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She grins. "I don't know. I might not mind a good roll on the floor. Okay, what about this one?"
She holds up a black hoodie with a design that looks painted on. "I know he won't be able to wear it for long before it gets too warm, but I think he'll like it."
"I think he will too."
We shop a little more, her finding jeans and sneakers that'll go nicely with the hoodie. I already brought Elijah's gift and as much as she asks, I refuse to spoil the surprise of what it is. We get a late lunch at a diner before heading back to the house.
"I was gonna make some bread, if you want to help," Louise offers.
"Yes. But I cannot be held accountable if I eat half of the bread the moment it comes out of the oven."
She laughs. "You eat half, and I'll eat the other. Then Elijah will come into the kitchen expecting bread, and we'll act like we have no idea what he's talking about."
We begin to combine the ingredients, adding more flour as we knead the bread, and it strikes me that I never had this growing up. Never cooked or baked with my mother, not even to help with dinner. She preferred to be in the kitchen alone, and even watching her cook just felt so...flat. She moved, stirred, served with no emotion. If Callie and I had had this, some joy in our home, some type of actual family, could things have been different? Could she have been happier? Would she still be here?
And maybe for the first time, I realize there's no sense in asking these questions. No point in asking myself the what if's, wondering how a different past could have changed the present, because the fact of it is that Callie is gone. And no amount of picturing a different upbringing or what different factor could have altered this or that is going to change that. She is gone. And she's never coming back. No matter how much I wish she would.
After we've put the bread in the oven, I go in search of my phone to see if Elijah's texted. Only there's no signal and when I try to make a call, a computerized voice tells me that my phone has been disconnected. They turned my phone off. I shake my head, wondering exactly who the immature one actually is. They couldn't possibly understand that them turning off my phone means nothing because I'm already with the only person I would be talking to. The only people they're really cutting me off from is them. And that's fine with me.
Louise and I have a little mercy for Elijah and leave him a fourth of the bread for when he gets home. Then I help her make dinner. We finish up right as Elijah is walking through the door.
"Something smells very good," he says as he gets closer to the kitchen.
"It was mostly Jolie," Louise states. "I barely even stirred a thing."
We eat and then Louise, saying she's had a long day, but I think really just trying to give us time alone, tells us she's going to bed. Elijah and I sit on the couch and watch a movie.
"I was texting you earlier," Elijah says.
"My parents turned my phone off."
"Seriously?"
I nod. "I guess I should have seen that coming after taking my car keys."
"We can go to get you a new one tomorrow."
"Okay."
"What are they going to do next?"
"I am positive they're talking to the therapist about what to do with me. How to make me...conform. But that’s what they don't understand. All the things they can take away from me won't make me want to be around them. Nothing can make me want to move with them or come back."
"They can't mess with your job, right?"
"No. They don't even know my boss or anything." I sigh then. "And now, I suddenly realize that in my rush to get the hell out of there, I left my work uniform."
"I'll take you to get it tomorrow."
"No. I'm actually gonna go while you're at work because hopefully they'll be at work too and I can avoid them."
"I'll ask my grandma if you can borrow her car."
"Only if she doesn't already have plans."
"Okay."
We sit in contented silence after that, his arm around my shoulders, my head leaning against him. He kisses my hair and I smile, sure that I will never get tired of that simple gesture and the way it never fails to make me feel such warmth inside.
