“You know it's no trouble. I enjoy cooking.”
A weighted silence stretches between us, and the need to ask him if he's ok is suffocating, but anxiety plagues my ability to ask. Am I really ready to know? Unlike the conversation that happened between my mother and I, I don’t think this thing between Elliot and I can be smoothed over with a hug and a cry. Elliot is someone I call my family through the most unusual of circumstances. He doesn't have any obligation to deal with me, my moods, and my crazy and if he and I finally let the proverbial cat out of the bag, I'm petrified as to what will come up. He's the last person I want to hurt or disappoint. But with everything between Lior and I, his reaction is playing on repeat throughout my mind. Whatever is said, will be a conversation I’m not ready for.
Lior and Courtney exit the kitchen, plates filled with cheesecake in hand.
“Here, let me take a plate or two off you,” I turn and offer.
“Just sit down,” Court orders.
Elliot follows me as I make my way to the dining table, all of us reaching our chairs at the same time. I drag the chair out and drop my body on the seat in exhaustion, excited for a slice of sweetness. I notice Court, Elliot and Lior shuffling around the table; silently working out a seating agreement. I do my best to ignore them and focus on dessert and the way this caramel cheesecake is going to melt in my mouth. Eventually, they’ve stopped fussing about who is sitting where, and the same positions as dinner are taken. Lior beside me and Elliot and Courtney across from us.
As usual, food takes priority and we all concentrate on what's in front of us rather than engage in conversation. Lior is the first one to break the silence. “ Why don’t you guys have a TV in the living room?”
I shy away from answering, refusing to acknowledge that I never realized such a common item was missing. I can’t remember the last time I watched something on television or engaged in something that everybody takes for granted. Occasionally I let myself listen to music. Paired up with memories of happier times, it’s a gateway that leads me right back to death’s door. It’s only lately my attention span hasn’t been limited to anything that isn’t focused on loss and sadness.
“There’s one in my room, it’s big enough to be brought out here.” Elliot looks my way, “If that’s ok with you?”
“I can buy one, instead of using yours,” I suggest. Feeling guilty that it’s just another thing to add to the list of things I owe Elliot for.
“It’s cool, Lior can help me bring it out and we can set it up.” They’re up faster than I can say no, leaving Court and I alone at the dinner table, again.
“What’s the sudden need for the TV?” I ask Courtney. “Did I miss something?”
“I don't know, maybe this is something they discussed on their walk. Besides, how bad can it be? Maybe now you can make the effort to like the things your best friend likes.”
“Best friend, eh?” I smirk.
“Better be,” she bites back.
The sound of footsteps gets louder as they maneuvers the television through the living room. They rest it on the coffee table and look around the room with purpose. I figure they're trying to work out which wall to back it against, and whether or not they'll have to rearrange the furniture.
“Is this really necessary?” I ask. “I never watch TV, it seems like a waste to bring it out here.”
“The apartment can do with a change,” Elliot points out. “And change is good, right?”
His question hangs between us, the true meaning transparent and appropriate.
“Okay,” I respond hesitantly. “Set it up however you like.”
An hour and a half later, the couches have been moved, pulled and dragged five different ways, before Lior and Elliot agree on the layout. They celebrate by polishing off the cheesecake while I snuggle up at the end of the couch; knees tucked underneath me head resting on the armrest. Courtney had to be at the shop early tomorrow for a stock delivery, so she wished the guys luck and left halfway through all the rearranging. My exhaustion becomes apparent the more my body settles into the cushions, I do my best to stay awake and show my appreciation, but sleep is inevitable. Finally they settle on a documentary about the migration of reindeer on National Geographic, and the narrator's voice becomes soothing background noise as my eyes get heavier.
The feeling of a light blanket being draped over my body wakes me up. I can feel someone hovering, but am too drowsy to open my eyes. The presence gets closer, and I soon feel warm lips kiss my forehead.
“Night, Evie,” Lior whispers as he steps back.
* * *
It’s my first day off in a while. After lifting myself off the lounge in the early hours of the morning, I sleep in and indulge in the comfort of my own bed. Usually my chaotic mornings are a way to avoid getting lost in a sea of thoughts. When it was the first thing I thought about, the rest of my day would be plagued with moodiness. With no morning rush of coffee, breakfast and running out the door to work, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling and take inventory of what it feels like to not wake up and be engulfed by hopelessness. The difference between welcoming what the day might bring, to dreading it, is huge. Significant enough that I can feel it in my bones and figuratively see the dark cloud slowly moving away from where it’s lived for the last two years.
The smell of French toast seeps into my bedroom and my stomach begins to growl. I throw the covers off and slip my feet into my Uggs, before stepping out into the living room. Seeing as it was my favorite breakfast growing up, I half expected my mom to be the one slaving away over the stove cooking. But when I see Elliot there with a spatula, I can’t help but wonder what the special occasion is.
