Chapter 43
Elara
Jordan took me to an Ethiopian spot in Silver Spring I liked. He sat across from me, rolling injera between his fingers, watching me. He’d been the perfect friend. But I knew what he wanted, so I’d been avoiding dinners like this unless his sister was around. Tonight, I couldn’t say no.
He set his glass down and leaned in. Candlelight caught the warmth in his eyes. “You know, Ellie… I’ve been patient. I’ve respected the process.” His smile was easy, confident. “But it’s been eight months. We spend all this time together. I’m wondering if it could be something more.”
I put my fork down. Absolutely not, I thought. He felt like a brother to me. But he was Shayna’s brother. I’d be kind. Clear.
“Jordan,” I said, my voice steady. “You’ve been an incredible friend. But that’s what you are. My friend. That’s all.”
His smile didn’t fade. “Come on. Never say never. We’ve got history. Chemistry.”
He was wrong. What he saw as chemistry was me remembering him at seven, trailing after Shayna and me. I met his gaze. “You’re seeing friendship. You’re not seeing what’s in my heart. Because my heart isn’t here to give.”
“Because of him?” he asked, not offended. Amused.
“Yeah. Because of him.” And even if it wasn’t him, it still wouldn’t be you, I kept to myself. No man wanted to hear that.
He laughed—easy, warm. He had women chasing him all over the DMV; my "no" wasn’t a loss. “A man you haven’t seen in eight months?”
“Yes.”
He studied me for a second, then shrugged, raising his glass. “Can’t blame a guy for trying. To the one who got away. Twice.”
I clinked my glass to his. The sound was a period.
Outside, the air was cold. I pulled my coat tight. He walked me to the car—Julian’s car. The half-million-dollar thread I kept tied to him. As long as I had something of his, he couldn’t fully disappear.
“You okay?” Jordan asked, his hand on the open door.
“I’m fine. Thank you. For dinner. And for not making this weird.”
“What choice do I have?” he said, smiling softly. “You’ve always known your own mind, Elara Vance. And I know you won’t change it for me.”
He leaned in for the usual cheek kiss. As he pulled back, my phone rang.
Symphonie Fantastique. Her ringtone.
My hand was in my bag before the first note ended. Jordan saw my whole body go still.
“Everything okay?”
“It’s Vivienne,” I said, finger hovering. “Julian’s mother. I have to take this.”
He took a step back. “Go. I get it.”
“Thank you.” I slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door.
I answered. “Mrs. Vivienne?”
“Bonsoir, ma chère,” her calm voice came through, and the knot in my chest loosened. “I am watching a terrible documentary about glaciers and thought of you. How was your community board meeting?”
As I drove away, Jordan fading in the mirror, I told her about the skeptical questions, the grant draft, the girl who finally agreed to therapy. I didn’t ask about him. She never offered. It was our ritual.
I knew these calls, every other night, were her way of reminding me her son was waiting for me. Her way of keeping me connected to the man that still held my heart.