has back-to-back meetings with clients all day. Plus, it comes to a point where I need to learn to deal without her help.

Blasting my favorite song while driving aimlessly. Not enough.

Having sex. My gaze trails toward Levi without my consent, tilting sideways. No! That would be a disaster. Also, I promised Junie I was taking a break from the whole having sex to feel better about myself thing. Big mistake on my part.

Lesson be learned: never agree to something when you are a few cocktails deep. You will sober up to bitterly regret it.

I drop my paint brush in the pan after finishing the last bit of molding around the door leading to the bathroom, then fold my arms tightly over my chest. I watch as Levi finishes off the rest of the wall, his paint roller going back and forth in a soothing way. I take a big whiff of air through my nose. The smell of fresh paint permeating helps very little to appease my aches today.

I take in the light-pink paint color applied on all the walls of the main open space of my cottage, where the kitchen, dining nook and living room are situated. It’s the perfect shade, and yet, I can’t manage to be pleased. To prioritize happiness.