Page 76 of When Stars Collide
“Is this my copy?” I held out my hand, taking the manuscript from Elle.
“It’s all yours.”
“Seeing as how I’m off work for the next two weeks and my only plans involve watching entirely too much daytime television while trying to avoid finishing off our entire supply of wine as I await my biopsy results, I think I may be able to sketch a few things for you. It will be a welcome distraction.”
Elle clapped her hands together, emitting an ear-piercing squeal.
“And now all the dogs in the neighborhood have been briefed on our plan to take over the literary world,” I said, rubbing my ears.
“I’m just so excited. I may actually be a real author.”
“You’re already a real author. You finished a book. Now whether or not you become a published author is what we have to work on, and I promise you I’ll do whatever I can, but I can’t guarantee anything. Phineas isn’t exactly interested in poetry. It’s going to take some convincing on my part to get him to spend longer than ten seconds looking at this.”
“It’s okay, really. Even if it never gets published, I still wrote a book. And I’ll write more. I’ll keep writing until someone publishes me.”
I smiled. “You know, I really like this new, assertive Elle.”
“As do I. Besides, I have faith in you. I think you’ll be able to get Phineas to spend a solid thirty seconds on my manuscript before he rejects it.” Elle turned her focus to the bouquet of orchids resting in a vase on my coffee table.
“What makes you think that?”
“Please, Mena. You’ve hardly made eye contact with me since you’ve been home. Those orchids from your office have made you their captive audience.”
“I’m sore and I can’t move. They just happen to be in my field of vision.”
“Mena …”
“You know, the strange thing is that he said the flowers were from the office, but as far as anyone at the office knows, I’m just on a two-week vacation visiting family in Ohio. I don’t understand why he would lie to me about that.”
“I think you do.” Elle glanced at her phone. “It’s getting late. I should probably get back to Luke at the hotel. Are you okay? Do you need anything before I go?”
“Just my phone on the kitchen counter.”
“I can handle that.”
I yawned. The lingering effects of the anesthesia had been kicking me in the rear end since awakening in the recovery room. My fatigue was so profound that I wasn’t sure whether I was even going to be able to drag myself to my bed.
“One cellphone.”
“Thanks.” I took the phone from Elle, watching as she put on her coat. Being a typical day in late January, snow had begun to fall; fluffy, light flakes that probably wouldn’t accumulate much.
Elle grabbed her purse, taking one last look around the room to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. “And I guess that’s that,” she said, satisfied that she hadn’t. “Luke and I will be by tomorrow morning to check on you before our flight leaves in the afternoon.”
“I’ll be here.”
She nodded. “That you will. Try to get some rest and take your pain medication. Don’t be a hero and tough it out.”
“You’re sounding more and more like Luke every day.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Elle,” I called out to her right as she reached the door. “Thank you for everything, and Luke, too, I suppose. I honestly don’t know how I would have been able to get through this without you.”
“Wow, that anesthesia is really doing a number on you.” She chuckled, opening the door to leave. “You’re welcome, and you know I’ll always be there. No matter what.”
An uncomfortable quiet filled the room after she left. Normally, the sound of silence was a welcoming one for me, but now it just felt lonely. Jo would be home soon, though with the state of our relationship as of late, I wasn’t convinced whether that would cure the loneliness I felt or deepen it. My phone vibrated next to me. I’d forgotten that I’d turned it to vibrate before my surgery. I picked it up, noticing that I had a missed call from earlier in the day … from Peter.
He’d left a voicemail a minute in length. His out-of-the-blue call could only mean one thing. He knew about my surgery. I hadn’t wanted him to know. Since our breakup, he’d been living his life with no interest in ever crossing paths with me again, a notion that caused me just as much pain now as it had for me then. He wasn’t privy to my pain anymore. My diagnosis was a part of me I wanted to remain private; information only a privileged few could know.
