Chapter Five Elliott
Chapter Five
Elliott
One year later
“I miss you already.”
Elliott laughed and flipped on her turn signal. “It’s been two days.”
Yuka’s gasp echoed through the car speakers.
“Correction: I miss you, too.”
“Better,” Yuka said. “How’s your new place?”
“So great. Tiffany was right—it’s perfect.”
“Perfectly close to the downtown nightlife?”
“Apparently, which is why it’s a miracle there was a unit available. You know that’s not why I wanted to be here, though.” The only thing Elliott cared about was the complex’s proximity to Nebraska Medicine’s hospital.
It was probably a little scary for anyone to live on their own for the first time, but Elliott’s fears went well beyond the usual hang-ups, and she wanted to be near the hospital in case something went wrong. Tiffany, her transplant-nurse-turned-friend who’d kept in touch after Elliott was discharged, lived in the complex to be close to work. Evidently the place was almost always fully rented, but Tiffany had been on a few dates with a girl who worked in the office and had gotten a heads-up when someone was moving out.
“You say that now, but I’m banking on you coming out of your shell. I give it three, four weeks, tops, before you’re the life of the Omaha party scene.”
“You hear yourself, right?”
“I gotta send Tiffany a fruit basket or something. I already loved her for taking such good care of you last year, but getting you an apartment? Actually, a fruit basket isn’t enough. Monthly wine subscription? Stripper?”
Good Lord. “I already promised to take her to dinner tomorrow. I’ll make sure she knows how grateful I am.”
“Lemme know if you change your mind.” Before Elliott could say anything, Yuka barreled on. “So Saturday, right?”
Elliott turned into her apartment entrance and nodded. “Saturday.”
Three o’clock. Green Tree Coffee Shop. Elliott would meet Carly, the woman who’d donated the stem cells that had saved her life.
Elliott had learned during the transplant process that her donor lived in the same state, but that was it. She hadn’t asked for additional details until after—until she was on the other side of the riskiest first few months, post-transplant. During the first one hundred days, things still could have gone very, very wrong.
But she’d finally felt comfortable enough to ask, and in a twist of fate, it turned out Tiffany knew the donor. When Elliott asked what her options were if she ever wanted to get in contact, Tiffany was primed and ready with Carly’s email address.
“I didn’t want to bring it up before, but I’m actually friends with your donor. Sort of. We have some of the same friends, and I see her out sometimes. Anyway, it’s okay if you decide never to use it, but feel free to reach out to her if you ever want to,” Tiffany had said. “She doesn’t expect anything, but she’d love to hear from you. For your privacy I didn’t tell her much but said I’d be happy to pass on her contact information if you ever wanted to connect.”
Elliott hadn’t used it right away. The anxiety, even after returning home to Lincoln, had been significant, despite being in familiar surroundings and under the watchful eyes of her family. But as she began to feel normal again and considered moving to Omaha to finally start life on her own, she’d sent an email, asking if Carly would be interested in meeting.
Saturday. Green Tree Coffee. It was finally happening.
“Excited?” Yuka asked. “Nervous?”
“All of the above.”
“Want me to FaceTime in? Be a buffer?”
“I love you, but pass.” Elliott frowned. “Also, do you think I’m that socially inept?”
“I just know how you are when you’re worried about something. Awkward.” She drew out the r for several seconds. “Also, you just used the word ‘inept.’”
“Says the woman who won the spelling bee every year in high school.”
“You’re still not over ‘gazpacho,’ are you?”
“No tenth grader wants to eat it, let alone spell it.” Elliott pulled into a spot right next to Building C. “On that note, I just pulled in and need to take some groceries up. Talk to you later?”
“Obviously. I’ll be heckling you nonstop until you suck it up and go back to that bar.”
Elliott groaned. “Let it go.”
“I will if you will.”
“Yuka.”
“I’d bet ten cosmopolitans you’ve thought about it at least once since you got there. If I’d had the perfect evening and an erotic kiss with a hot guy, I’d go back and look for him, too.”
So she’d thought about Jamie once or seven times since arriving. “It wasn’t erotic and I’m not here for him.”
Would the moment live forever, rent-free, in her brain? Yes.
Still.
Elliott could practically feel Yuka’s eye roll through the speakers. “I know you’re not, but that doesn’t mean it’s not totally normal to wonder if he’s still around—and single—now that you live in Omaha.”
“He might not even be here anymore.”
“Or he is, and he’s been thinking about you since that night, too. That’s not the kind of thing you just forget, you know.”
“Clearly.”
“I’ll check back tomorrow. Or in an hour. Who’s to say? Love you and miss you.”
Elliott sighed, realizing just how much she returned the sentiment. Two days in and she’d already considered giving up on this whole endeavor and moving back to Lincoln. To Yuka, her parents, and everything comfortable and familiar.
