Page 59 of Our Elliana

I scamper off my mattress to go unlock and open my door. “Come on in.”

“Thanks,” she says, giving me a good ole once-over.

I’m in a pair of ratty sweatpants and a decent if plain sweatshirt, each in navy. I hardly ever wear the sweatshirt that I bought at the same time as these pants, but I’m doing it now. I can’t seem to get warm, not even after shucking all my wet shit and taking a long, hot shower. At least the shower put a cease and desist on the shivering.

Also, in spite of the fact that Elliana keeps her home at a toasty seventy-two degrees, I don’t feel like jaunting around half-naked right now. She sets my plate at the foot of my bed and studies me, but I can’t handle it. I tread to my window and glare out at the descending dusk as an excuse to not have her ogling me.

“You seem tense,” she observes, and only then do I comprehend how fiercely I’m clutching at the back of my neck while simultaneously flicking my pick against my sweatshirt.

I probably look like I belong in a loony bin. So, I force myself to drop each of my hands to my sides.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, I’m not buying that.” If this had come from Tristan, it would’ve been somewhere between sardonic and sharp. From Elle, though, it’s gracious. Even charitable.

I sigh. “What do you want me to say?”

“I’m not going to push you, but if you’re up to it, I would like to know what I’m missing here.”

Without facing her, I close my eyes. This is difficult to discuss.

“I have a phobia.” I wait for her to inquire further or simply to interject something, but she doesn’t. “It involves...” Christ, I don’t want to say it. “It’s when I end up in or come too close to deep water.”

I expect her to correct me or to question why I was so affected by a pool that’s less than three feet deep, but she maintains her silence.

“It’s the possibility of drowning. I...” Am I really gonna confess this particular weakness of mine? “I once lost someone that way, and now... Now...”

“Now your mind goes there automatically,” she provides. And I’m so thankful for her ability to draw an accurate conclusion.

I do an about-face but still can’t quite meet her gaze. “Yeah.”

She takes my hand, leading me over to the bed, and I let her. I even start to dig into the food despite it being tasteless to me. And that’s not the meal’s fault but mine. This always happens after incidents like this.

Not that I’ve had more than one previous to today.

Mechanically, I stick the food in my mouth, chew, and swallow until it’s gone. If anyone were to ask what it was, though, I couldn’t even identify it.

Elle has been rubbing my back, and it’s nice. It’s more than nice. I appreciate how she’s trying to help me. But then her delicate fingers trek over to my arm, specifically my left bicep. She traces the image of my tat over the fabric, despite it currently being hidden.

“Rosie wasn’t your mother, was she?” she assumes, and Christ, I’m so busted.

Yet, I can’t say it. Not out loud. All I can do is offer her another shake of my head.

She doesn’t continue this line of conversation. Instead, she sits next to me and lays her head on my shoulder. Eventually, we recline there together and crawl beneath the sheets. Elliana stays with me for hours until I slip off to sleep.

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THE NEXT WEEKEND IS Noah’s twenty-first birthday, and to celebrate, I decide to go out and buy the kid something I doubt he’s tried before. Alcohol. While Tristan regularly serves wine with his dinners, the kid always asks for water or soda. So, I’ve purchased all sorts of mini bottles from the liquor store. Vodkas, rums, scotches, bourbons, whiskeys, and a couple of tequilas. Might as well make this day memorable.

Luckily, no one has mentioned my recent episode of mortification, not even Tristan. All I know is that I’ve been spending every second since trying to forget it.

Having to focus on Noah helps.

Once I return, I discover a problem. The whole house smells like—son of a bitch—a fish hatchery.

Okay, that might be an exaggeration, a slight one. But there’s no doubt that it’s something of the seafood variety. And that’s after I objected to going out for that shit extremely recently. Covering my mouth and nose with my hand, I march toward Tristan without getting any closer than I need to be.

“Uh, what are you doing?”

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