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Twenty minutes later, the door opens and an impassive face has replaced the scowl. She looks everywhere but at me. She crawls back onto her side of the bed and gives me her back.
I drag the covers up and wrap them around her shoulders, but she promptly kicks them off.
“Hey.” I palm her shoulder. “You said you were cold earlier.”
She shrugs me off without turning around. “I didn't ask to be covered. I just asked for some peace. Can I have that, please?”
It might as well be a snarl.
I move back a little. “See, that's the thing. Do we have to drag last night’s argument to today? Can we move on? Or find common ground?”
“Not right now.”
It's like a slap in the face. “Fine. But we need to discuss this later. There’s a lot we need to discuss.”
She pulls the covers onto herself, and I head to the kitchen, shaking my head.
This is not the Ellie I know.
After a cup of coffee, I decide to make her favorite meal. Well, her favorite breakfast. Cinnamon crepes.
The large kitchen is devoid of staff this morning, so I can work alone, uninterrupted.
“Mmm, so good,” I say while plating my final product. “If this medicine thing doesn’t work out…”
I garnish it with apple slices and take it to her on a tray. “If my words can't do the trick, maybe this will.”
She sits up and looks at me blankly. “What's that?”
“Cinnamon crepes. Also called breakfast in bed.”
I balance the tray against my hip and leave it on my side of the bed. She doesn't protest but doesn't look as pleased as I would hope. The smile I was anticipating never materializes.
She reaches down with the fork to grab a bite, and immediately, she drops it down, sprinting straight for the bathroom instead.
She closes the door, and I can hear the sound of her retching. Not a great sign.
“Sorry. I’m sure it’s delicious… but the smell…”
I try not to react and help her back to bed, expecting her to slap my hand away based on everything else.
She settles in, looks at the food, and immediately gags.
“It must be the cinnamon,” she says. One hand clutches her stomach, and the other covers her mouth. “I can't. It's everywhere. I'm going to a guest bedroom.”
“You want any help…?”
I can tell by the look that the answer is no, and I give her back the same scowl she gives me. I wait for her to leave, then look for a member of staff who can clean up.
That was not how that was supposed to go. I take a walk in the garden to clear my head, and an answer literally stands in front of my face.
I gather the flowers that smell sweetest, and least offensive more importantly, and arrange them in a vase for her. I even add a few pieces of ribbon, reminding myself of my mother. She always had fresh flowers.
I walk the wing of the home with guest rooms. I see one closed door, and I know Ellie is behind it. I knock loudly, then let myself in before she answers. At this point, if everything I do pisses her off, I’m going to just approach things the way I want to.
If I waited for her to open it, I’d be inconsiderate. If I opened it myself, I’d be intrusive. Too bad.
She's seated at a dressing table with a phone in her hand. Her weary eyes drop from my face to the hand-picked flowers I've arranged in a vase.
