Chapter 31 Eleanor
ELEANOR
Mel and Becca’s house was already buzzing when we got there.
Kids wove between adults, music drifting from the living room, someone’s dog barking in the backyard like it had been waiting all week for this night.
The smell of pizza and cupcakes hit me the moment I stepped inside, warm and inviting, the exact opposite of the tight knot sitting under my ribs.
Ava went straight to Leo, sliding onto the couch beside him like they’d been friends for years. Leo showed her something on his tablet, probably one of his endless drawings of superheroes and dragons, and she actually smiled. Really smiled. My girl. Opening night glow and all.
I should’ve been floating with her.
Instead, my brain was ricocheting around the same awful loop.
What did my mother say to Alex?
What did Stacey say?
What are they going to say to me?
Do I even want to go home?
Alex was talking to Mel near the snack table, and every few seconds, he looked over at me.
He tried to hide the concern, but I saw it.
It felt like a hand pressing lightly against my back.
I gave him a small smile, nothing big, nothing that would give us away, but enough to say, I’m okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.
He relaxed. A little.
Becca appeared beside me with two plastic cups, one water, one something bright blue that probably shouldn’t be ingested by humans.
“You look like you could use this,” she said, pressing the water into my hand.
I huffed a small laugh. “Do I really look that bad?”
“Not bad,” she said gently. “Just . . . in your head.”
“Yeah.” I exhaled through my nose. “I guess you could say that.”
She nodded like she understood more than she said. And honestly? She probably did.
Across the room, Alex laughed at something Mel said. His whole face lit up. But then the warmth twisted, because I knew how this went.
My mother hated anything that didn’t fit inside the picture-perfect life she planned.
Stacey didn’t even pretend to hide her judgment. And Ava . . . God, she was so vulnerable right now, opening night and big feelings and the world just being loud. I didn’t want to face their opinions. Not tonight. Not when everything felt so . . . new and good and fragile.
Alex caught my gaze again across the crowded room, and a tiny crease appeared between his brows, worried, like he could see every thought spiraling in my head.
It wasn’t fair that he felt bad. None of this was on him.
He started making his way over, weaving between kids and parents holding cupcakes. I pretended to sip my water, even though I could feel my pulse in my throat.
“Hey,” he said softly when he reached me.
“Hey.”
“You doing okay?” His voice was quiet, just for me.
My throat tightened. “I will be.”
He nodded slowly. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean—”
“No,” I cut him off quickly, shaking my head. “Please don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong.”
He looked relieved and guilty all at once, which was extremely Alex of him.
“It’s them,” I said quietly. “It’s always them.”
His jaw tensed. “I hate that they make you feel like this.”
I stared at my cup, twisting it between my fingers. “I hate that I let them.”
He didn’t say anything, but the look he gave me. It was full of a quiet protectiveness that nearly undid me. I had to swallow around the sudden burn in my chest.
Before I could say anything else, Ava’s laughter floated from the couch. She was showing Leo how to make her spooky little bat sound effect, and he was trying to imitate it. Her shoulders were relaxed. Her eyes were bright.
My girl was safe. Happy. Belonging.
I wished, more than anything, that I could freeze this and never go back to the cold, disapproving house waiting for us.
I was still standing there, clutching my cup like a life raft, when Mel suddenly materialized at my elbow.
“You look like you’re about to crawl right out of your skin,” she murmured, eyes soft and full of knowing.
She glanced around the room. Becca was laughing with another parent, Leo and Ava sprawled on the rug building some kind of absurd Lego tower, and Alex was watching me like he wished he could build me armor.
Mel leaned in. “If you guys need to get out of here . . . just say the word.”
My throat tightened. “I don’t want to be rude—”
“Oh, please.” She waved a hand. “Half these people won’t notice, the other half will assume you went to talk about costumes. You look like you need air.”
She wasn’t wrong. I just wanted a moment.
Mel nudged me. “Go. I’ll keep Ava here with me. She’s having a great time.”
I swallowed hard. “Are you sure?”
She gave me a look that said, Honey, please. Then she winked.
I took a deep breath and walked over to Ava and Leo. They were sorting out whose dragon had better wings.
“Hey, baby?” I said gently.
Ava glanced up, cheeks pink from excitement. “Hi, Mom.”
“I’m going next door to talk to Mr. Alex for a little bit, okay? If you need anything at all, you can go to Ms. Mel.”
Ava nodded immediately and turned back to her dragon. “Okay.”
