Page 172 of New Growth
“Because I have it too.” His voice was low. “I have the same disease that killed her. Just a different version. I didn’t want you to look at meand wonder if I’d end up like her. Even though sometimes I wonder the same.”
“El…”
“I know it’s not the same,” he added quickly, like he needed to get it out before I could pity him. “I’ve got access to what she didn’t. A whole damn health system she was never given because she was poor, and Black, and pregnant in the South in the eighties. But it still messes with my head. Sometimes, I’ll be checking my levels and just wonder… if she was scared. She died in the same hospital I was born in. Same damn bed. She had to be right?”
My chest tightened. I’d been so wrapped up in howIfelt about his condition—about what it could mean forus—I hadn’t stopped to think about the weighthemight be carrying every single day.
“I’m so sorry, Elliot.”
“It’s okay, Peanut.”
“Areyouscared?” I asked softly.
He was quiet for a moment, then nodded. Just once.
“Sometimes. Not of dying, really. Just…” He hesitated. “Of not finishing what I started with my career. Of leaving shit undone. Of loving people who’ll have to lose me.” He looked at me when he said that and I held his gaze quietly. “That part scares the hell outta me. It’s why Ireallydon’t want kids.”
I knew it was something deeper.“I get it, but I’m not losing you.”
He smiled. “No, you’re not.”
My heart clenched. I waded closer and wrapped my arms around him beneath the water, resting my cheek against his chest. His hand came up to cradle the back of my head.
“It’s okay to be scared,” I whispered. “I don’t think any less of you.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “I just didn’t want to make you worry about me.”
“I’ll worry anyway.” I looked up at him. “Thank you for telling me.”
His chin dipped toward my shoulder, his voice muffled. “Yeah. Of course.”
Before I could say more, Bourbon’s voice bellowed from the shore. “You two lovebirds done whispering? ‘Cause we’re about to eat, and I ain’t waiting all day for y’all to dry off!”
El groaned. “Man, we weren’t even whispering.”
“You were,” Rio added, tossing me a towel. “Now hurry up before I make you eat outside with the mosquitoes.”
Acceptance.
TheHoustonheathitme the second I stepped out of the rental.
Even the air smelled familiar—like the inside of a car left out in the sun too long.
After five hours on the road, fueled by all the gator bites Rio had packed and the entire Megan Thee Stallion discography—courtesy of El, who rapped every word like his life depended on it, I was tired. El didn’t seem to notice my sudden quiet. He was too busy trying to wrestle his suitcase out of the rental’s trunk.
“You good?” he asked after we got out, brow furrowed as he tugged the handle upright.
I nodded stiffly. “Yeah. Just hot as hell.”
El didn’t buy it, but he didn’t push. Instead, he bumped his shoulder into mine as we walked up the stone path to Daddy’s front door. “Think we’ll run into Meg out here?”
“If we’re lucky,” I muttered, unlocking the door. He played“Bigger in Texas”so much I was surprised she wasn’t conjured up.
The door creaked open like it always did. That same pine-and-mothball scent hit me square in the chest and nearly buckled my knees. I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and stepped inside.
The house hadn’t changed much. Daddy’s recliner still sat in the corner of the living room like he’d just gotten up to grab a drink. His reading glasses were still on the side table. I reached out and grazed them with my fingertips.
“Seriously, Ellie. You okay?” El asked again, softer this time.
