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“So…why were you mean to me all those years? Why did you never give me a chance?” I ask, trying to stay casual but also trying to get into some meaningful conversation.
He lets out a deep breath and sighs. “It’s stupid.”
“I doubt it,” I say confidently. I scoop up another bite of omelet while I wait.
“It is. It’s stupid and wrong…but it’s true,” He says before he takes another sip of his coffee. I wait expectantly. He clears his throat. “Well, the first time you introduced yourself, I was pretty intimidated by you. You were…the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. I mean that,” He admits. I tuck my chin to my shoulder to hide my smile. “I was also… really nervous, to… to start at a new school at 15. My mom had just died and I just moved in…with my grandmother.”
While it feels like he is growing more comfortable around me, I can tell that he is still having a hard time bringing up these bad memories. I reach over the table to grab his hand. He looks at our hands and smiles softly. His massive hands make mine look tiny in comparison.
“I lived with my mom until she passed, and…and I didn’t really…speak much growing up. I’m sure I did, when I was younger...but…eventually I realized that…the more I spoke, the more my dad would hit me. So, I just learned to be quiet. To not talk about what I felt…or needed or wanted. I guess it’s stunted my emotional growth…because now I just…don’t know how to talk…to anyone. I usually try to avoid talking all together. I can usually manage in a crowd if enough people are talking. I can feign interest…nod when it’s acceptable, pretend to laugh at the right moments.” He takes a minute to drink some more coffee. This is the most he’s opened up to me and I’m afraid to say anything to ruin it.
He eventually continues. “I was mean to you…because I liked you. I know now…that that is not okay. I guess I knew then too…deep down…that it was wrong. The way I treated you…the way I intentionally got under your skin…or made rude comments to you…I did that so I could interact with you. But I know that’s wrong. I’m sorry. I don’t want to make…make it sound like I’m trying to make up excuses…but I—” He stops and takes a deep breath.
After a moment, he continues, “I never saw affection demonstrated in a good or healthy way. My mom…she excused my dad’s behavior and said that ‘he loved us’. She excused his cruel words, his hits, his absence. So…I never learned…a healthy way to share my feelings…but that’s not an excuse, Madeline. It’s not an excuse for the way I treated you.” He looks at me intently and seriously.
“It’s not an excuse,” I agree. “But it is a reason. What you went through…and endured as a child…is not your fault. I’m so sorry that you went through that,” I say, continuing to hold his hand. I rub my thumb across the top of his hand as I speak and he watches our hands. “Thank you so much for telling me this. For trusting me enough to share your story. I promise, it is safe with me.”
He looks up at me with his broody and angry eyes, except they don’t look broody and angry anymore. They look sad and scarred. But through those lingering troubled emotions, he looks at me with hope and it warms my heart more than anything.
“I promise to do whatever I can to help you heal from the wounds your parents caused. Just please let me know if I’m pushing too hard,” I say seriously.
He keeps looking at me with his dark brown eyes. They look endless and deep, like they’ve seen too much for someone his age. But even with all they’ve seen, all he’s endured and overcome…he still is trying to fight to be better. I see hope in those eyes. “You’re perfect,” He whispers. “I don’t deserve to have you in my life.”
“You do,” I say, holding his eyes while I speak. “You deserve forgiveness. You deserve joy. You deserve security. You deserve love.” I try to keep myself composed and not cry. All I want to do is go back in time, find a broken and scared little Elliot hiding from his parents, and hug him. I want to tell him that everything is going to be okay.
His eyes get a tiny bit teary as he looks down. He subtly shakes his head back and forth.
“I’m serious, Elliot.” He looks at me again. I bring his hand to my mouth and lightly kiss the back of it. I slowly set our hands back on the table. He looks at me with a different expression, a little bit like awe…even wonder. It makes me feel cherished, beautiful.
“Thank you,” He says genuinely. He squeezes my hand in emphasis. I think he is going to pull away, instead he interlocks our fingers and my heart dances a little dance.
I smile at him, and he smiles back. “So you moved in with your grandmother?” I ask gently, not wanting to push too hard.
“Yes,” He says right away. “She was my father’s mother. I had met her a few times before, but we weren’t close. She is my only living relative though. She has her…own demons that she battles and…she didn’t know what to do with a screwed-up teenager, but she did her best. I always felt welcome and cared for in her home. I’m thankful for her.”
“I’m glad that you have her,” I say warmly. He nods his head and sighs.
“She is the reason that I didn’t go out of state for college. I…I had a baseball scholarship, but I turned it down. She got sick this summer, really sick. So, I decided to stay closer to home, so I could look after her. She doesn’t have anyone,” He says in a quiet voice.
“Elliot, I’m so sorry,” I say quietly. I wish I could offer more.
“It’s okay, honestly. I loved playing baseball, and I miss it. But…I knew I didn’t want to try and make a career out of it…and I knew that I wouldn’t go farther than college. I’m thankful that my coach was able to pull some strings at St. James though. They accepted me really late and I’m grateful for that.”
“Have you declared a major yet?” I ask curiously.
“Not yet. I’m not really sure what I want to do…I just know I want to be better than my parents,” He says looking into his mug.
“You already are. As for your future, you’ll figure it out. I’ll help you.” I smile at him. He looks at me for a minute before he returns the smile.
“So. You ‘fake hate’ me all these years. What’s different now?” I joke.
He looks at me. “I don’t know…what changed that night at the gas station. But the thought…of never hearing your voice again. The thought of never getting to truly know you. The thought…of you never knowing how I really felt about you…it was unbearable. That fear…was worse than the gun in my face. I can’t stay away anymore,” He says with such certainty. It is probably the most confident I’ve heard him sound, even though his words still come staggered at times.
“I know exactly how you feel. I felt…I feel the same way,” I say, although with a soft voice, with that same certainty.
“And when I saw you with that guy, how you…were with him…how you looked at him,” He says, frustration laced in his tone. I wait patiently. “I wanted that…so bad. Not just that…but that…with you.” I smile at him.
We sit with our eyes locked for a while, holding hands across the table but not saying anything. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable or weird. It feels like everything is starting to fall into place.
