“You miss me?” I ask. “You don’t want to live in Bandera forever?”
“Absolutely I miss you, and absolutely I do not want to live here forever.” He curses some more. “For goodness’ sake, Ellie, they barely have a Walmart. You think I want to live in a place that barely has a Walmart? You’ve gone cuckoo without me.”
He has got the biggest, most beautiful point I’ve ever heard in my life.
“You didn’t want to leave me, and you’re planning to move back when you can?” I ask, just to confirm, my heartbeat erratic in my chest. It just… it seems too good to be true.
“I didn’t want to leave you, and I’m moving back the second Cordelia agrees to let me manage an Iferous store instead,” he confirms, biting out the words. “And you shouldknowthat.”
“Well,” I sniff. “You didn’t tell me!”
Soft, golden waves fall over his forehead as his eyes narrow. He runs an agitated hand through the locks, forcing them back into place. “My bad for thinking youknew better,” he sasses. “It’s not like you’re my best friend who’s known me our entire lives or anything. Crazy to think that you’d know me well enough to deduce that this situation is not ideal and would never be permanent.”
“Yeah, all of that,oryou could have just, I don’t know,told me?”
“Andyoucould have toldmehow you were feeling too, but you didn’t. So I’m not sure where all that sass is coming from.”
My nose scrunches. “Stop having a good point when I’m trying to blame all of our problems on you.”
He rolls his eyes. “Stop trying to blame all our problems on me when I have a good point.”
My lips twitch, then I sigh. “I’m sorry, Sol. For making this a whole…thing. I should have talked to you instead of letting it fester and taking away both of our support systems during a time when we both really needed it. I’m sorry for not being here for you.”
He pulls me into a hug and rests his chin in my hair. “I’msorry for not pushing to talk about it sooner. I knew something was up, but I kept hoping it would work itself out. It wasn’t until you got here that I realized it was something bigger than I had thought. Next time you avoid and evade, I’ll address it immediately.”
“There won’t be a next time,” I promise. “It’s the Ellie and Sol show, and it’s never going on hiatus again.”
“The Ellie and Sol show,” he repeats. “Forever and ever,amen.”
So be it now, so be it forever.
“Can we start the show with life updates that aren’t sugar-coated and glossed over?” he asks. “‘Cause you were givingstressedeven with that watered-down version of ‘work, school, wedding’ you were handing me, and I didn’t tell you the half of what my own life has been like.”
“Only if we can do it over snacks,” I agree. “Fighting with you is tiring. I need fuel.”
His chin replaces his cheek on my head, pressing down as he snorts. “Yeah, Ellie. We can get some snacks before we complain about our lives.”
I smile, a small, I-have-my-brother-back sort of smile. Then we get our snacks, settle in, and complain about our lives until Sol’s alarm goes off to tell him he has to go to work.
As I head back to Jove and Lyra’s, I wonder at how so much weight could be lifted in such a small amount of time. And all it took was allowing the people I love to help me shoulder the burden. Who would have thought?
Chapter Twenty-Five
It’s slice o’ life time.
Elodie
It turns out that doing healthy, heartfelt communication is exhausting. By the time I make it back to Jove and Lyra’s house, I’m wiped out despite it only being midafternoon. A nap, I believe, is in my future.
I wander into the kitchen with a yawn, waving hello to Mars—Jove’s more than a little insane brother, who stands at the counter piping cute little carrots onto a cute little cake—and Jove and Lyra, who sit opposite him on barstools lining the counter. Roman sits beside them, scribbling furiously into his recipe notebook.
“I’ve been trying to perfect this for years,” he mutters, glancing at a second, finished, carrot cake beside him. This one is missing a piece, which I find in meticulously cut pieces on a small plate next to Roman. “This one, though… where did yougetthis?”
“It’s my own special recipe, packed with love and trauma,” Mars answers, aiming a pointy grin my way. The hairs on my arms raise. “Hello, Elodie.”
Roman twists on his stool and snags me around the waist. “Sweet, try this cake,” he orders, replacing his pen with his fork. “Mars said he’ll give me the recipe if I pinky swear not to share it with anyone else, since we’re family. ‘At risk of Jove,’ he said. Here, taste.” He lifts a forkful to my mouth, and I open, too tired to care and too used to Roman in recipe mode to mind.
Recipe Mode Roman is different from Regular Roman. Recipe Mode Roman doesn’t care who you are or whether or not he hates you. Recipe mode Roman cares only about recipe. Right now, I’m not Elodie. Right now, I am Recipe Tester Number One.
