Page 19 of Grace
“Have you had anyone like that? Anyone who made it clear that you should own who you are and appreciate yourself?” she asks.
“My mom was supportive… at least in the kitchen,” I mutter.
“I look at it this way—it’s cynical, I know—but I have to live with myself constantly, right? I can’t change that. My brain is stuck in this body, and I can choose to enjoy the experience or hate it. Hating it doesn’t change anything unless I make a change, like adding tattoos or piercings, or how I dress. So, I choose every day, to find something great about myself,” she says.
I finally open my food, knowing I’ve always tried tonotstand out.
“Today, I like my confidence and how I draw boundaries with clients when they want to touch me,” she says with a bright smile. “Now you.”
“I like…” I hesitate.
“Come on. It can be physical, it can be personality wise, an accomplishment, anything,” she encourages.
I give a weak smile. “I like my cooking skills and that I haven’t lost them.”
“See, just do that every morning. It makes the day a whole lot easier, and you start noticing when people are treating you badly because they aren’t capable of being good to you or don’t want to be. You’ll stop blaming yourself for their issues,” Ashley says with a shrug.
Her words simmer inside me as she turns on the TV and puts on a sitcom.
We watch it together, and Ashley doesn’t quiet a single laugh, she doesn’t pause the show when she whispers a joke in my ear, and she doesn’t ask for forgiveness when she’s happy just being herself.
It’s brand new. She’s not caustic or overwhelming, she’s quirky and bright and… and I feel lucky that I ended up with her as a roommate. She pats her belly and groans. “Well, I can’t believe I ate all that. It’s normally a two-meal amount.”
“You earned it,” I joke.
“Damn right, I did. I do have to go draw, though. Half-finished stencils don’t make good tattoos,” Ashley says while standing, then points at me. “And if you decide to come in to the shop, you can just let me know here and we’ll design something perfect for you.”
I snort. “You think I could pull off a tattoo?”
“If it’s the right tattoo, you’ll do more than pull it off. You’ll flaunt it like it’s part of you,” Ashley says brightly, then hugs me.
After a second, I hug her too. I exhale as her arms tighten around me. How long since I’ve been hugged without having someone grab my ass or pat my head and tell me it will be okay?
“Ashley?” I ask.
“Hmm?” she asks as she draws back.
I bite my lip. “I’m really happy I chose you to be my roommate.”
She beams. “Back at ya, babe.”
ten
Mr. Brooks’s office blinds are closed, and I wonder if he’s inside, if he’s working, or if the blinds are closed because he’s… No, no, don’t go there. I don’t want to wonder if he’s watching something on his computer. I don’t want to wonder if he’s still into ‘petite redheads’ or if it was just an itch.
My throat dries, and I turn my focus back on my screen, quickly typing away as I finish the report for Mr. Brooks, but my mind seems to play games as I move the mouse and click on Mr. Brooks’s calendar, checking whether he has a meeting.
There’s nothing there, and it makes something stir inside me, an uneasy feeling I can’t place.
Is this because of last night? Did we cross a line we shouldn’t? Did I do something wrong?
I messed up, that must be it. I messed up everything, like I always do…
“Are you okay?” Melissa’s voice makes my thoughts stop, and I glance up at her.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I say, mustering a smile.
“Sooo, it seems you got a promotion,” she teases with a waggle of her brows.
