Page 15 of Eight Steps to Alpha

Chapter 5

They would be fine? Wouldn’t they? The question itched at her insides, making her uncomfortable all throughout the rest of their meal. Even the hot fudge sundae she’d been fantasizing about all week became tasteless. How could she enjoy sweets when she was worried about her and Elliot’s friendship? Damn April for planting that doubtful seed.

After a couple obligatory bites of the gooey dessert, she began stirring it up, until the vanilla ice cream became unrecognizable in the muddy, sludgy looking soup. April kept glancing at her with knowing eyes, but Fe ignored her, pretending she didn’t exist like a little girl covering her eyes during a game of hide and seek. Immature, yes, but something about tonight hadn’t brought out the best in Fe.

They all said their goodbyes after paying the bill, slid out of the booth, and departed in opposite sides of the restaurant. Elliot and Fe back toward the mall, and Ed and April to the parking lot.

They still had one more stop left to make before their list was complete, which meant they had to find a replacement for Elliot’s too large button up work shirts. Fe pulled Elliot into the closest department store that sufficed, went straight to the sales clerk, and told her exactly what she wanted. Something tailored, that showed off his broad shoulders, and accented his narrow waist, but this time she didn’t follow him into the dressing room. This time, she allowed him to do that bit on his own.

Even with the delay, they made it back to their apartment before 9:00pm. Fe went straight to her bedroom, proceeded to undress and get ready for bed, and then sat down on the couch with the biggest ball of dread in her stomach and waited for Elliot to join her.

It felt like eternity before he came out of the bathroom, but she pushed herself forward on the cushion and forced herself to swallow. “Elliot,” she said quietly. “Can we talk?”

She’d used the three words of doom, and his reaction when he met her stare told her he hadn’t missed any one of them. He walked slowly into the room, his flannel pajama pants hanging low on his hips, and sat down heavy on the armchair opposite her. “Everything okay?” he asked, his brows pinched together with concern.

Her skin became clammy, and she glanced down to her hands. She hated that look. Hated Elliot any other way than his loosey-goosy, relaxed self, but she needed this out in the open. For her sake…and for his.

“I just—“ But she stopped herself, because she wasn’t sure exactly where to begin. Her treasonous throat became so tight, she wasn’t confident it wasn’t trying to choke her. Fisting her hands closed on her thighs, she forced herself to swallow, determined to get this out in the open once and for all “Okay,” she began out of breath, kicking her feet up into the chair to sit criss-cross before she continued. “I need to get something off of my chest.”

“Okay…” he choked out.

She could tell he was nervous. Could tell she scared the crap out of him, but she continued. “You know how sometimes, you do things, and you don’t really mean to do them?”

She placed her feet on the floor again and pushed herself to stand, suddenly needing air. “But before you can stop yourself, the act is done, and you’re already out there, with a little black rain cloud following you around everywhere you go?” She started pacing, channeling her inner Winnie as she pulled the edge of her sleep shirt and started twirling it in her fingers. Words flowed from her mouth like poetry from a drunken sailor. Incoherent, garbled—gibberish.

“Like that first week you start a diet, but then you see a chocolate cake, and your mind’s like, “No, Fe, don’t eat that cake. But your stomach is like, you’ve been good all day, you deserve the cake. So you take one bite, and your brain is bathed in serotonin. You stop thinking correctly, and your brain’s all Yay! This is the best idea you’ve ever had, stomach. But one bite isn’t enough, and soon you’ve eaten the whole thing?” She blew out a breath and sucked in another. “But then in the morning, your brain and stomach realize what they’ve done, that they’ve made a big, huge, horrible mistake. But it’s too late? The chocolate cake is gone, and your dad has no cake on his 44th birthday?” She turned back around, looking him straight in the eyes with blurry vision. “Know what I mean?”

He blinked a few times, slowly taking in all she said, then his forearms anchored to his upper thighs and he blinked. “I think so?” he said, drawing out the syllables in a confused manner.

She let out a relieved breath and melted back onto the couch. “Oh good,” she sighed, “Because we all make mistakes you know? I mean, one kiss isn’t worth getting your panties in a bunch over. Am I right, or am I right?”

Elliot leaned back in his seat, pinched the bridge of his nose, and shook his head. “Wait, are you talking about your hickey? Or Dad’s chocolate cake?”

She adjusted the neckline of her shirt and stood up again. “Neither.”

He stood too.

“I was talking about us, Elliot. About New Year’s Eve. About me kissing you.” She began. She started pacing again, this time a little faster, because she couldn’t believe he really hadn’t understood any of what she said. “And furthermore, I prefer the term lip branding.”

“Lip what?”

“Never-mind.” She turned to face him. “The point is, I should have never kissed you, and I’m sorry. I just want to make sure everything is good between us again.” She stopped talking, because she could feel tears climbing up her throat, and she wouldn’t let them loose. Tears were a sign of weakness, a lack of control, and she wouldn’t let them get the better of her.

He stood there frozen, like he wasn’t sure at all what to say. Then he adjusted his stance, gripping the back of his neck like he was in pain, and stared at her for a good minute. Just stared at her, as though she’d thrown a million pieces of a mismatched jigsaw puzzle at his feet, and asked him to put it all together again.

“I kissed you, Fe. You didn’t kiss me.”

His voice came out of nowhere, low and serious, and her breath caught in her throat. Of all the reactions she’d anticipated, that response was not one of them. She quickly started to shake her head to argue, because she was confident the kiss had been caused by her initiation, but he held up his hand stopping her before she could get in a word in edgewise.

“But I agree with you,” he continued. “I’m glad you brought it up. It’s been driving me crazy for months.”

She licked her lips, the need to speak making them sour, but she remained silent. Because quite frankly, she wasn’t sure what to say next. She hadn’t planned this far ahead. Hadn’t expected him to agree so easily, hadn’t expected him to say that he had been the one to kiss her. Yes, he had rendered her speechless, but at the same time, the conversation felt nowhere near over.

Her stomach began to grumble and ache, like something heavy had been dropped down to the bottom of it, stirring up all the icky, uncomfortable feelings she’d been suppressing all year. Why hadn’t she planned this out better? Why hadn’t she come up with an evacuation plan before walking head first into the flames.

He took his glasses from his face, tossed them to the coffee table, then plopped down heavy in the arm chair. “You know,” he began. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and I’m pretty sure it’s a normal. I mean, we’ve lived together for five years. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Her eyes narrowed, but the heaviness eased off of her intestines a little. She decided to join him by sitting on the couch. “Yeah, and it was New Year’s Eve, and we did drink a lot of champagne.”

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