Thirty-One
Thirty-One
Ellie wakes up in bed alone. Though “wake up” is a generous phrase. She’s hardly slept, more just tossed and turned with anxiety before her body finally shut down and then forced—for a few uninterrupted minutes, tops—her mind into a kind of dream state.
She keeps her eyes closed for a long time, not ready to know what unwanted surprises this new day will bring to her. It’s been one week since she and Jonah left this house together, put their travel gear in their respective car trunks, and drove to the airport to officially begin the process of disassembling their shared life. Right now, her body aching in every imaginable way, it feels like so much longer than only a few days. More like an entire lifetime.
The bed linens are soft, comfortable, familiar. In an alternate reality, she’d stay here and allow herself to rest for a few more hours. But not today. She needs to get herself up, get back to the hospital, check in, and see what’s transpired since she left. She’s not sure she’s ready for all of it.
Finally, Ellie’s eyes part themselves open. She pulls herself up, brushes a strand of hair away from her face, and adjusts her matching pajama set. The house is silent—no one, she knows, is here anymore—as Ellie stands and moves toward the bathroom. She turns on the shower, allowing the room to fill with steam, disrobes, and then steps in. The hot water hits every part of her. The top of her head. Her face. Her aching shoulders. The delicate skin of her chest. Her throbbing back. She lathers herself in scented bubbles, but they do nothing to help her feel better or fresh in any way. I can’t do this, Ellie decides, a shampoo bottle dropping from her hand as she allows her body—fire-engine red from the heat—to slide down the tiles. I can’t face this day.
She sits on the floor of her shower, the hot water still running over her, so determined to cleanse her of everything. The water swirls itself into the metal drain. If her life were a book, she knows this scene would serve as a symbolic form of rebirth. But her life is not a work of fiction. It is not a story someone else has penned. Right now, all the most important pieces of it shattered, she knows it is not anything. Not anymore. She closes her eyes again. A guttural sob escapes her. All by herself, she cries hard and loud, the burning water trying its best to wash these emotions away.
A few minutes later, the water starting to cool, she pulls herself up, twists the faucet handle, and steps out. She wraps herself in a thick white towel and pauses at the sink, trying to gain some strength. This is when it occurs to her, this most obvious detail that, in her current state, she hadn’t even noticed or considered: her windowless bathroom is flooded with light.
Ellie blinks, like she’s imagining it, and then flicks the light switch. The power—finally, miraculously—is back. A small victory in a week of losses.
In her bedroom, she clicks on the overhead lighting and gets herself dressed in her daily uniform. Jeans. A clean white shirt. Her favorite low-top tennis sneakers. A comfortable cardigan, which she folds into her book bag. All neutral, familiar choices, so that she’s ready for wherever this dreaded day decides to take her.
Downstairs, Ellie brews herself a pot of coffee, knowing she needs the caffeine. While the machine bubbles itself into action, Ellie moves over to the stove, its digital clock still blinking 11:11, just like it has been all week. She presses a button so she can reset the time but realizes she doesn’t know it. The coffee machine beeps. She leaves the clock alone and allows it to continue to blink and blink and blink.
Her steaming mug in her hand, she takes a seat at the table. The early-morning sun, as yellow as butter, has begun to pour into the room. She sips her coffee, her eyes glazing over all the seats around her. One for Maggie. One for Jonah. One for each of her parents. They’re all empty. It’s just Ellie.
Knock, knock, knock.
Until now. Now, someone is on the porch once again. Some unsolicited surprise waiting for her on the other side of her door. Ellie sets down her mug and closes her eyes. She allows herself to breathe— in, out, in —for a long minute, unsure if the best strategy is for her to hide or to stand up and face it.
She twists open the dead bolt and then slowly—so slowly it’s as if she isn’t even really moving—opens the door. At the edges of her vision, her porch looks the same as always. The charming bench swing. The blooming springtime floral planters. The Welcome Home doormat. There is only one thing that has changed.
“You locked me out,” Jonah says. He wears a pair of medium-wash denim, a nice cut for his age and stature, and a fresh salmon-colored T-shirt. His chestnut-and-silver hair looks damp and is neatly combed away from his cleanly shaven face.
Ellie doesn’t speak. She can’t. Her bottom lip falls away from her top, like a leaf from a tree. No words come out. It doesn’t matter, though. Even if they did, she knows none of them would be quite right. She doesn’t want to talk. She wants to launch herself at him, to feel him and know he is real. But she restrains herself. After the last few days, she’s not sure what she believes yet.
“You’re—you’re here,” she finally—cautiously—manages to say. “Y-y-you’re okay.” Her tone hovers somewhere between a statement and a question. Slowly, Ellie raises one hand and cups it against Jonah’s smooth cheek, his skin warm with life. “You came home.”
A memory. The first night her parents officially lived in Florida, Ellie broke. She wanted to be happy for them—and she was, of course, deep down past the pain of it—but a piece of her, an important one, felt off, like she’d walked outside and forgotten to put on pants. Something was missing. She’d held it together all day—so grateful for the home her parents had bequeathed to her—calling them several times, laughing through the line to prove she was okay. But by the time evening rolled in and Maggie was asleep, she could no longer keep it all in.
She snapped at Jonah while she was washing the dishes, her despair over the feeling that her family was changing—that two people she loved so dearly were too far away for her to physically reach—ran so deeply through her that her hands were shaking. A dinner plate slipped from her soapy hands and smashed on the floor. Jonah didn’t say a word as Ellie continued to shout at him for no real reason. He didn’t say a word, either, when, a few seconds later, he reached for his keys and walked through the front door.
