Chapter 1: IKEA Assembly and Unexpected Prospects
The screw slipped for the third time, skittering across the laminate floor and disappearing under a tower of cardboard boxes. Ellie let out a frustrated groan, dropping the Allen wrench onto the pile of incomprehensible IKEA instructions.
“I swear this thing is actively resisting being built,” she muttered, rubbing the sore spot on her palm.
From across the room, the warm crackle of a vintage soul record filled the space. Sarah, perched on an unpacked box labeled ‘MISC – KITCHEN?’, swayed to the music, a glass of wine dangling from her fingers. “It’s a metaphor, El. You’re building a new foundation. It’s supposed to be wobbly at first.”
“It’s a bookshelf, Sarah. It’s supposed to hold books.” Ellie sat back on her heels, surveying the carnage of particle board and hardware. The scent of fresh paint still hung in the air of Sarah’s new apartment, mixing with the dust from half-emptied boxes. Fairy lights were strung haphazardly over the window, their soft glow a stark contrast to the chaos of moving.
Sarah took a slow sip of wine, her eyes twinkling. “So. My coworker Dan.”
Ellie picked up another screw, focusing on aligning it with the pre-drilled hole. “What about him?”
“He’s a total sweetheart. Genuinely. And he has these killer forearms from rock climbing.” She paused for effect. “He saw your design portfolio on my desk. The one for that new brewery. He was seriously impressed.”
“That’s nice.” Ellie’s voice was carefully neutral. She knew this tone. She’d heard it before, in the months after she’d left Mark. It was the tone of Sarah carefully arranging happiness for her, like flowers in a vase.
Sarah flopped off the box, landing cross-legged on the floor next to Ellie. The box she’d been sitting on groaned in protest. “He asked about you. Specifically. Wanna grab drinks with him tomorrow?”
The Allen wrench clattered from Ellie’s suddenly numb fingers. Her pulse did a quick, panicked jump against her throat. Drinks. A man. A new person who would look at her and see… what? The curated version on her portfolio site? Or the cracks that still felt so fresh?
“Tomorrow?” The word came out thin.
“Yeah. You know. The day after today. It’s this new thing.” Sarah nudged her shoulder. “Come on. It’s just drinks. One hour. If it’s awful, you text me the pineapple emoji and I’ll call with a fictional emergency.”
Ellie wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling them to her chest. The music shifted to a smoother track, the bassline a steady, comforting thrum. She could feel the ghost of her old life then—the constant walking on eggshells, the critiques of her outfits, her friends, her ambitions. The slow, systematic erosion of her confidence until the only voice she trusted was his.
Letting someone new in felt like handing them a map of all those fault lines.
“I don’t know, Sar.” She picked at a loose thread on her jeans. “What would I even say? ‘Hi, I’m Ellie, my last relationship turned me into a nervous wreck who thinks assembling flat-pack furniture is a major life achievement’? Super seductive.”
“You say, ‘Hi, I’m Ellie. I design killer logos and my best friend is forcing me to be here, but you have nice arms so let’s see how this goes.’” Sarah’s smile was soft, understanding. “He’s not Mark. Most people aren’t.”
The name hung in the air between them, a dark smudge on the fresh start of the room. Ellie looked at her hands—capable hands that built websites and rebranded companies, yet currently defeated by a Swedish shelving unit.
She thought of the portfolio Dan had seen. The work was good. It was hers. It was something Mark had never truly valued, something he’d called a “cute hobby.” But it was the core of her, the part that had survived.
“Just drinks?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“Just drinks,” Sarah confirmed. “No expectations. No pressure. Maybe just… a conversation with a guy who isn’t a plumber or a delivery driver.”
A shaky breath escaped Ellie’s lips. She looked at the half-built skeleton of the bookshelf, all its potential and its current instability. It was a mess. But it wasn't finished yet.
“Okay,” she said, the word feeling foreign and terrifying on her tongue. “Okay. Tell him yes.”
Sarah beamed, clapping her hands together softly. “Yes! Okay, don’t move, I’m getting us more wine. This calls for a celebration.” She sprang up and headed for the kitchen, leaving Ellie alone amidst the cardboard and the fairy lights.
Ellie picked up the Allen wrench again. It felt heavier now. She slotted it into the next screw and turned, the metal biting into the wood with a firm, decisive click. One turn, then another. Building something, piece by piece.