49. Eli’s Birthday
Eli’s Birthday
Silas
Sitting at the dinner table, I idly move a piece of Eli’s fucking pot roast around my plate.
“Silas, you coming out tonight?” Marcel asks, pushing his empty plate away.
Eli snorts. “Don’t bother asking him, he’s just going to sit in his office and add the same three numbers together over and over for hours. Just like he’s done for the past week.”
“Fuck off.”
“It’s true. You’ve been moping around this ranch since she left.”
“Has nothing to do with her.” I stay vague. “Kiran, take your plate to the sink and go take your shower.”
Kiran hesitates, his eyes flicking between me and the other two men. He knows tension when he sees it. “Yes, Pa.”
He does as he’s told and I glance over my shoulder to watch him disappear up the stairs. Once he’s gone, I clasp my hands in front of me, leaning over the table.
“I’m allowed to take my time adjusting. You don’t know what it’s like to wake up one day and have your entire existence turned upside down.”
“He might not, but I do,” Marcel interjects, standing and picking up his plate. “You’re moping. ”
Eli and I follow Marcel to the sink, plates in hand. Eli starts the water. “Told you.”
“Why do the two of you have such strong goddamn opinions? Why can’t you just let me be?”
Flipping the water off, Eli faces me. “I let you have your time to ‘adjust’ or whatever you want to call it. It’s time you figure out what the rest of your time here is going to look like. It’s time to move on, time to be a father, time to get back to life.”
Marcel places a hand on my shoulder. “Come out with us tonight. Let some of that anger loose. Feel like you’re part of the living.”
I run a hand down my face. “I’ll think about it.”
Somehow, thinking about it manifested into me crammed into the passenger seat of Eli’s truck later that evening.
After Kiran went to sleep, Eli promised one of the hands would watch over the house, so I agreed to go.
Marcel drives, Eli wedged in the middle, the three of us packed tight on the old bench seat like we’ve done a hundred times before.
Except this time, I’m different. This time, I don’t belong.
Eli sniffs the air, then wrinkles his nose. “How much cologne did you put on? No one will be able to see you, but they’ll damn well be able to smell you.”
I shoot him a glare. “Shut up, old man.”
Marcel chuckles, guiding the truck onto the road leading into town. “How old are you turning, Eli? Fifty-eight?”
“You got it. Another year spinning around the sun.”
“I still remember when you were baptized as a baby at the church.” Marcel smirks, adjusting the brim of his hat. “And now you boss me around all day.”
Eli rolls his eyes. “Someone’s gotta keep your happy ass in line.”
I let their banter fade into the hum of the tires against the road. Outside the window, the land rolls past in familiar patterns. The same fences, the same fields, the same old barns slouching against time. The world keeps moving, unchanged by my absence. Unchanged by my death.
Marcel’s voice pulls me back. “When’s the last time you went dancing, Silas?”
I hesitate, my fingers pressing into my knee. “I don’t know.” The words come slowly. “Sometime when Caroline and I were still living.”
The statement hangs in the cab. It still feels unnatural to say. Like it should belong to someone else’s story. But it doesn’t. It belongs to mine. My life now has a dividing line: Before and after. The living and whatever the hell this is.
Marcel speaks so easily about slipping between timelines, about existing in a way that defies reason.
He makes it sound like something you just get used to, like breaking in a new pair of boots.
But I don’t see how. Not when every second feels like trying to grab hold of something solid, only to find air.
Eli slaps my arm, jolting me out of my thoughts. “Good you’re getting out then.”
I exhale, shifting in my seat. “Yeah, guess so.”