Page 176 of New Growth
“None.”
He squeezed my hand in response. “I love you too, you know.”
“I know, Elliot.”
?
El had finally fallen asleep upstairs, curled on his side with one arm tucked under his head, the other reaching out for where I’d been lying moments before.
I watched him for a long time before I slipped away.
The stairs creaked under my bare feet as I made my way down. I didn’t bother turning on the kitchen lights when I entered. The moonlight spilling in through the windows was enough.
I stood in front of the pantry for a long time, staring at the closed door.
Then I opened it.
It was still there. Tucked behind a box of stale cereal and a half-empty bag of flour was Daddy’s bottle of cognac. I unscrewed the cap withsteady fingers, even though my stomach was already tight with guilt. I told myself I just wanted the taste. Just enough to take the edge off. Just a sip to remember him by.
But the burn in my throat was too familiar.
And it didn’t stop at one sip.
I sank onto the floor, my back against the cold cabinet door, the bottle cradled in my lap. I didn’t hear El come down until his shadow stretched across the floor.
“So,” he said, his voice low, but not unfeeling. “We’re trying consulting?”
I flinched and blinked up at him.
He walked over slowly, crouched beside me, and took the bottle from my hands without force. He didn’t scold me. Didn’t raise his voice. He just stared at the amber liquid before unscrewing the cap and pouring what was left into the sink.
I looked away.
“El—”
“No,” he said softly. “Not tonight.”
The bottle clinked empty against the steel sink. The silence between us stretched thin until I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“I wasn’t gonna finish it,” I whispered.
He turned to face me, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed. “That’s not the problem, E. You weren’t supposed to have it. Period.”
His words stung more than I expected. He knelt again and reached out, brushing a thumb across my cheek. “You shouldn’t be coping like this.”
I nodded, hating the tears building in my eyes.
“I don’t know what else to do,” I confessed.
He tilted my chin up gently. “We’ll figure it out. Just, please come back to bed.”
I closed my eyes in defeat. "Okay."
Realization.
Whothehellpicksred and blue as wedding colors?
I stood off to the side of the ballroom, arms crossed. The place looked like a patriotic fever dream—red roses, navy linens, and gold accents that somehow made everything feel even more obnoxious. Not to mention the random gold sequins.
