“One shot every day, yeah.”
“Fuck, El,” I groaned, tipping my head back against the car seat. “That’s…”
I shook my head, struggling to find the right words.Unfair, I wanted to say. It just felt sofuckingunfair that she had to do that, experience that, and it was so goddamn unfair that there was nothing I could do about it. That I couldn’t take on some of the medical burden of reproduction. That we’d had sex, and it was so unbelievably amazing, and now she was the one going through this. And all I could do was…what?
I squeezed my eyes shut, and all I heard was her soft voice reassuring me, “It’s okay.”
It wasnotokay.
But mostly, it wasnotokay that she was the one comforting me and not the other way around.
“Eleanor.” I opened my eyes again and found hers quickly. They were wide, understanding, and in that moment, I was in awe of her. So beautiful, so brilliant. “I—I don’t know what to say. How are you feeling about all of this?”
“I’m doing…” Her eyes flicked to the medication in her lap—thehugepile of medication—and it was the first time I’d noticed slight hesitation, tension in her expression. “I’m doing alright. I’ve known this was what they’d tell me, so I’ve been preparing myself. I’d rather take the medication than be worried about the risks of clotting and how it might affect me or the pregnancy.”
“Of course, b—” I cut myself off just before an endearment slipped through my lips. “Of course.”
“It’s safe,” she repeated, needlessly readjusting the bag on her lap. “For the baby.”
“And for you?”
She nodded, and I’d needed that—to hear that again, that it was safe for them.
“And you’re sure this is what you want?”
How could I ever blame her if she didn’t want to put herself through this? Especially when it was so unexpected and uncertain.
But she looked confident when she said, “It is. I know I have other choices available to me, but this is what I want, Sawyer.” I nodded, accepting that. I’d asked twice now, and she hadn’t wavered either time. So I’d stop asking. She wanted this. “How do you feel about it?”
“I want what you want, El,” I said without hesitating. “But this is…” I waved a hand over the pile of meds, unable to find the words. As much as I wanted this with her, I fucking hated that it had to be like this, in a way that felt risky and scary. “How much did all that cost?” I asked instead.
Ellie pursed her lips. “I have good health insurance.”
“That was a spectacular nonanswer, Eleanor.”
“I’d rather not talk about money right now, Sawyer.”
“Okay, fine.” I was trying hard to follow her lead. Butshitif it didn’t drive me up the wall feeling helpless. “What can I do, then? How can I help?”
To her credit, she did think about it. But all she ended up saying was, “I really don’t think there’s anything.”
I wanted to groan. Especially when Ellie gave me a smile that I knew she’d meant as reassuring but actually gutted me inside. I could tell that she was putting on a brave face. That she didn’t want me to see all of her yet, and even though I understood it, I hated it so fucking much.
“Maybe just drive me home?” she offered up, and I wanted to argue. Wanted to beg for her to tell mesomethingelse I could do to help. But I suspected that wouldn’t go over so well right now.
So instead, I focused on how she’d asked me to drive her home. I focused on how that home was also my home. And I drove her across Rosewood until we were back on Maple Street, pulling up outside the slightly lopsided front porch, likely burdened by all the memories it had to carry.
“Do you have any dishes you’d like me to do?” I asked as I put the car in park.
She laughed. “Considering we ate dinner in your car, no.”
“Want me to come in, read you a bedtime story?” I tried, and when her lips parted, undoubtedly to turn me down, I added, “If you’re not interested inThe Hobbit, I’m open to other options. We could opt for some sci-fi, switch it up a bit. Or maybe you want something lighter? A rom-com? Perhaps something that’s been recently adapted? Oo, or a classic. I don’t have any Austen, but I’m sure I could find it online. Although there is something a little oxymoronic about reading Austen as an e-book.”
Ellie was blinking, waiting patiently for me to finish. Her eyes roamed my face, even as silence grew between us. Whatever she saw there—my desperation not to leave, not to have to say goodbye after she told me information that slightly terrified me, not to drive home while thinking about her being here alone with those shots—must have made an impact. Because when she finally spoke, it bolstered my hope. My silly, foolish hope.
“Maybe not a bedtime story, but what would you say about coming in to watch a movie?” She glanced out the window at the disappearing sun. “It’s not too late yet, and itisa Friday night.” A shrug. “Company might not be so bad.”
It was a miracle I didn’t get out of the car and jump for joy. A miracle that I calmly responded, “A movie sounds great, El.”
