* * *
“You know, when you said I was going to hate it, I thought you were joking.”
Elliot whispers into my ear as Elsie approaches the table with a teacup in each hand and Owen trailing close behind with two more. He is smiling like a fool as he follows her around the tea house, and Elliot and I both share a glance as he rushes ahead to pull out her chair.
Poor Owen.
I don’t think he realizes what’s happening here. Although I’m not sure how he doesn’t, given the shitty performance Elsie’s putting on.
There’s a broad smile on her face, but she keeps skirting out of his reach every time he touches her, and there’s no mistaking the little spark of anger in her eyes every time he speaks.
Elliot sees it too. Every time he catches Elsie clenching her teeth, he nudges me under the table. He practically kicks me as we watch Elsie wither under the weight of Owen’s arm around her shoulders, but neither of us says anything.
“What do you guys want to play?” Elsie asks, doling out the teacups.
She slides me the lemon and ginger that’s meant for Owen, and sloshes a bit of my elderflower and wolfsbane across the table as she places it in front of herself. I know she’s truly flustered when she does nothing to correct it. Instead, she watches, blank-faced, as Elliot silently rearranges the cups and blots the spilled tea with a few napkins.
“I’ll get you another one,” he tells me, noticing my cup is nearly half empty.
I pin a hand to his knee, fixing him in place with a look that hopefully says, ‘Please do not leave me alone with them, they’re freaking me out.’
In response, he simply mutters, “Just have mine.”
Elsie, seemingly in another universe, announces, “I’m thinking cards.”
“Oh,” I say, glancing at Elliot. “Sure. Works for us.”
She rises from the table with a smile I know is fake, and it grows splintering as Owen excuses himself to join her.
Evidently, he is incapable of spending a moment without her. Usually, I’d say it’s sickening. But I’m starting to understand the urge.
After seeing Elliot so battered, I can’t stop looking at him.
My gaze finds his face every time he fidgets. Every time he winces. Every time he so much as breathes a little funny. Even now, as he watches Elsie and Owen flit off to the back wall where the games and puzzles are stored, I can’t stop.
“I’m fine, Iris. You don’t have to keep checking on me.”
“You don’t look fine,” I say.
His face is twisted up in some version of pain I don’t recognize, and his knee hasn’t stopped bouncing since we sat down.
“Yeah, well, neither do you,” he says.
“Excuse me?”
He reaches over to swipe a hand across my lap, dusting a cluster of speckled red flakes to the floor with a pointed look.
I hadn’t realized I was picking at the paint beneath the table.
Is that why the skin on my fingers feels raw?
“Gods.” I fist my hands. “What is wrong with us?”
Elliot sets his teacup down to finish brushing the rest of the paint flakes out of my lap.
“The same thing that’s wrong with them,” he says, gesturing toward Owen and Elsie with his head.
Owen is still trailing behind her as they sift through the stack of games in the corner, and I watch them with a sort of envy I can’t really place.
