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I turn around with both mugs in my hands just in time to see her step out of my bedroom wearing my massive t-shirt. “Am I going to get that back?” I ask, knowing that the next time I see it, she’ll be wearing it then as well. That’s perfectly fine with me. I like seeing her in my clothes. I’m not sure what that says about me.
She lifts the neck of the shirt up to her nose and smiles softly. “Probably not,” she answers. I press the mug into her hands and roll my eyes, putting on a show of annoyance, but she knows I don’t really care.
“Watch the attitude, young man,” she says in a mock stern tone.
“Yes, ma’am,” I laugh. I watch her for a moment as she squirms under my gaze. She knows what I want to ask her, but she’s not ready for it. She’ll never be ready for it, though.
“Are you ready to talk yet?”
She lifts the mug to her mouth and slurps loudly from it. She turns away from me and goes to sit on the couch. I’ll take that as a no. If I know her at all—and I do—I know she’s going to try to bottle this up. It’s not healthy. She just ended a relationship that was very important to her. As relieved as I am that Brandon is finally out of the picture, I know this must hurther. It was six years. That would hurt anyone. She needs to cry, and spill her guts, and be messy with her emotions, not sit there and stoically sip her coffee, pretending that nothing has happened.
“Come on, let’s go get some breakfast at the diner. That’ll make you feel better,” I say, careful to keep my voice even and calm. She eyes me suspiciously, so apparently, I was not successful.
“Don’t think I don’t know you’re just trying to get chocolate chip pancakes in front of me so that I’ll start talking. It’s not going to work this time,” she says, pointing an accusatory finger at me. I snap at her fingers with my teeth, and she jerks her hand away with a startled yelp.
“Okay, tough stuff, put on your shoes and let’s go,” I say as I move things around on the counter to find my keys. I know for a fact I left them somewhere on this counter when I got home from work yesterday. I mentally run through everything I did when I got home. I slipped my shoes off at the door, tossed the keys on the counter, took my jacket off and hung it in the coat closet… They should be over here.
“You can’t go in public like that. You at least have to put a shirt on,” Ellis says as she stares at my bare chest.
I flex my muscles a little and say, “What? You don’t think I look good like this?” I fully expect her to roll her eyes at me or smack my arm and rush me into my bedroom to get dressed. Her reaction is weird…and surprising, though.
She looks away from me, and her cheeks turn an alarming shade of red. “I think we both know you look just fine. But the little old church ladies will be clutching their pearls if you go out like that. We don’t want any of them going into cardiac arrest from the sight of all those muscles. Now hurry! I want my pancakes!”
I come back out a few minutes later, fully dressed in jeans,a Henley shirt, and an unbuttoned flannel. I thought she’d like it, especially since she got me the flannel shirt for my birthday this year. But in reality, she looks annoyed.
“You weren’t supposed to get dressed-dressed!” she exclaims in outrage. I glance down at myself. It’s a very normal outfit. It’s not like I’m wearing a three-piece suit. “I look awful compared to you!” she whines. She stamps her foot, and it’s simultaneously the cutest and most childish thing I’ve ever seen her do. She actually looks amazing, though. Yeah, she’s wearing the same jeans she showed up in last night, but her fresh face and the messy waves in her hair combined with my t-shirt… It’s the perfect look for her.
“You look fine,” I tell her. I want to tell her she looks perfect, but I know she wouldn’t believe me. She never believes me when I tell her she’s pretty or beautiful or anything of the sort. I stopped trying to convince her years ago.
“Psh,” she scoffs. “This shirt is five sizes too big, and I have a salsa stain on my jeans, and my hair hasn’t seen a brush since yesterday morning.”
“None of that matters,” I say as I resume my search for my keys. Maybe they fell from the bar onto the kitchen counter. I scoot my way into the kitchen when Ellis holds my keys up in the air.
“Looking for these?” she asks. I breathe a sigh of relief. “Maybe we could just make pancakes here. I don’t want to go out in public like this, after all.”
I grab my keys from her and take her hand to pull her out the door. I refuse to argue with her about her looks right now. Not when she’s hungry. I drag her down to my car and get her situated inside.
We arrive at our favorite breakfast spot, Tony’s, a few minutes later. The waitress brings us each a glass of water anda menu. But we’ve been here thousands of times over the years, so we already have the menu memorized. We order, and after the waitress leaves, we sit in awkward silence. Ellis twiddles her thumbs and looks everywhere but at me. This only happens when Ellis knows I’m waiting for her to talk about something she’d prefer to avoid. I don’t push her because I know from years of experience that pushing her will only make her shut down even more. She’ll talk when she’s good and ready, and I’ll be here waiting to listen.
After what seems like an eternity, our food is brought out and placed in front of us. Ellis drizzles syrup all over her chocolate chip pancakes and takes a huge bite. She does her customary happy dance as she chews. This is when I know I’ve got her. I’ll let her get that sugar rush, and then she won’t be able to stop talking.
“How are they?” I ask with a laugh, unable to keep my eyes off her.
“So good!” She closes her eyes and sighs as she chews her next bite.
“Feeling better?”
“Yeah,” she says hesitantly. She takes another bite, thinking as she chews. I can practically see all the gears in her head working. I want to rush in and start asking questions, but I know I need to be a little more tactful than that.
“Did you sleep okay last night?” I ask, trying to think of a way to dance around this issue until she caves for me.
“Yeah, I guess,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. I don’t know where to go from here. I have to be careful. If I push too hard at first, she’ll shut down on me, but if I go too slow, she’ll finish her pancakes and the moment will be lost.
“Was the couch not comfortable? I should probably get a new one. That thing is so old,” I say. Add that to my growing list of problems.
“No. Your couch is fine. I just couldn’t turn my brain off for a while.”
“Yeah, I guess you had a lot on your mind. Probably woke up thinking about everything from last night.”
