My mom’s voice is carefully neutral, but I can hear the barely contained excitement just beneath the surface. I wasn’t sure how to talk to my parents about Ellie, with us beingconfidentialand all that, so I waited as long as possible to bring her up on one of our weekly calls. And even though I gave a disclaimer about things being casual, I can tell my mom knows something is different. She hasn’t pressed me much for more details, but I can tell she wants to.
And now as I watch her imitate an overexcited dog at the window by the door, I begin to wonder if she’ll be able to be cool during this dinner with Ellie. Leave it to her to use the “g” word—girlfriend. Or worse, something about the future. I mentally prepare to run interference to make sure she doesn’t freak Ellie out.
“Is she okay? She’s just sitting there,” my mom says lightly, mild concern clouding her face as she looks back at me in the foyer.
“I’m sure she’s fine, Mom. But if she sees you in the window like a damn golden retriever, she might not be.”
My mom huffs and lets the curtain close before retreating to the living room. I peek out the same drape my mom just left and notice what she did—Ellie sitting in her car. I haven’t seen her in over a week and, despite my admonishing, it could easily be me doing exactly what my mom was. In fact, what I’d really like to do is walk out there and yank her out of the car for a hug andmaybea little more. It took everything in me not to let myself into her place after we got home last night, but it was almost two in the morning and I didn’t want to wake her up.
I’m about to force myself to turn away and let her have her moment when I notice her hands are still gripping the wheel.Huh. I watch her for another minute, waiting to see if she moves. She doesn’t.
To give her space or go see if she’s okay…I hem and haw for a moment, then remember one of the things I heard on the grief podcast. It’s easier for someone to turn down help than it is to ask for it.Right. That makes up my mind and I swing open the front door to walk over to her. I’m keenly aware she still isn’t moving as I get closer. Ellie’s car is an older-model sedan, the navy color making it nondescript. It looks to be in good shape, but I’m not much of a car guy.
I slow my approach to the driver’s side door, careful not to surprise her. Up close now I can see Ellie’s hands are gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles are white. She’s utterly still too, staring at seemingly nothing in front of her. A prickle of unease spurs me to gently tap the window. I feel my heart lurch when Ellie startles and turns watery eyes on me.
She seems to snap out of whatever place she was in and releases her hands suddenly, almost like she didn’t realize what they were doing. Using the back of one, she swipes under her eye.
I pull open her door and drop down to my haunches in an attempt to get closer to eye level. “Hi, pretty girl.” I keep my voice low.
“Hey, sorry,” she starts, clearing her throat. “Am I late?” Ellie turns and reaches for her phone in the center console to check the time, I assume. Or maybe to hide her face.
“You’re not late. Are you okay?”
She flexes her hands, curling them into fists and releasing them before facing me again. She doesn’t make eye contact though. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just, um, haven’t driven in a while.”
I think of those tiny fists gripping the wheel and something heavy settles in my stomach.
I knew Ellie didn’t drive much, but like an absolute piece of shit I didn’t really think about that when I invited her to have dinner with my parents. I was so nervous to ask her and excited about doing something more official, something a normal couple would do, that it never crossed my mind she’d have to use her car to get here. The fact that she walks in below-freezing temps to get to work, how she orders her groceries in and refuses to go out with Dev unless it’s walking distance… It’s all slamming into me at once. How could I forget?
God dammit.Ellie was scared. And it’s my fault.
We could’ve met her for dinner downtown. Or if she didn’t want to be in public, we could’ve done takeout at her place. My parents wouldn’t mind the small space—they would’ve had dinner in the damn car in order to meet her.
I hang my head, the guilt pulling at me like a physical weight. “Fuck, Ellie. I’m so sorry.” I pick it back up and wait for her to look at me. When she does I slide my hand under her jaw, my thumb resting on her face. I gently swipe it back and forth. “I wasn’t thinking about that when I made this plan.”
She reaches up and holds my arm in place, leaning into my hand. “It’s really okay. I need to drive occasionally to make theprocess more bearable. I just waited too long this time so it was a little rough.” She closes her eyes. “I missed you,” she breathes.
“I guarantee not as much as I missed you.” I lean forward and press a kiss to her lips, relishing the soft hum she lets out at the contact. I pull back to look at her. Those honey eyes blink open and it takes a lot of willpower not to remove her from the car and crush her to my chest. “Would it help if I drove you home later? Or is that worse?” Despite what she said, I feel a desperate need to make this better. To make up for what I carelessly made her do.
Ellie’s nose wrinkles. “Worse, sorry. Being a passenger is…just worse. But it’s really fine. This is good practice.”
I barely contain my groan as I think about her driving home in the dark tonight, scared and holding the wheel like she was earlier. Maybe I could convince her to stay here tonight? I file that idea away to broach later.
“Are you still up for this? I could send my parents out for a nice dinner somewhere and we could just relax.”
“No way, I’m excited to meet them. Let me just—” Ellie reaches for her bag on the passenger seat, my hand falling away from her face. She pulls a smaller bag out of her purse and unzips it to hunt for something.
I wait patiently as she touches up her makeup in the car mirror, content to watch her do her thing.
She grabs her jacket and turns to me when she’s done. “How’s that?”
The makeup is highlighting her flushed cheeks and long lashes. Those always edible-looking lips. I’m struck speechless by how much I love this face. Not just her delicate features, but the way her warm brown eyes look at me with unmistakable affection. Or the subtle uptick to her mouth reminding me how strong she is even in times when it might be difficult. I swallowdown the emotion crawling up my throat and stick to the simple truth. “Perfect.”
“Okay, phew. I’m a little nervous,” she admits, that curve turning into a bigger smile. “Do you think they’re going to like me?”
The idea of anyone not liking Ellie is unthinkable. And my parents? Well, I have a feeling they’re going to want to pack her up in their suitcase and take her back to upstate New York with them. I kiss her once quickly and then again because I want to.
“Yes, of course,” I tell her.
