Chapter fourteen
Ellie
“Whatdoyoumean,you got rear-ended?” Emma’s pacing the kitchen floor in her classy silk pajamas and fuzzy robe. The contrast to my oversized t-shirt and plaid fleece pants was astounding. She truly is a doctor’s wife, and I am a potato.
“Why were you at Wafflin’ after work anyway?” She’s visibly irritated at Steven, but I also sense some anxiety peeking through.
“Em, sit down. Let him explain.” I pat the seat next to me.
Steven looks at me with grateful eyes and I fight back the urge to snap at him.I’m doing this for her, not you.
I just smile instead. “Go on.”
“I got a call about someone needing to be checked out. It was on my way home from the hospital. It was late on a Friday night, anything is bound to happen.” He shrugs off her anxiety.
“That’s my point! Anything can happen!Youcould have been hit”—stretching here, Em—“not just the bumper,” she whispers, bouncing her leg and fidgeting with the tie on her robe.
“But honey, I wasn’t. I’m fine.” Steven sits across from Em, reaching out his hand. She takes it and her legs stop bouncing. I may have my issues with Steven, but he does have a knack for keeping her anxiety at bay. “And I left the driver a note to come by sometime.”
“What?” she says, incredulously.
Alright, maybe Steven is also atriggerfor her anxiety sometimes.
“Why would you invite a stranger whohityourcarto our house? What if it was intentional?” She stands up, pacing again—hysterical.
“I promise you, it wasn’t intentional. I think the gentleman will be by this evening,” he says, smiling. I’m not sure what Steven is scheming but there must be other ways to do whatever he’s planning, without throwing my sister into a fit.
“Why would I want a complete stranger in my house? What are you going to do, exchange insurance in ourdriveway?”
“No, I figured he could stay for dinner.”
“Dinner?” I ask.
“Why not?” Steven shrugs.
“You are a crazy man!” Emma yells and storms out.
“Honey . . .” He follows her.
Part of me is surprised Steven would invite a complete stranger over for dinner. The people he encounters at his job, working in the biggest emergency room in the city, can be quite alarming. Why risk a stranger coming to your home? He told me about a schizophrenic patient who ripped out his IV, ran from his room to where he was seated, and tried pinning him to the ground. The man was off his medications and homicidal, it was a miracle he wasn’t injured. Luckily Steven is a big guy, with a lineman stature, so he can definitely hold his own. Emma, of course, has no idea this happened. This was one of those rare occurrences where Steven felt compelled to share a work story with me based on the common denominator of mental health concerns. I’ve had my fair share of patients with uncontrolled schizophrenia, and sharing in those traumatic instances with my brother-in-law eases the blow that is our rocky relationship.
I sit in the kitchen, taking in the calmness of the morning. It’s a rare sight in the Jones home. Their kitchen is your stereotypical modernized kitchen, with wood cabinets painted off-white, gray marble countertops, and a variety of cheesy kitchen decor that reminds you of your grandma. Plus, there’s scattered fall decorations in each corner, pumpkin-scented candles, and a lettered sign that says, “72 days until Christmas.”It isn’t really my style but it is my sister’s through and through.
“Ellie! Ellie! Do you want to see my new dinosaur?” Gargoyle One yells as he plows into the kitchen.
“Sure.”This better be a realistic dinosaur.
He holds up an orange, spotted dinosaur with googly eyes—it’s hideous.
“How cool!” I say in the most unconvincing tone.
He runs off snickering and collides with Gargoyle Two in another room. I take a deep breath, reminding myself to be patient with the small, innocent humans who drive me bananas.
A notification pops up on my phone . . .Benny.
My cheeks feel tight as I try to suppress a smile. Seeing his name pop up on my phone makes me feel some type of way. I shake my body out at the giddiness trying to bubble up and shove those feelings to the back of my mind.
I really do—about what though? Where is this persistent desire to talk to Benny coming from? Why am I picturing his face every time I see something that makes me happy? And why am I feeling this weird weight in my chest over the realization that I won’t be around him every day in a few months? Yes, he is attractive. And kind. And funny. And his lips—God, I want to press them against my lips. But it feels more than that.
