A taut beat. Two. Then he breathes, and I feel the tension in the room morph and resettle into something borderline manageable.
“Alright,” he concedes. “Have it your way.”
I grab Excalibur from where he’s leaning against the couch and thrust him between us like a crucifix warding off a vampire. “Now, let’s walk. Before I change my mind and barricade myself in the bathroom for the rest of the day.”
Bastian doesn’t argue. He just moves toward the front door, and I follow the sound of his footsteps, my heart still hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to get the hell out of here.
The morning air hits my face the second we step outside. It’s crisp, it’s clean, and best of all, it’s blissfully free of wintergreen and tension and all the things I can’t afford to feel.
26
ELIANA
bouquet garni /bo?o'ka gär'ne/: noun
1: bundle of herbs tied together, infusing flavor then removed before serving.
2: close enough to season the moment, separate enough to be pulled away when it's done.
“We need to establish some ground rules,” I say as we begin our walk. Excalibur is sniffing the ground ahead of me like a dog, pointing out pebbles and cracks in the sidewalk like he’s got a life and a mind of his own.
It’s strange and funny to have the world take on new dimensions. The Daredevil superpower promises were certainly overblown; it’s not like I can suddenly detect crime taking place a few towns over. But there are things that are there for the senses if you just open up to them. New wavelengths, sort of. Cut grass is nice. I mean, duh, everyone knows that. They literally sell laundry detergent with that aspect as the leading sales pitch.
What about the faint scent of honeysuckle drifting unseen from someone’s backyard, though? What about the feeling of sun-warmed pavement leaching up through the soles of my sneakers? We pass a yard with a sprinkler going, and it occurs to me that thatchh-chh-chhksound of it going is such an utterly beautiful normality. You don’t take these kinds of these into close appreciation when you can see them. When I had working eyes, I would’ve just swept them across the whole scene and been like,Yep, that’s a suburb.
It’s not that, though. Well, notjustthat. It’s aworld, rich and full of nice things.
You’re safe here, Eliana. You can breathe.
The tired rumble of Bastian’s voice snaps me back to the present moment. “Ground rules? Such as…?”
“Ground rule, really. Singular. If you’re going to join me on these walks…” I stop and point meaningfully at his hand, which, even though I can’t see it, I’m certain is floating nervously around my lower back. “… then you are not allowed to touch me.”
Sure enough, there’s a guilty gulp and a whisper of fabric as Bastian snatches his hand away and stuffs the offending extremity into his pocket.Knew it.
“God forbid a man keep you from falling,” he says with a scowl.
“That’s the point, doofus,” I say, not unkindly. “If I always have you around to keep me from falling, how am I ever supposed to stand on my own?” I sigh and tuck some loose hair behind my ear. “I don’t hate you, you know. Try as I might, I can’t quite get there. But it’s important to me that you listen to me and respect my boundaries. Even when you disagree with them. Actually,especiallywhen you disagree with them.”
“I’m always going to keep you safe, Eliana,” he snarls like I just told him he wasn’t allowed to do that.
“I know.” I lay a palm on his forearm to steady him. “That’s a big part of the reason I can’t hate you. I’m just saying that I can stand on my own. I have to. I need to. So let me.”
He does that frustrated sigh-growl again, but I can sense the note of resignation in it. “Fine. So be it. Hands to self.”
“Atta boy.” I resume walking. “Now, let’s have ourselves a nice promenade.”
“Promenade?” he snorts.
“Yeah. Isn’t that a nice word? ‘Walk’ is so pedestrian. My mom used to say it like that when I didn’t want to leave the house, though.Let’s promenade, darling,in this real posh, high-society British voice. It always made me giggle, and then we’d go off. Usually to the liquor store, but beggars can’t be choosers.”
Bastian chuckles. “Promenade it is, then.”
We continue our stroll around the block. Excalibur is still eagerly skimming over the pavement a couple feet ahead of me and Bastian is still lurking at my side. It’s a good thing for both of us that I can’t count how many nervous glances he casts my way, because the number would surely be too damn high. It’s much better to pretend for a moment.
Because there are such nice things I can pretend about. I can pretend that we’re anormal, boringcouple who met in anormal, boringway. We havenormal, boringjobs and anormal, boringhouse, and we’re about to have anormal, boringchild to lovenormallyand cherishboringlyinnormal, boringways.
That’s the issue with growing up the way I did: You fetishize things that other people take for granted. The toxic chaos of Dereks coming and going made me green with envy whenever I heard friends at school complain how their parents were so lame and gross and did stuff like celebrate their thirtieth wedding anniversaries and kiss each other in the kitchen while they cook dinner together.
