“I can’t believe it,” my sister says seriously.“That wassoromantic.”
“What?”
“Last night!”She exclaims it like it’s obvious.“The day you couldn’t go take care of others; he came to take care of you.”
“Ella?”Miles’s voice comes from behind me.I turn around to find him raising a hand to shield his sleepy eyes from the morning sun.
There’s something disarmingly beautiful about him in that moment.His light brown hair tousled, eyes half-lidded in that green-gray haze.
“Hi, good morning,” I smile at him.“Mira, I’m sorry.Can we talk later?”
My sister says goodbye over the phone, and yells it to Miles too, as if he could hear her (once again).
I walk to him.
“I’m sorry,” he says.“I didn’t notice you were on the phone.”
Which meant he didn’t hear that conversation.Thank God.
“Someone from the Elmwood Center called me.I have to get there,” he says, his voice still rough from the morning.“Thank you for letting me crash on your couch, how are you feeling today?I see you couldn’t help coming outside, looking at the sky like a sunflower,” he jokes.
I chuckle and shrug my shoulders.“It’s natural medicine.”
His smile widens, and his eyes linger on my face for a few extra seconds.
“I have to go,” he says at last, breaking the moment.“Are you staying at home today?”
“I’m feeling better.I think I’ll organize a few things and head to Verryn before lunch.”
“Great!Then… can we meet later?”he asks, his feet starting to walk backwards, like someone in a hurry to go.
“Of course!”I reply.“Is everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah!We’ll talk later.Let me just go grab my shoes.”
Miles disappears into my living room.I feel that he’s being secretive for some reason.Or… am I just overthinking again?What does it even mean, this thing we call overthinking?
He walks back outside a moment later, shoes on, car keys in hand.
“Thank you very much for my chicken soup,” I say.
“You’re very welcome.”He smiles at me, a familiar, bright, endearing full smile.“Then I’ll see you later, Ella.”
He starts to walk away, waving to me one more time as the car reverses.
My phone buzzes.I glance down at the screen.A text from my sister:
Words of encouragement: I remember this specific one time when I saw you and Miles together.You were laughing as you walked into the house, your towels still soaked from the ocean.And I thought: Am I ever going to meet a guy who makes me feel like I want to spend every moment with him?Someone I want to spend as much time with as you two spent with each other, and never get tired of life around him?If spending time with Miles still feels like that, tell him.
I walk around the Elmwood Center.
I have spent the last four hours at the Research Institute.The sleep study is finally yielding patterns.Better sleep seems to correlate with improved verbal function in the mornings.Patients who get deeper sleep are calmer in the mornings, more oriented, more present.One even remembered his grandson’s name again.Just like that.
There’s so much we don’t understand about how rest and memory interact.Sleep might be more restorative than we’ve ever given it credit for.The full report is due in two weeks; I’ll run the data again tomorrow.
The team and I took a 20-minute break, and I headed to the Elmwood Center to grab a folder I remember leaving here last week.
“Ella?”Miss Vó calls from thearts & craftsroom as I walk past it.
