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“Are you sure you’re okay to drive home?” Ana asks.
“Positive. I just had one drink,” I answer assuredly.
Ana stands next to me and grabs my face. “You can do this. She fell in love with you, despite your past. Despite your flaws and weaknesses. She fell in love with you because of them. That love is still there. You know if it wasn’t, she would’ve been long gone by now. Something is making her stay. Your love for each other is not something that goes away. She may not remember it, but it’s there. Deep down.” She pats my face, then pulls me in for a hug. I hug her tightly. She lets me go and David embraces me.
“You got this, brother. We believe in you. We’re right here if you need anything,” He says as he pats my back affectionately.
I pull away. “Thank you. God, thank you for waking me up.”
“We love you two. I believe in both of you, and your love. I always have,” Ana says with a fierce face of compassion.
I look at them with love back. “I’m going to go get my wife back.”
TWENTY-THREE
MADELINE, THEN
Days turn into weeks, and it’s almost December now. We have fallen into a comfortable pattern. Each day brings new memories and excitement. I don’t remember ever being this happy. Ever.
We spend every second of our free time together, mostly at my apartment with Ana but sometimes in the library or around campus. We sit together in our class now and he still makes it extremely difficult to concentrate…but in a totally different way now. I often catch him looking at me or watching me take notes. Every time he catches me, he smirks as I flush before turning away. Sometimes he holds my hand under our desk, rubbing his finger over the back of my hand and tracing patterns on my wrist.
He and Ana get along really well. I can see him beginning to get more and more comfortable around her. He laughs at her jokes and offers up bits of information about himself when prompted.
With Elliot’s blessing, I share a bit of his story with her one night when he isn’t there. She is heartbroken for him. “Wow. This puts him in an entirely new perspective,” She says.
“I know,” I agree. “I just instantly replayed our whole history, with all of this new information, and so much of it makes perfect sense. Not that it excuses everything, but it helps me understand him.”
Ana nods in agreement. “Well, he’s a lucky bastard.”
I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. “Why?”
“Because you love the hardest and fiercest of anyone I’ve ever met. Not just anyone could have looked at his situation and your history and responded the way you did, the way he desperately needed somebody to. It would have been easy to write him off. But you reached out a hand, and you gave him a chance.” Ana smiles at me. I blush while simultaneously getting teary eyed. “He’s a lucky bastard.”
Now, I swear everything is better these days. Colors look brighter. My coffee tastes better. My smiles come easier. My heart is so happy.
He occasionally sleeps over in my bed with me. But he never pressures me to go beyond talking and kissing, or whatever makes me the most comfortable. At first, I was worried about that but after I felt how content he is to just spend time with me, I quickly dismissed those worries and fears. We talk and talk way into the late hours of the night. I love learning more about him, his quirks and preferences, his likes and dislikes.
He isn’t a huge fan of sweets, which I am not too shocked about, honestly. He loves music, mostly older classic rock. I don’t know too much about that genre, so he is educating me and I learn I really enjoy it. In return I am introducing him to a few of my favorite bands which are mostly in the country or pop genre…he tolerates them for me. He is getting good at hiding his grimace when I play Taylor Swift in his truck. When we talk, he often outlines a heart on my wrist with his finger. Whether he realizes he does it or not, I love it.
He is an only child, which I had assumed as much. He hasn’t spoken to his father since he went to jail when he was 10. I ask him one night if he ever wanted to reach out and he answers with a firm no. I nod my head and tell him that I completely understand that decision. I try not to bring up unpleasant memories, but sometimes he offers more bits and pieces about the trauma he endured.
“I don’t want to depress you with my sob stories, Mads,” He told me on one of those nights when I asked him to share more of his past with me.
“Elliot, they are not sob stories,” I reassured him. “They’re pieces of you. And I want to collect them all, happy and sad.” I held his face in my hands. “I want all the pieces, Elliot.” If I could have taken a picture of the way his expression changed with those words, I would have. I would tattoo that image on the inside of my eyelids so I could see it forever.
Each day I can feel him growing more and more comfortable. I feel his anxiety easing and his worries getting less and less.
This weekend we are going back to Penbrooke to see our families, and make the big introductions.
I am a little nervous to meet his grandmother, but I am so excited to have him meet my parents. I have already told them all about him. The first conversation was a little awkward because the first thing my mother said was, “wasn’t that the boy you hated in high school?”
After many conversations, without sharing too much of Elliot’s story, my parents are more and more excited to officially meet him. One of the many things I love about my parents is how they are always intent on forming their own opinion on someone. They won’t believe the gossip that they hear, and they will always give a fair chance to anyone. They are willing to forget the stuff I told them about Elliot in high school, and even the stuff they’d heard about him from around town. They are eager to get to know him for who he is now and who he is to me.
It is Friday afternoon and I am packing a bag to leave for the weekend with him when I hear a knock on the door. Muffled sounds and voices tell me that Ana let Elliot inside. I am in the middle of picking between two dresses when he walks through my open bedroom door.
“Hey,” He smiles, walking over to kiss me on the cheek.
“Hello, handsome face.” He grins and shakes his head in amusement. I made a little game of calling him ridiculous and hopefully embarrassing pet names to try and get under his skin. He never gets embarrassed over it though and I think he secretly likes them all.