“Morning,” I announce my arrival as I walk into the kitchen and toward my beloved Keurig. “Coffee?” I ask.
He turns just as he places another piece of bread into the skillet.
“Yes,” he says in relief. “I was adamant to wait for you, and soon realized I have no idea how to function without it.”
“A hot cup of coffee coming right up.”
The heavenly churn of coffee fills up the silence. When it finally quiets, I pour it into the coffee mugs and take it as my cue to find out what’s bothering Elliot. We haven’t exchanged much in the past, but I feel it’s time.
“I never took you as the cooking breakfast type.”
“It’s long overdue,” he admits. “I should do something to say thanks for all the cooking you do more often.”
“It’s just a meal, Elliot.”
“I know, but I wanted to.” He begins to take out condiments from the fridge, delaying the conversation. I mirror his motions; getting plates and cutlery to put on the table. As I wait for him to come and sit down, I hold the coffee mug tight, allowing the heat to seep into my palms and fingertips. Finally walking to the table, he sets the French toast down and sits down directly in front of me. He lifts his coffee and takes an enormous swig. His whole face clenches in pain.
“Elliot, are you crazy? It’s boiling hot,” I scream.
“I was desperate.”
“Seriously, are you ok?” I blurt out. “This is really unlike you.”
“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “I have to talk to you. I’ve been putting it off for a while, and a few things have made me feel like it’s time.”
“Okay, talk to me.” He begins serving me the French toast, two pieces for each of us. I put my hand over his. “Elliot, I know occasionally I’ve proven otherwise, but I’m old enough to feed myself. Now blurt it out.”
“I think I need to move out,” he spits out.
“What? Why?”
“I need to clear my head, and I didn’t realize how hard it was while I was around you.” I don’t have a response, but his confession is so far from what I expected; I’m unsure on whether I’m hurt or shocked.
“Shit, I didn’t mean it to sound like that, Evie.” He runs his hand through his hair and keeps his face down, all facial expressions hidden. This conversation is eighte
en months too late, and it’s my fault. I suck up my feelings and let him put himself first like I should’ve from the beginning.
13
Evie
“When I first showed up on your door, I had imagined such a different outcome.” He looks at the food and then at me. “Can you at least eat while I talk? It will put me at ease, and I don’t want all my hard work going to waste.”
I grab a fork and knife and slice through the bread. I lift up the piece to my mouth and take a bite. I talk with my mouth full on purpose. “Like this?”
“Yes,” he laughs. “Exactly like that. So where was I?”
“At the beginning.”
“Yes, I came to meet my brother. Being an only child sucked, and the thought of a younger brother was awesome. And I knocked on your door with all these plans, and your mom told me he was dead.”
My throat starts to close, making it harder to breathe. I know what’s coming next, it’s just been a long time since I’ve thought about the day Elliot walked into my life.
“My younger brother was dead, and nothing could’ve prepared me for that.”
I can’t help but ask the most obvious question. “Why did you stay?”
He shrugs. “I thought that way I could still be close to James.”
James. James. James.
It’s been so long since anyone has said his name out loud. Him and his death are things I haven’t wanted to talk about since it happened. I hear his name echo in my ears and the letter he left me is the first thing to come to mind; along with the memory of me shredding it into a million pieces and screaming at my mother to rid my belongings of anything that reminded me of him. I was hurting, and now for the second time in less than a month I’m reminded I wasn’t the only one.
“I thought you would tell me about him, and through you I could get to know more about him.”
“But we all know how that went down,” I add.
“I was sure with time it would get easier, but for you, time didn’t heal anything, and I was stuck between pushing and enabling. I thought if I were there for you in any capacity, I would be honoring my brother’s memory. Taking care of his wife seemed like the only brotherly thing I could do.” The words rattle off his tongue, with speed and quick succession. He doesn’t stop for a breath, insistent on getting every feeling and every word out with no care for the consequences.
“Time progressed and we were set in a routine that I soon realized wasn’t friendship. It wasn’t even comfort, but it was convenience. That was the discovery that hurt the most.”
His eyes bore into mine, and I’m ready for him to deliver the final blow.
“I didn’t know if I was more upset you ignored me for eighteen months or more upset because I let you.”
With every piece of information he gives me, my heart breaks even more. I will myself not to cry. This is his pain, his confession and I need to wear it. Take responsibility. I will not make this about me. I will not provide excuses to ease my pain. He deserves better than that. I reach out and grab hold of his hand. This is unchartered territory, but it feels necessary and significant.
“Elliot.” He squeezes my hand in response. “I never meant to make you feel like that. I know it’s taken me longer than it should have to realize I wasn’t the only person who lost someone.” I pull back and wrap my hands around the coffee mug to keep them occupied. “Everybody’s loss is different, but I prioritized mine and made it impossible for anyone else to grieve.”
“Evie,” he interrupts. “I don’t need you to apologize.”
“But I need to… Elliot, I wasn’t ignoring you. I was just protecting myself.”