Just . . . okay. No fear, no question, no hesitation.
I brushed a hand over her hair. “I’ll be right next door.”
“Mmhmm,” she murmured, fully absorbed in dragon architecture.
When I straightened, Alex was waiting at the door with hands in his pockets, shoulders tense like he’d been trying not to hover. The moment our eyes met, his expression softened.
“You ready?” he asked quietly.
I managed a nod. “Yeah. I think I need a minute.”
His smile was gentle, warm. “Then you’ll get one.”
He pushed open the door for me, and the cool night air hit my skin like a reset button.
The noise of the party dimmed behind us as we stepped out onto the porch.
The yard lights from Mel and Becca’s place spilled across the grass, catching in the trees.
A few kids’ bikes were abandoned near the fence.
Someone’s sprinkler clicked in the distance.
Alex offered his hand., and I took it. We walked with fingers laced, steady and sure, across the lawn toward his duplex. Every step felt like shedding a layer of tension. By the time we reached his front door, I could breathe again.
He unlocked it, pushed it open, and turned back to me—his voice low and hopeful.
“Come inside. Let’s talk. Or not talk. Whatever you need.”
I hesitated on the threshold, heart pounding. But then I met his eyes, those warm brown eyes that had comforted my daughter, made me laugh, kissed me like he saw something in me worth wanting, and the choice felt easy.
I stepped inside.
And Alex closed the door behind us, the soft click echoing like the start of something new.
I wasn’t sure what I expected when I stepped inside Alex’s duplex, but it definitely wasn’t . . . this.
It was perfect, like a life lived, not curated.
There were mismatched throw pillows on the couch, one of them clearly hand-stitched by Leo.
Crayon drawings were taped along the hallway wall, some crooked.
A half-finished Lego spaceship claimed the entire coffee table.
A pair of tiny sneakers sat kicked off near the door.
And everywhere, absolutely everywhere, there were signs of joy.
It hit me like a tide just how different this felt compared to the museum-quiet manor I’d been living in. That house was all gleaming surfaces and tidy nothingness. Here, everything looked like it had been touched and loved.
Alex cleared his throat and quickly swept a blanket, a stack of coloring books, and what looked like a cardboard sword off the couch.
“Uh—sit, please. Sorry, Leo basically runs the place.”
His voice was flustered. Sweet.
He shuffled one more pillow aside and motioned again. “Really. Sit wherever you want.”
I lowered myself onto the couch, sinking immediately into the cushions. It was soft, worn-in. Comfortable. Nothing like the rock-solid antique monstrosity in my mother’s house.
Alex sat beside me, close, but not too close. His knee just barely brushed mine. He looked at me with an expression that was half-trepidation, half-concern, like he wasn’t sure if I was about to laugh or cry or bolt out the door.
“Eleanor . . . ” he said slowly. “Are you okay?”
I met those warm brown eyes and exhaled. “Everything is fine.”
He raised an eyebrow.
I groaned. “Okay. Maybe not fine.”
A tiny, relieved laugh escaped him. “Yeah, I wasn’t buying it.”
I rubbed my palm over my face. “But none of this, my mood, the weirdness tonight, is you. It’s never been you.”
He tilted his head, waiting.
And suddenly I was tired of holding the whole world inside my chest.
“It’s my family,” I said quietly. “It’s always my family.”
His expression softened, and without a word, he reached out and placed a warm hand between my shoulder blades. Just gentle pressure was steady and grounding. Just what I needed. He always seemed to know just what I needed.
I wiped at my face quickly, not quite crying, but close. “And I know she’s trying, but it feels like she’s trying to fix us. Like we’re broken. Like Ava is broken.”
He slid a little closer, tucking his arm around arm. I sank into the comfort he offered.
“I feel like a bad mom,” I admitted in a cracked whisper. “For bringing Ava into that house. But I didn’t . . . I didn’t have options. I didn’t have the money. I didn’t have support. This was all I could do.”
“You’re not a bad mom.”
“I know,” I said with an exasperated huff. “That’s the messed-up part. I know I’m not. But still, when I talk to her, somehow I always end up feeling like I am. I need to get out of there.”
I swallowed hard. “When my dad died, I was nine. And . . . my mother changed overnight. She went from this warm, laughing person to—” I hesitated, searching for the right word. “—glass. Cold, brittle, sharp. Everything became about appearances. About control. There was no softness left.”
His thumb brushed a slow path back and forth across my spine. I almost melted.