***
I’ve been a wreck all day. Eleanor being back in my house after years was nerve-wracking enough–but seeing herback in here after what happened last week? I break out in a sweat every time I think about it.
Jack and David have tried to chill me out, with zero success. Logically, I know that she’s been over here to hang out with us a million times, but everything has changed. Now that I know the way she feels in my arms, the beat of her heart, the way she tastes, there’s no way I can go back. How am I supposed to be normal when all I want to do is send Jack and David packing and beg Eleanor to give this a real shot?
Stop it, Griffin. This isn’t about what you want. Think about your friends.
That’s the thought that strengthens my resolve–my best friends in the world are so excited to have theirotherbest friend back. Jack might still see her, but even he would admit it’s not the same. And while I’ve had a chance to make up with Eleanor, David hasn’t. He’s like a kid on his first field trip, vibrating with excitement at the chance to be around her again.
So I need to stick to my guns. I will not keep trying for more than friendship with Eleanor. Her wit, her charm, her fire–it’ll be enough to simply have those in my life. If I can’t have all of her…having some of her is better than nothing.
My stomach plummets when the door clicks open and I can hear Eleanor and Jack’s voices. David, on the other hand, jumps up like an excited puppy and sprints up the stairs three at a time, shouting with joy.
I decide to wait for them in the basement, and when I hear a loud thud, I don’t need to see it to know that David probably plowed into her with something more like a tackle than a hug.
Her bright laughter–music to my ears–drifts down the stairs, making my heart constrict. These are the last few seconds I have to pine for her before I absolutely have to get a grip on myself.
My angst is quickly overshadowed by the three sets of steps coming down the stairs. Jack’s confident and even gait, David’s thunderous and chaotic footfalls, and Eleanor’s tell-tale steps–ones that have more of a swing beat than a steady cadence. The familiarity of it has me grinning ear to ear.
This is how it should be. This is good. This is enough.
Maybe Katie can have a place here too.
“Bro, what’s wrong with your face?”
David’s question pulls me from my thoughts, and I quickly clear the look of disgust I was apparently wearing.
Hated that thought.
“Stale cheese puff, super nasty,” I say, waving my hand dismissively.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Eleanor busying herself, removing her shoes and jacket, and looking around for somewhere to toss her bag and scarf before finally turning toward me.
When our eyes meet, the nerves on her face overwhelm me with the need to reassure her–all cool here, I’m not going to make things weird, don’t worry.
“Howdy there, darlin’,” I say, standing up and pulling her into a quick (very platonic, I swear) hug. I ruffle her hair, taking my seat back on the couch, a silent invitation for her to re-claim her basement throne.
Looking relieved, she drops into the chair and pulls her knees up to her chest, arms wrapped across her shins. She doesn’t look uncomfortable exactly, more like she’s trying to decide if she wants to slowly dip her toes in or dive head first.
“My boys,” she says affectionately. “I’ve missed you dearly. Tell me everything.”
David launches into a monologue about finding his calling (elementary school PE teacher, apparently) and landing on which college he wants to go to. Jack, in a very factual tone, lists off every bit of chaos David and me have found ourselves in over the last two years.
“You already know what there is to know about me, darlin’,” I say with a shrug. “Business as usual around here.”
I try for a casual, carefree smile, but damn if this girl can’t see right through me.
“You doing okay here by yourself? When’s the last time you saw your dad?”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, avoiding eye contact with Jack and David as they whip their heads toward me. I may have failed to mention that my dadalsomoved out, and that I’ve been here alone. Dudes don’t talk about that stuff–and they apparently don’t notice it either. I don’t know how they’ve gone months just assuming that he’s never home, but I haven’t exactly given them a reason to question that either.
“Oh, uh,” I mutter, clearing my throat. “I saw him over the weekend, he’s good.”
When none of them ask me anything else, I ramble out, “Really. I’m good. It’s good. Don’t worry about me.”
“Well I wasn’t until now,” Jack says, his brows furrowing in concern. “What does she mean by that, Griffin?”
With a sigh, I fill Jack and David in on everything with my parents–specifically about the part where I’m living in this house by myself. Their reactions are what I expected (and what I was avoiding), with David’s mouth dropping,eyes widening in horror, and Jack’s mouth disappearing into a thin line, nostrils flaring as he reins in his anger.