She’d been seconds away from a panic attack her first night here and had spent most of the day yesterday with the music so loud in her apartment she could barely think, let alone worry.
You promised yourself you’d at least give it three months. Don’t turn back now.
“Yeah. Same.”
Elliott checked the address on her phone one last time before entering the shop. The pleasant aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted her as she quickly scanned the room, looking for a woman with dark hair and a white shirt. Not finding anyone matching that description, she sat at a table near the window, avoiding the urge to pull out her phone, and took in the room instead. Bright light filtered in through floor-to-ceiling glass windows, falling on mismatched tables, benches, and a few scattered armchairs. Baristas chattered behind the counter as the low rumble of a coffee grinder filled the air, and two men hovered near the register, discussing the chalkboard menu posted high on the wall. Seeing how she’d barely slept since the move, she could probably use something with obscene amounts of espresso right about now.
A glass-front pastry case extended past the coffee bar and register, full of fluffy croissants, cookies, overfilled sandwiches, and every variety of brownie imaginable—plain, peanut butter, salted caramel, gluten-free. Yuka, who had a more serious chocolate addiction than anyone Elliott had ever known, would be in heaven. The way Jamie had responded to her chocolate aversion indicated he might have given Yuka a run for her money, but Elliott hadn’t stuck around long enough to find out.
Just outside the window, cars traveled down Farnam Street toward Old Market, the entertainment district she’d thought about often over the last year. It was where she’d gone the night before her transplant, and the place she’d met Jamie. Annoyed that she was still thinking about him after her conversation with Yuka several days ago, Elliott tried to focus on something else.
Easier said than done, especially since memories of that night had gotten her through some of the worst days in the hospital room just a few blocks from where she currently sat. She knew it; Yuka knew it.
Tiffany knew it, though Tiffany had no idea who the guy was. The first few weeks after the transplant had been rough, Elliott’s body reeling from the chemotherapy and cell transfer, and she’d been half out of it from pain medication and nausea meds. Around four weeks in, she’d started to feel some semblance of normalcy, and one morning while hanging a bag of fluids, Tiffany had asked who Jeremy was.
Elliott had frowned, confused. “Jeremy?”
Tiffany lifted her brows. “You mumble a lot when you’re asleep. You keep talking about some guy named Jeremy. At least I think that’s what you’re saying.”
Elliott’s cheeks had gone hot. She’d remembered little of the prior few weeks, which was probably for the best, but she’d dreamed often of Jamie. Sick and drugged, Elliott must not have been the best enunciator.
“Oooh, you’re all flushed,” Tiffany had said with a grin. “Boyfriend?”
So Elliott had told her the whole story about the fun, kind, and handsome man she’d spent one magical evening with. She told Tiffany how Jamie made her feel, how perfect it was to kiss him, and the way she’d felt as if a weight had lifted from her shoulders during those hours they’d spent together.
She never corrected Tiffany on his name, though. Maybe she’d wanted to keep him all to herself, or maybe she’d had some tiny fear Tiffany might know him. Which wouldn’t have been a bad thing, necessarily ... But less than a month after her transplant wasn’t the time to attempt any reconnections with the guy, and it felt safer that way.
Nearly a year later, it was true she hadn’t come to Omaha for him, and she’d made her peace with the possibility she might never see him again. But she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been on the lookout for a tall, blond, hazel-eyed man with glasses since arriving almost a week ago.
How did he usually spend his Saturdays? Was he always outdoors, surrounded by the trees he loved so much, or did he occasionally settle into a place like this with an Andy Weir book under one arm and that dimple on display for all the world to see?
Had he ever been in this coffee shop? Sat in this exact chair? Ordered a drink and a pastry to go? Or was he so loyal to his sister’s business that he never stepped foot inside another place like hers?
Did he, like Elliott, ever find himself wide awake at three in the morning, unable to turn off the thoughts racing around his mind?
A hesitant voice broke through her thoughts. “Elliott?”
Elliott jerked her gaze from where she’d zoned out to find the woman she was meeting today. Her hair was a rich chestnut color and her eyes a dark brown. From the start Elliott figured her donor was around her age—she’d been told they tried to match donors to be as close to the same age as the recipients as possible—but had no idea how else to picture the woman who’d saved her life.
She was gorgeous in a simple white oxford shirt and jeans. Elliott shouldn’t have felt instantly frumpish in comparison, but something about how this woman wore them reminded her of a pop star out for a weekend stroll, paparazzi lurking behind every corner to snap a candid.
“Carly?”
The woman smiled and nodded.
A wave of emotion suddenly crashed over Elliott, and tears abruptly pricked beneath her eyelids. Without conscious thought, she came to her feet and threw her arms around Carly’s shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” she said on a quiet sob. “I thought I’d be cool, but ...”
