“You’re a reformed Catholic who doesn’t believe in God,” I reminded her.
She waved me off. “Old habits and et cetera.”
After divulging a few more tipping points from the last few weeks, Tess dozed for the rest of the afternoon. I knew things at home were tense for her, but her life had always seemed so... full to me. Success, a solid marriage, good kids. On paper, she had it all. And yet, she still felt trapped by decisions made when we were barely adults.
I let Tess epic cry and sleep off the scotch while I unpacked and did laundry. Eli did the same, leaving kisses on my shoulders or brushing fingers along my hips every time he walked past me. It was decidedly... domestic.
When he left to see Brigid and pick up some groceries, Tess woke up groaning and in need of a shower.
She dug into the giant Birkin her boss bought her for Christmas a few years ago and sighed with relief when she came up with a tan stitch of fabric.
“Spare underwear. I have never regretted having spare underwear,” she said. “Purse underwear will never let you down.”
I got her set up in the shower and then I settled onto the couch with the notes and pages I’d compiled on the project that might someday be a screenplay, and gave them a thorough read. Maybe it was the high of my trip to New Orleans, but what I had here on the page didn’t feel so... bleak.
Chapter Forty-Seven
When Eli returned with his arms full of groceries, he laid a kiss on my forehead before heading into the kitchen.
“You writing?” he asked casually.
“Something like that,” I said as I took an inventory of the random scraps and thoughts I’d jotted down. A few lines of dialogue. Scenic descriptions.
“Good, good, good,” he said, his lips curling into the ghost of a smile before he fell into the silent rhythm of rinsing vegetables and organizing the refrigerator.
“Eli,” Tess called as she walked back into the living room, scrunching her curls with one of the old T-shirts I’d loaned her. “I like your choice of candle in the bathroom.”
He glanced over his shoulder like he’d been caught, but the look vanished a second later.
“Doesn’t it smell familiar, Vera?” she asked.
I only vaguely recalled the candle in the bathroom, so I shook my head.
“Cucumber melon?” she asked, her arms crossed over her chest. “That Bath & Body Works body spray you wore for four years straight in college?”
Eli was blushing now.
“Oh, yeah.” I bit down on the inside of my lip. That couldn’t be true, though. He wouldn’t buy a candle because of some random lackluster scent I’d been obsessed with in college.
“Huh,” Eli said. “What a coincidence.”
Tess’s gaze narrowed on him. “Yeah, especially since the scent was discontinuedyearsago.”
“When did you become a Bath & Body Works scholar?” I asked Tess.
She turned to me with a whose-side-are-you-on sort of look. “You mean to tell me you don’t go into a Bath & Body Works once a year and panic buy thirty-seven candles just so you can feel alive?”
I shook my head. “You know that’s too rich for my blood.”
“They brought it back,” Eli murmured. “For some anniversary thing.”
We both looked at him, jaws slack.
“What?” He shrugged and then turned back to the groceries.
Tess looked at me with a silent but franticOh my fucking godand kicked my foothardbefore sitting down beside me.
“What’s this?” She tilted her head to get a better look at what I was working on.