For the next twenty minutes, Ellie’s whole world grew black with panic. She believed he was gone, that she’d sent him away. When he walked back through the door a short while later holding a small brown bag, her mind spun with confusion. “Where did you go?” she sniffled, her tears not yet fully dried up. She was seated on the checkered kitchen floor, her back pressed against the cabinets. “I—I thought you left.”
Jonah’s eyes widened. His brows lifted themselves up toward the ceiling. “Left?” He handed her the bag. From inside it, she pulled out a pint of her favorite ice cream. “Where would I go?” He opened the utensil drawer, which was only half-full. The house was still so new to them. They hadn’t even fully unpacked. “This is my home, Ellie,” he said as he handed her a spoon. She removed the lid and indulged in a rich, chocolatey bite, right as Jonah sat down beside her, the two of them shoulder to shoulder on the black-and-white tiles. “Where else would I go?” he asked, taking the spoon. “Where would I want to be if not right here with you?”
In the present, her hand still lingering on his cheek, Jonah stares at Ellie with a quizzical expression. “Of course I’m back. I only ran out to pick these up,” he explains, producing a pack of batteries from his pocket. “I wanted to change them before we leave. Otherwise the beeping from the carbon monoxide detectors will drive you nuts next week.”
Beyond Jonah’s wide shoulder, Ellie observes the power lines, all properly strung back up to the wooden poles that connect them. Her favorite tree—the magnificent oak that for decades has grown on her family’s front lawn—its branches dressed up in bright-green leaves—stands tall. Ellie lowers her hand and glides away from the porch like a ghost, her feet moving through the grass, still damp with morning dew. She touches her fingers to the bark and traces the letters carved in the wide trunk: B-a-k-e-r . When she does, the light from the sun—newly risen—catches on her wedding band, the one that inexplicably hugs her ring finger.
Back on the porch, Jonah—healthy, vibrant Jonah—stands and watches her. “It’ll only take a minute to change the batteries,” he notes, a curious look on his face. “When I’m done, we should probably get on the road,” he adds, then turns toward the door.
Ellie looks over at the driveway, where their unscuffed cars are parked in a neat line, their luggage obediently standing upright, before she redirects her full attention back at him.
Does she try to explain what has happened, even though doing so would make her sound unhinged? Does she tell him she’s realized this is all a big mistake? They made this choice together. But Ellie initiated it. It was her doing. And now, she recognizes, it’s her job to fix it.
“Jonah, wait!” She swallows hard, chokes down a tear so nothing can block the words she wants to get out now. “Why haven’t you told me you don’t want this?” she asks, the question she’s privately held inside for too long. “Why haven’t you outright said you think this is all a mistake?”
He turns, then lifts a hand and squeezes the back of his neck. “I—I don’t know.” Jonah looks down at his feet, then lifts his gaze again. “At first, I thought you just needed space to process things.” Nearby, a car backs out of a neighboring driveway. “To be honest,” Jonah continues, “I never actually thought any of this would have gone on for so long.”
Marriage is so hard. It’s just a bet you make on your heart. When you recite those vows—regardless of the specific words a couple chooses to exchange—you create a promise so big you could never possibly try to carry the weight of it in your arms. Which is why, Ellie supposes now, you’re meant to carry it with the help of someone else.
“What if we don’t tell them?” Ellie proposes and takes one step forward. “What if we just say we were desperate for an impromptu visit, a chance for us all to be together for a few days?”
“Ellie—” He closes his eyes, sighs, and shakes his head before he reopens them. “Wh-where is all this coming from?”
“It’s hard to explain,” she says. “I’ve just had a lot of time to think the last few days.”
He runs his hands through his hair. “Ellie, you’ve been saying—”
“I know,” she interrupts. “And I was wrong.” A new feeling of desperation comes over her, the situation suddenly so clear it’s like she’s opening her eyes and seeing the world for the first time. “But think of everything we’ve been through. The history we’ve built. Our home. Our whole life.” She moves up the porch steps. “I’m sorry I put us through this,” Ellie admits and then touches his face once more. “I’m sorry about all the choices I made that led us here.”
Jonah’s lips and eyes narrow. His face is both full of emotion and void of it. Ellie doesn’t know what will come next. “I’m sorry, too,” he finally tells her. “You aren’t the only one whose choices got us here.” He brushes a strand of hair from her face. “I made choices along the way, same as you.”
Ellie allows her cheek to fall against his chest. Inside him, she hears the even drumming of his heart as it beats and beats. “So what do we do now?”
All around them, the world is scented with spring, the air a perfumed blend of freshness and flowers and life. Suddenly, everything familiar also feels new.
“It’s up to you, Ellie,” Jonah says, his chin propped on her head. “What do you want?”
There are so many ways for her to answer. Yet just one answer is true. “I want to go. With you,” she clarifies. “I want us all to be together right now.”
Jonah gently pulls away from her, checks the time. “Well, in that case, we’d better get moving,” he notes and glances back at the house. “Is there anything else you need to do before we leave?” he asks, a direct question, but also an open-ended one.
Ellie’s eyes settle on the curves of his face. “No.” She inhales, taking it all in. This life. This setting. “There’s nothing else I need to do.” For the first time in a long time, she sees all of it. “I’m ready now.”