Carly hugged her back, the intake of air through her nose sounding suspiciously like a sniffle. “You don’t have to be cool. I’m not gonna be cool.”
Elliott tightened her hold. “Thank you.”
Carly seemed to know Elliott was thanking her for more than excusing her show of emotion. “I’m happy I was a match.”
They separated and sat across from each other, wiping their eyes.
“Thanks for meeting me,” Elliott said. “I can’t imagine not being able to thank you in person.”
Carly shrugged. “It’s so weird—I don’t feel like I did anything. I told Tiffany the same thing when I donated. It was pretty simple, actually.” She winced. “Well, on my end. It was almost just like giving blood. I know it probably wasn’t the same for you.”
Elliott dropped her eyes to the table. “No, it wasn’t easy. But I got through it, and I’m here now. Because of you. So thank you.”
“That’s the last time you get to thank me, but you’re welcome.”
“Can I buy you a coffee?”
“I won’t say no to that.”
Once they’d settled with their drinks, Elliott asked how Carly had ended up in the bone marrow registry.
“It was for this honor society I was in during college, Beta Alpha Psi. Basically a fancy name for an accounting club.” She laughed lightly. “Every year they have this big philanthropy event where people came to get swabbed and be put in the registry. To be honest I’d forgotten all about it until they called me about you.”
“Registering for something like that wasn’t even on my radar until I needed one myself.” Elliott reached up and absently rubbed the raised area under her skin where her port remained. She was in complete remission and was likely to stay that way, but ... she wasn’t comfortable getting it removed yet.
Just in case.
“You just moved here, right?” Carly asked. They’d briefly emailed back and forth about meeting, and Elliott had mentioned her relocation from Lincoln.
“Yeah, just about a week ago.”
“What brought you here?”
“Cancer treatments and the transplant sort of put me behind with school, so I just finished my graphic design degree. For years my dream has been to help small businesses find footing with the chaos of social media, and to help with branding and graphics, that sort of thing. So that’s what I’m here to do. Start my own business to help others get theirs off the ground.”
“Really? That’s fantastic. Small businesses have been my jam ever since my college roommate opened a jewelry shop in Little Bohemia.” Carly thumbed the gold bangles on her wrist. “I watched her spend hours in our apartment making each little piece by hand, trying to make a name for herself.”
Elliott nodded, loving that Carly shared her enthusiasm. “It changes your perspective when you see someone start from scratch, doesn’t it? I think my love for all things local came from my parents. They own a bookstore in Lincoln, and I basically grew up there. I shared everything I learned with them as I pursued my degree, and I’ve seen their business flourish because of a few strategic events and social media updates. I had so much fun with it and realized I want to do that all day, every day.”
“Did you already have clients in Lincoln, then? Other than your parents’ place?”
“Not official ones, no. Everyone I love is there, but we both know Omaha has more opportunity for this kind of thing. Less college town, more distinct neighborhood districts, young professionals just starting out, and locally owned businesses. I got a job at Starbucks to support me while I build it up.” She’d have loved to find work at an independent coffee shop but couldn’t pass up the insurance benefits that came with even a part-time gig at the major coffee chain. “I’m not very familiar with Omaha, though, so getting the lay of the land is first on my list.”
“Well, you’re talking to the right person. I’m not from here originally, but I’ve been here since college. And I’m out and about so much I became the unofficial social chair in my circle of friends. I know almost everything about this town. Where you should go, where you shouldn’t, and—oh! You should come out with my friends and me tonight. I’m sure you’d like to meet some people, too.”
“Really?” Elliott had slept terribly last night and had planned on trying to turn in early tonight, but she could squeeze in a nap later this afternoon. Lately she’d had better luck sleeping during the day, anyway. “You wouldn’t mind bringing a stranger? I could be super awkward or a total weirdo.”
“Normal’s boring.”
“Boring” was probably the best word to describe Elliott. Except for that night with Jamie, when she hadn’t been. “Boring’s worse than weird,” she ventured.
“Nah. You just need a little fun, which is my specialty.” Carly cocked a brow. “Are you single? I have a hot guy friend who’s unattached. He’s a photographer. He might look intimidating at first with the long hair and tattoos, but he’s the sweetest guy you’ll ever meet.”
Elliott wasn’t quite ready to be set up on Day Six of her independence, but Carly looked so excited she couldn’t help herself. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Carly grinned. “You’ll come, then?”
“Sure.” She wasn’t mentally prepared for a night of making small talk with a bunch of people she didn’t know, but she’d need to get out at some point. It was better than sitting around with loneliness and anxiety as her only companions.
Yuka would be proud, and she definitely needed to have some fun.
And maybe, just maybe, meeting another guy would finally help her think about something other than Jamie.