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WhatwereElliot and I doing?
I cleared my throat, put the paintbrush in the water and walked over to the balcony. Elliot was standing in the middle of the living room, his new guitar propped up against the couch, his hand in his pockets.
I thought, and thought, and finally said, “I don’t know, having fun?”
Raising an eyebrow, he let out a small grunt and nodded. “Good to know.” Then he grabbed his guitar and left the living room, the side door closing behind him.
“What did I say?” I asked, turning to look over at Jillian. She stood and folded her arms.
“He’s not just having fun, Jamie.” Her voice was flat, scolding me almost. “I get your opinion on sex verses making love, but have you thought about what that means to Elliot?”
“We’re not—”
“Don’t try to admit you haven’t slept together, your answer was obvious enough. Elliot is a good guy. He’s fun, he's great with the kids, he's creative and he’s head over heels for you. You may be having fun, but he’s not.” Jillian’s eye bore into mine. I swallowed, taking a deep breath after before picking my paintbrush back up again. “Do you want to be more than his fake girlfriend?”
The streak of yellow hit the canvas, but my hand faltered. Pulling away slightly, I looked back at my sister.
“I don’t know what I want. I enjoy my time with him, and I really like him, but I’m still nervous.”
“Of what?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how to answer. When I looked at Elliot the nerves and reservations about him flew away, but when we were apart, that’s all I could concentrate on. I pushed the brush into the canvas, creating an effect that didn’t belong on the painting. The paint was thick in that area, not meshing with the rest of the stroke at all. I used my thumb to smear it away, furrowing my brow at the mess I created.
“It’s easier being fake, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it to continue once we’re home. I really . . . really . . .really”—I sighed—“want it to continue when we get home.”
Jillian plopped on the edge of my bed, her arms still crossed over her chest. “You may want to tell him that, but I have a suspicion he wants that too.”
“Let’s just get through his show tomorrow, and the festival, and we still have to do the Christmas shindig . . .”
“I don’t think that’s happening this year.”
“A gift exchange always happens. We just need to draw names.”
Jillian shook her head at me, her gaze falling to my painting. Up until now no one had seen it. I had kept it secret from everyone. I wasn’t used to having others around as I painted. Normally they were for my eyes only until they were done. Jillian smiled as she studied it, finally looking back at me—her smile growing.
“If you draw Elliot’s name, are you going to give that to him?” she asked, her voice low.
I turned and looked at the painting, “I think, either way it’s going to be his, don’t you think?”
“I think”—Jillian stood and placed her hands on my shoulders—“you and him need to have a talk about what is happening here, and I bet you fifty bucks, if you don’t, he sleeps on the couch tonight.”
“He's been sleeping . . .”
“No, he hasn’t.”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, he hasn’t.”
She scrunched her nose at me, a smile growing once it relaxed. “I’ll remind Mom and Dad about the gift exchange tonight and we’ll draw names at dinner. You paint, I’ll go make sure Elliot’s not crying in the ditch.”
She shook my shoulders before giving me a slight push. She skipped the demon stairs and I listened to the creaks until the cabin went silent.
“Every year,” my dad began, holding a cowboy hat that he pulled from his bedroom, “the adults draw names to give gifts at Christmas. Janet and I take care of the grandkids, so you guys only need to focus on each other and us. So . . .” he held the hat out to Jillian, “pick a name.”
Jillian reached for the hat and pulled a piece of paper, then Holden and Will followed suit. Harrison and Carrie went next, and finally Elliot and me. I pulled a piece of paper and opened it, smiling when I saw the upper-caseD.Elliot took a piece and furrowed his eyebrows at it. I tried to sneak a look, but he was quick to take the paper away. We would always try to figure out who each other had, but this year we all held our papers in our palms. Harrison stuck his in his pocket and Jillian smiled at her husband.
“Did anyone draw their own name?” my mom asked.
We all shook our heads.
