There is something about me that is not enough. Maybe it just took Thomas two years to learn something Elijah discovered in a matter of hours.
But despite all of this, I’ve felt safe these past few days with Elijah. I’ve felt safe and coddled, and yes, I’ve felt adored.
And it’s been a long time since I’ve felt any of those things.
I wake justas the seaplane is landing. “I missed the whole thing,” I yawn.
Elijah leans over, removing a single headphone from my ear so I’ll hear him. “You needed the rest.”
His breath is a chill against my ear, my neck, my shoulder. There’s something in his voice that brooks no argument, something that says,Easton, I’m going to be your safe space whether you want me to be that or not.
It’s getting harder to remember that he’s sort of the thing that made me the way I am now.
We land at the airport, thank Jed, and walk to the car. Already my olive-toned skin is turning brown from the sun. I’m supposed to hate that. I’m supposed to worry about free radicals and DNA methylation, but I can’t bring myself to care.
“You finally look like yourself,” Elijah says as he opens my car door. His voice is gentle and guttural at once. I’m not sure how, but he manages to make a simple sentence—a mere five words—sound like foreplay. My nipples tighten as I climb into the car.
“Thank you,” I tell him when he joins me. “Today was really great.”
“It’s not over, but I’m not sure how much you’ll like what’s next.”
“I assume it involves time spent with your grandmother.”
He laughs. “Betty’s putting more of her plan in action. We’re supposed to go straight to her house.”
“Is Betty actually trying to help me out, or is this just some non-subtle way to stick it to your grandmother?”
He grins, smoothly turning out of the parking lot. “She wants to help you, but yeah...pissing off my grandmother is definitely a side benefit.”
In fifteen minutes, we are back on Elizabeth Street and parking in front of Betty’s house, where she and Mrs. Cabot sit on the porch, waiting for us.
“Barely recognized you without all that warpaint on your face,” says Mrs. Cabot.
I swear to fucking God...
Betty jumps to her feet and claps her hands. “Are you ready for your surprise? It’s a bath!”
I glance from her to Elijah and back. Being offered a bath makes me feel like an orphan getting a hose-down because no one can stand the smell. I cough. “A bath?”
“What she needs is a comb,” Mrs. Cabot adds.
“What you need is a muzzle,” I reply.
Betty laughs and Elijah sighs.
“Not just any bath,” Betty says, grabbing my hand. “Come upstairs and I’ll show you!”
We climb three levels to Betty’s rooftop deck, where a bathtub sits under a small awning, filled to the brim with bubbles and covered with floating orchids. “This is my favorite thing,” says Betty. “A nice long soak up here. Go ahead and hop in, and I’ll take your picture.”
Ah. We’re back to the photo dump plan, I guess.
I hate baths, to be honest, the same way I hate pedicures and manicures and getting my hair straightened and pretty much everything that women are supposed to think is a treat. I spend those minutes or hours thinking of all the ways I could be using that time, that I could be in my lab, or reading, or out for a run. I’d even rather be scrubbing my grout with this stuff I bought off Instagram but haven’t had time to use. My life is full of things I have to do and things I’m supposed to do and sitting in a tub, unable to read, unable to accomplish...it just seems wasteful. But of course, I can’t say this to Betty.
“Just undress?” I ask, gesturing at the sea of rooftops around us—some of them occupied. “Here?”
Go ahead!” she cries. “No one can see you!”
Shecan see me, and I’m a tiny bit worried she’s going to send nudes to Thomas if I do it, but I don’t know how to say no.
