You are quiet. You are strong. You are not buckling.
Without saying a word, I pick up a folder and start flipping through it. Every so often, I can feel Beave’s eyes on me, but I continue to look through template after template. All of them are far too fancy to even consider. I don’t want something super stuffy. It can be pretty, but gold filigree seems a bit much.
Lifting my head, I ask the owner, “Do you happen to have anything that isn’t as fancy?”
“Excuse me?” The Beave asks. “What do you mean not so fancy?”
Do I answer?
I was told to be quiet.
Would Huxley answer?
Or would he just stare?
I think he would just stare.
So that’s what I do. I stare at her.
“Ophelia, I asked you a question.”
I know, but I’m supposed to just stare, so . . . that’s what I do, as sweat creeps up my neck, because this staring thing is hard.
The Beave must pick up on what I’m doing because she folds her hands in front of her and stares back.
Oh God!
It’s a stare off.
Breaker did not prepare me for this.
Why did he choose this moment to go to the bathroom? He had a chance when we went back to the apartment to change. This is poor peeing management on his end, leaving me here like this, all alone with a teaspoon of confidence in what I’m doing.
And boy, is she good.
Really fucking good.
Those beady eyes stare back at me. She recognizes it’s a showdown, and if I know this woman like I think I do, she won’t back down. Huxley might be the king of not talking, but man, oh man, it looks like The Beave can run a master class on it.
Just look at the way her eyes remain steady.
Not a twitch.
Not a fidget.
Meanwhile, over here, I’m a party of one, heading straight into the fiery pits of hell as I attempt to hold steady. But I’m wilting.
I can feel it.
There’s too much silence.
It’s killing me.
I’m going to break.
I’m going to snap.
I’m going to . . .
“Paper was invented by the Chinese back in 100 BC,” I blurt, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief. “And now, one single pine tree can create over eighty thousand sheets of paper. Can you believe that? Wow, what a dedication to the journey of paper, which is of course, quite the tale in and of itself, but I won’t bore you with that other than to say that paper really can transport us from world to world, and sure, some people might say it’s the author who is transporting us, the words are just on the paper, but you can’t print words without paper. Although I guess you can read electronically, ehh . . . either way, I think paper is a journey, and don’t you think we should appreciate that journey? I mean, look at this piece of paper,” I say as I pick up a thick cardstock. “Where do you think it came from? What part of the world did this traverse? For all we know, this used to be part of a tree that once housed a sloth or maybe a gibbon. And to know that it was a house at one point and is not going to offer its—for lack of a better term—body to us so we can invite people to the start of a new journey in life . . . do you see the full circle here? Just marvelous.” I pick up a pile of paper and run my fingers through it. “All marvel—ouch.” I chuckle and then shake out my hand. “The paper didn’t like me stroking it like that. Bit me right on the finger.” I shake my hand again, but this time, a line of red dots splatters across the paper and right across The Beave’s face.
Oh.
My.
God.
I glance down at my finger and immediately feel faint as I see blood pooling.
“Dear God, I’ve done it now,” I say as I sway, holding my finger up.
“What the hell?” Breaker yells as The Beave just sits there in a shocked, catatonic state. “Jesus, Lia. Can we get some tissues?” He holds my finger up and then wraps his arm around my shoulder to keep me from falling. “What happened?” he asks.
I glance up at him and whisper, “I buckled.”
“How are you feeling?” Breaker asks as he sits across from me in his car.
“How do you think I’m feeling?” I ask as I set down my yogurt drink.
“Besides embarrassed, humiliated, and regretful, I want to know how you’re doing physically.”
“Fine.” I stare up at Brian’s office building. “Do you think she already called him and told him?”
“Can’t be sure,” Breaker says. “But from the way she wiped your blood off her face with vehement swipes, I’m going to say yes.”
“Then it’s official. I can’t show my face near her ever again.”
“You’re going to have to, and don’t worry, I will be there with you.”
I shake my head. “I should just go back to my apartment, drown in my sorrows.”
“Is that what you want to do?” Breaker asks.
I press my lips together and stare down at my linked hands. “No. I want to talk to Brian.”
“Then I think you need to go talk to him.” Breaker takes my hand in his. “I can go up there with you.”
“No, that would be a bad idea.” I undo my seat belt and open the door. “I can and should do this on my own.” I glance up at Breaker. “Thank you for everything today, despite you leaving to pee at the worst time ever.”
“I’ve already noted that I’m to pee before I ever leave you alone with The Beave again.”
“Good.” I hop out of his car and say, “I’ll see you later.”
“Good luck.”
I wave goodbye and head into Brian’s office building. After the blood was cleaned and Breaker offered to pay for all damages to the bloodied paper, The Beave roughly showed me her three choices, and instead of putting up a fight, I went with her favorite. It’s an invitation anyway, not like my actual wedding dress. She offered me a curt goodbye and took off.
Breaker took me to grab something to eat to help with my anemia, then I asked him to drive me here because not only do I want to clear the air about what happened at the church . . . and the paper shop, but I also need to talk to him about how he spoke so negatively about my glasses. Because despite the distractions from the day, that has stuck in my mind.
“Hello, Miss Fairweather-Fern, how are you?” Brian’s assistant, Beverly, says as I approach.
“I’m good, how are you, Beverly?”
“Just lovely. Congratulations on the engagement. Brian has been talking nonstop about it.”
I smile kindly. “Thank you. We’re very excited.” The lie slips off my tongue with ease. Not so much excited as I’m nervous. Hopefully, excitement comes soon. “Uh, is Brian available? I know I came unannounced, but I hoped I could talk for a moment.”
“He always wants to see you,” Beverly says. “I believe he’s just working right now, not on the phone.”
“Okay, thank you.”
I wave to Beverly and make my way toward his office. She’s always been so kind to me. In her fifties, she is as efficient as they come, detailed, and never lets anything slip, ever. I remember when Brian first hired her, his mother was furious. Said he needed someone younger, not that she should have a say in it. Still, Brian’s intuition has paid off because Beverly has been such a tremendous help to him in getting all his work done throughout the day.