I hang up, then resume my vegetative state. I must fall asleep, because I jolt up from my slumber when someone knocks sharply at the front door.
I frown, then tuck the blanket higher so it rests over the bottom half of my face. I put the "For Sale” sign in front of the house yesterday morning, so it could just be a potential buyer, but I’m in no state to handle that today. However, I don’t get the choice to ignore it when another trio of knocks resonates through the house, followed by a voice I’d recognize in my sleep calling, “Cassie, open up!”
This time, I do look at the time. Eli is usually not home until an hour past that. The curiosity is enough to get me to shout, “The key’s under the gnome.” Call it honoring the dead, I haven’t been able to pull it out of there.
I could’ve remained silent and waited for Eli to leave, but knowing him, he’d probably have found a way to sneak inside by some vent conduit. Plus, it’s not like he hasn’t seen me in all types of embarrassing situations before. Surely, he can handle my bedhead and oversized Madonna T-shirt.
I hear rustling outside, then the squeal of the door opening. I should probably put some grease on there before the visits start. Just thinking about the mile-long to-do list I’ve made for myself makes me release another groan. I don’t have time to waste being like this, but I can’t avoid it.
“What’s going on?” is the first thing Eli asks as he rushes inside. “Are you hurt?” He takes a seat next to me and brings a hand to my forehead, in full-on dad mode. I’d probably think it was cute if I wasn’t in this state.
“I’m okay,” I lie. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have that big event tomorrow?”
“Keira called me. She was worried about you.”
My pain medication must have buzzed me more than I’d thought. I stare at him, wondering if I might have hallucinated him. This entire thing feels like I’m dreaming.
“I get it,” he says, and I’m fairly sure I feel his hand softly wrap around my ankle. “You’re worrying me, too.”
“I’m okay.”
“Cass, you look like shit.”
“Ever the uplifter, aren’t you?”
His frown doesn’t go anywhere, and he keeps watching me with a waiting look. I groan, then sit straighter. “I have really bad period cramps.”
I wait for the narrowing of his eyes or thethat’s it?comment. Michael never understood why I made a big deal of my period. In his head, just like in mine before, something that half the world population experienced couldn’t be so bad. Even when I receivedmy diagnosis, he did show more empathy, but I always felt like a part of him remained wary. As if he didn’t fully believe I wasn’t exaggerating my pain. And I understand where he was coming from, I do. Something you can’t see, can’t feel, can only experience, is hard to grasp. But I also wanted him to know me better than that. No one in their right mind would pretend to feel like this and spend a week every month dying a slow death. Getting an IUD placed or taking the pill continuously never worked for me. Sometimes, I’d catch the barely audible sigh he’d let out when I said no to going out, and I felt like getting up to shake his shoulders and shout, “Do you think I want to be like this?”
I never did.
But nothing of the sort shows on Eli’s face.
“It’s the—”
“Endometriosis, I know,” he says in the gentlest voice. “I did some research.”
Now I know I drugged myself badly. Deep down, I know this is typical Eli, learning everything about a topic to be able to help someone properly, but it also feels ludicrous that someone would spend time on something like that. It’s not like it’s a condition that could kill me. In fact, it’s so intangible that sometimes, I wonder if I’ve just convinced myself something was wrong with me.
My eyes flutter as another bout of cramps overtakes me. Still, I push through to say, “Where have you been all my twenties, Eli Grant?”
“I was right here.”
Yes, he was. The place I never wanted to be in again.
A brush of his thumb on my calf. “What can I do for you that you haven’t tried yet?”
The soft touch against my skin feels like a ray of light through a snowstorm. I’d missed the warmth of his skin, and I wish for a second he’d let his hand climb higher on my leg. “Just…stay here. Please.” I sound like a child, and I’ll probably want to throw myself off the cliff in front of the house tomorrow, but right now, I’m too exhausted to care. A part of me wonders who’s taking care of Zoe, or when he’s going to recuperate the time he missed at work, but that’s also a problem for Tomorrow Me. I’m too selfish right now to let him go.
“I can do that,” he says before standing in front of me and poking my head with his leg. I reflexively shift up, which gives him the opportunity to sit where my head was previously resting.
I glance up.
“Come on,” he says, tapping his thigh once. When I still don’t move, he softly pulls me down so my head rests in his lap. I let my eyes close. I had so little time with him like that. That last summer, we’d barely gotten closer before I had to leave. How many times afterward did I dream of being back in this exact same position? Twenty-nine-year-old Eli’s thighs are stronger, tighter, but resting in his lap still feels like the coziest place on Earth. When his fingers land on my scalp and slowly start scratching, I almost purr. My nose is dangerously close to the seam of his jeans, but I can’t get myself to care. I want to be facing toward him, tucked into his heat. I feel exposed, with his gaze free to roam over me, but it’s not enough to get me to turn around.
“This is the first time someone has done this for me in years,” I say after a while, my body more relaxed than it has been in the past twenty-four hours. Every breath feels like it’s dragging me deeper.
“Done what?” he asks, the tip of a finger brushing my temple. Shivers dance down my back.
