Page 5 of A Love Like Christmas Time
Then there’s me, the black sheep in a family full of CEOs, lawyers, and hedge fund managers. A family firmly blinded by the patriarchy. I’ve always been the odd one out. The one who wanted to make a name for herself instead of finding life’s fulfillment in marrying. But it doesn’t matter which prizes I win, the praise I receive on my work on and off screen, especially to my mother, I will always be a failure.
And there’s Kieran. He’s Nic and my neighbor, his villa located a good bit away from mine at the idyllic lakeside. He’s not thrilled with us knowing about his career, but the algorithm snitched on him and I discovered he works as a content creator, aka a thirst trap, online. From what I’ve gathered in the months I’ve known him; his parents weren’t too happy with his career.
And finally, there’s Caleb, the grumpy owner of the town café, who I don’t think I’ve ever seen without anything covering his head or the gruff attitude. A few days back, he began wearing a beanie instead of his backward cap, and I barely recognized him.
I don’t know his backstory. It seems like nobody in this town does. I’m a nosy woman, so of course I asked around.
I think the only person in this cute café with its exposed brick wall, wooden furniture and black metal accents, who gets along with their parents is Henry.
“Anyway, how’s your library coming along?” Kieran subtly reaches for the syrup as well, ignoring my glare.
Hypocrites, the whole lot of them.
“It’s going one step forward, two steps back,” I tell him and shake my head in annoyance. “The bookshelves have declared war on me, and I hate to admit it, but they’re winning.”
“How so?” Nic blinks confused. “Are they infiltrating your bedroom?”
“Firing nails at you?” Kieran adds, and both of them giggle, while I sit back and pout. Jensen, Henry’s dog, appears by my legs and puts his head on my thigh.
“At least someone here takes me seriously,” I coo and stroke his head.
“Do you want me to come over and help?” Kieran offers, but I shake my head.
“Please. You said yourself there’s a higher chance of lightning striking your house than of you successfully putting together furniture.” I breathe out a deep sigh.
“Maybe,” he admits with a chuckle. “But it would be a lot of fun.”
“I’ve had my fun,” I point out. “In fact, I’ve hadlongerfun with much less success than all those DIY channels suggested. Now I’d love to have the finished furniture.” I exhale a deep sigh. “I’ll think of something. There must be a tutorial somewhere on the World Wide Web that I haven’t found yet, and it will solve all of my problems.” One by one, I scan everyone around the table, ignoring the skepticism written all over their faces. “Mark my words. By Christmas, they will be standing.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Kieran says, and before he can protest, I snatch the syrup out of his hands and put the bottle back into my bag.
“Hey!”
“Shun the non-believer,” I whisper, while holding eye-contact and putting my bag on the ground.
Chapter 2
Lauren
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter under my breath and lean my back against the wall, utterly exhausted. My living room is one big mess. Unpacked moving boxes are stacked against one wall. Another corner is stacked to the ceiling with empty, folded-up cardboard boxes that came with all my furniture parts.
Unpacked wooden boards lean against the opposite wall, with loose screws, nails and tools scattered on the floor. They’re supposed to become a bookshelf at some point.
But today is not that point.
With a frustrated scream, I lift myself off the wall and kick one of the still folded together empty boxes into the corner. In Amanda’s antique store, where I help out from time to time, I find the chaos charming, but in my own home, it’s driving me up the wall.
This is not how I imagined it. I thought building my own furniture would come with a sense of empowerment, self-confidence and triumph. Not utter defeat and frustration. This whole DIY thing was supposed to be a gateway, my attempt at finding a new hobby and rediscovering who I am outside of acting. I guess now at least I know that assembling furniture is not a hidden talent of mine.
I mean, why even include an assembly explanation if it doesn’t make any fucking sense? ‘Screw A into board B’—then why the hell wouldn’t they put adamned label on the screws and boards themselves? Now I’ve put the first board-screw-combo together upside down.
Closing my eyes, I force myself to take a deep breath. You’re okay, Lauren. The world is not going up in flames. Keep breathing.
I can’t deal with this chaos right now. I just can’t.
It’s too overwhelming. Too close of a visualization of the chaos that’s going on inside my head. Too much of a reminder that I’m failing at something as simple as putting together a damned bookshelf.
I exhale slowly, counting to ten, before I open my eyes again. Keeping my eyes way above the mess, I make my way to the hallway, careful not to trip over one of the boxes or tools lying around.
