“Are we… pathetic?”
“I think we might be,” I say with a raise of my glass in cheers.He clinks it.
“How about we promise to accept each other’s help, if only that.”
“You’ve already accepted my help, if I remember correctly.”
“Shut up and eat your eggs.”
I snicker, then say, “I guess I can do that.”
“Good,” he says, his voice deep, and the simple word is enough to make me blush as I imagine what it might feel like to hear it in a different context. My hormones are truly out of whack.
“Speaking of eggs, these are fucking incredible,” I say, shoveling more into my mouth. The appetite has come back out of nowhere, and now I could probably eat two more plates.
“You’re too easy to please.”
Damn you, brain, for yet again going there.
We finish eating, then I force Eli to stay seated while I do the dishes.
“What happened to accepting my help?”
“You’ve helped enough. That’s my limit.” The pain is slowly starting to build up again. I’ll surely have a terrible night, but for the moment, I’ll enjoy the reprieve I’m having.
He gets up, grabs a rag from the counter, then whispers close to my ear, “Screw your limit.”
I have to focus on the veins in the wooden countertop not to meet his gaze. This is moving into dangerous territory. At least for me, it is.
“Your mom called earlier, by the way. I told her you were sleeping.”
“Oh.” For the first time, I’m glad to talk about Mom, if only for the change in subject.
“She seems happy you’re back.”
I shrug. “I met with her friends from crochet club on Monday. It was… nice.”
“So, it hasn’t been so bad? Being back, I mean.”
I give him a smile. “Not all of it, no.”
“Do you…” He wipes the inside of a glass that’s already dry. “Do you hate it as much as you used to?”
It takes time for me to figure out the honest answer to this. “I guess it’s different. Some parts are better, but it might just be because I know it’s temporary. I don’t have to worry about how I’ll find a job around here with my name. Don’t have to meet new people.” I empty the water out of the sink and pick a drying rag. “My dad not being here anymore is probably the main part, though. I don’t have to be afraid to come face to face with him for the time being.”
“Hm.” His glass is still turning, making squeaky noises. “Don’t you think it’s possible the town changed while you were away?”
I offer him a smile. He’s always been a glass-half-full kind of person, and while I love that about him, it also makes him blind to certain things. “I don’t think anyone’s opinion about my family will ever change.”
He hums again. We wash and dry in silence for a long moment, until he asks, “Didn’t you ever miss it?”
“Huh?”
“This place. Didn’t you miss it?”
“Yeah, I missed some things,” I say, never taking my eyes off him.
His throat works, and suddenly, the air becomes heavy with everything that remains unsaid between us.