“Evie. Stop,” he demands. “We don’t need to do this.”
I talk over the top of him. “There’s stuff I’m not ready to talk about. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready, but you need to know ignoring you was never my intention.”
There’s still so much that feels unresolved between us, yet the need to tiptoe around one another has disappeared. We’re making progress.
“You’re a good person, Evie, I would never think otherwise. I just think we’re ready for a change.”
I nod, because I do agree, but I don’t know if I’m ready to be alone in this house. “Do you have to move out?” I ask.
“Eventually, yes. I think it would be good. We could start from scratch. Be friends. And when you’re ready we can talk about James.”
“Okay,” I whisper. Unsure if I’ll ever be able to speak about James again.
* * *
“Have you moved off that couch since I left work?” Elliot asks. I’ve been laying down on the couch with a blanket over me, for most of the day. After the talk, I didn’t want to overthink it or allow myself to dwell on what could’ve been or should’ve been. TV was the perfect solution.
“I forgot how much stuff there was to watch on here. I feel like Brendan Fraser in Encino Man.”
A huge laugh erupts from his chest. “I would say you’ve been off the grid enough for that to be true.”
“It’s good to know that some series have lasted, but how many reality shows can one channel have? And why do I want to watch them all?”
“I don’t know, I have no logical explanation for my addiction to National Geographic. I suggest joining the cool kids and slowly letting television control your life.”
“I’ll get right onto that,” I tell him. “But for now I think Hoarders is calling me. Want to watch?” I sit up and bring my legs up to my chest, making room for Elliot to sit down.
“Sure.”
I continue to flick through the channels, the choice endless, and decisions too hard to make.
“You got any plans tonight?” I ask him.
“I don’t usually go out at night, you know that.”
“Except that one time,” I say referring to the drunken moment, which now feels extremely poignant in hindsight.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice trailing off. “What about Courtney? She not gracing us with her presence tonight?”
“Not for lack of trying. She’s been messaging, but I’ve been enjoying my time with the television.”
He rises off the couch. “Okay, I’m going to shower and then we can order something for dinner.”
“I can cook.” I throw the blanket off me, getting ready to stand up. “I haven’t done anything all day.”
“No.” He pushes me back on the couch. “It’s fine, enjoy your time with the TV. Get to know each other some more, maybe by the end of the night you’ll be able to stick to one channel.”
“Leave me and the television alone, please,” I say dramatically.
He chuckles and walks off into his bedroom. When I hear the door close, I sigh with relief that this morning didn’t make anything between Elliot and I worse. Today may have started out rocky, but I’m relieved. Elliot deserves more out of life, and I hate the thought of being the one holding him back. We may have only scratched the surface, but this light-hearted banter is new, easy-going, and the way it should’ve been all along.
I grab my phone, and ignore Court’s incessant need to ramble about the day she had without me and click on the last message Lior sent me. I type out words I never thought would be associated with me and hit send.
Me: I had a really good day today.
The dots appear immediately, he either has his phone attached to his hand or doesn’t care about the waiting game; all I know is he never makes me second guess sending him a text. He always responds. The beep sounds and his words wrap themselves around my heart.
Lior: You deserve it.
14
Lior
I pop my head into Elliot’s office and let him know I’m leaving early for the day. My sister has flown into town and I want to be at my apartment before she arrives.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he says. His head down, eyes focused on the papers he’s signing in front of him.
“I’m just heading off to meet my sister.”
�
�Oh, that’s today?”
“Yeah, and I’m taking the rest of the week off too. I’ll be back on Monday,” I remind him.
“Are you still coming to the gym, in the mornings?”
“I don’t know.” I quickly list the pros and cons in my head, the cold weather pushing me toward a four-day break from waking up at the ass crack of dawn. “Probably not. I’ll text you when I decide.”
“No worries. Have a great time with your sister.”
I turn and walk away from his office and further toward the exit. “Talk later,” I shout out over my shoulder, excited to not be returning to work till after the weekend.
I haven’t seen my sister since I moved out here. A year after our mom died, we made a pact to start fresh and live life to the fullest. We watched cancer suck the life out of her skin, her bones, and her future. While my heart ached the moment she took her last breath, my mind knew that it was nothing but selfishness to want her to remain alive.
I had a great childhood. Whatever we lacked in materialistic items, we made up for in love, happiness and spirit. My parents were the perfect example of soul mates. Their love shined on everything they touched. With each other, they conquered the world. When my mother died, I was worried my father would follow her. The notion that nothing in his world could continue without her seemed foreign, and while his heart did eventually heal, I knew from that moment forward; a love like theirs is all I wanted. I would travel to the ends of the earth to have what they had. To be intoxicated by her, everyday. Forever. To have every part of her wrapped in every part of me, so there’s no difference of where I start and where she ends. Someone that brings out the best and the worst in me, and knows how to balance it out perfectly. That’s the kind of love worth waiting for.
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