Page 37 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
Marc.
A flicker of irritation sparked in my chest, sharp and quick. It annoyed me that my body reacted before my brain could rearrange the facts into something calmer. It was the same everytime his name appeared or was spoken. Like my nervous system had its own memory.
How were we going to make this work?
I could barely stand to be in the same room as him, and that’s without him turning into a walking encyclopedia of “Everything Delaney Is Doing Wrong.”
I knew—logically—that he struggled to connect. I knew facts were his coat of armor, his safe place.
But when that armor was directed at me, it was a weapon, aimed and deliberate.
And it didn’t matter how many times I told myself not to take it personally. It still landed in the same place.
The place that whispered:Maybe you’re too much. Too loud. Too sensitive. Too opinionated. Too … Delaney.
Like my parents had told me countless times.
I stared at the page, throat tight, and hated myself for how quickly the angry thoughts sank their hooks into what was supposed to be my peaceful time.
I’d been hearing versions of it my whole life—from Mom and Dad, from kids at school, from the people who smiled politely and then drifted away when my feelings took up too much space.
Aunt Jem was the only one who’d never made me shrink.
Aunt Jem always told me I was exactly enough.
Aunt Jem, who loved me unconditionally.
I swallowed hard and shut the journal.
Not because I didn’t believe in intention. Because right now, my thoughts were a chisel, and I didn’t want to accidentally carve bitterness into my morning before the day had even started.
It was time to begin my day. Cheryl was opening the shop, and I’d planned on working through inventory after I completed the admin tasks that needed my attention.
Inventory. Ordering. Marketing. Bills. Classes. The endless list of things to do that never stopped just because my grief felt heavy.
Sometimes being a small business owner was balancing on a yoga block while someone threw rocks at you. And sometimes it was like trying to breathe underwater because I missed Aunt Jem so much.
My phone buzzed from its spot on the counter.
I rinsed out my mug, loaded it into the dishwasher, and picked the phone up with slightly damp hands.
THEO: Hey, I talked to Marc about coming by the shelter today to plan for the yoga session.
My first instinct was to ignore it.
My second was to throw my phone into the sink.
My third—because I wasn’t twelve anymore, and I wasn’t going to let anyone down—was to respond.
Even if Glamma had roped me into this, I wasn't about to abandon the animals at the shelter because I couldn’t stand Ruby River’s human spreadsheet.
ME: I can do that.
THEO: Great. Marc was able to clear his schedule from 11:00-3:00 today. Does that work for you?
Of course we were usinghisschedule. Typical.
Heat rose into my neck, and I forced my shoulders down, and unclenched my jaw.
