17. Ellie
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ellie
THE NEXT MORNING, AFTER sleeping on Maple Street for the first time in God knows how many years, I went to my appointment with Maternal-Fetal Medicine.
As agreed, Sully did not come with me, despite his brief efforts to get me to change my mind before leaving last night—another thing he’d attempted to dodge, I might add. He’d thrown me questioning, pleading glances before I encouraged him out the door.
This was for the best, I continually reminded myself. Things between us were tumultuous. Our emotions ran high every time we were in the same space together. And for this appointment today, I needed a clear head. When Sully was around, my brain fogged up like a mirror during a steamy shower.
Everything inside me ran hot at even the thought of him.
Especially when I thought about the way his broad body had covered mine yesterday while lying on the floor.
About the way I didn’t want to leave that spot ever.
About the way we’d been in that position before, naked on a mattress.
Most recently, the night I got pregnant.
Which led me here.
To my Maternal-Fetal Medicine appointment.
Delaney’s intuition had been correct; both this new physician—a middle-aged woman with cat-eye glasses named Dr. Lewis—and my physician in California wanted me to start taking Lovenox soon.
Today, Dr. Lewis had discussed the ins and outs of my high-risk pregnancy and then wrote my prescription so I could get it filled and start the injections over the weekend.
She’d been patient with me, talking me through the process and easing some of my worries about it.
Since the medication was preventative, the dosage was low, a different scenario completely than when I’d been taking blood thinners to treat an emergency situation.
And it was as safe as possible for the baby since it didn’t cross the placenta.
And while all of that was good news, my fingers still trembled a little as I left the appointment.
I was weird about medicine. Not anti-medicine because I certainly believed in it; I did, I really, truly did.
I believed in always listening to medical experts and in the power of science.
In theory, I thought medicine was amazing, truly miraculous in what it could do. I owed my life to it, and I knew that.
But I also had this ingrained worry that all of the rare, life-threatening side effects of medications—you know, the ones that are rattled off almost comically at the end of commercials—would most certainly happen to me.
Because one time, they did. Or, one did. One side effect from a seemingly innocuous medication that millions of women take. One life-threatening side effect that was the reason for all these needles and the cause of the fear that ruled my brain.
I couldn’t be more grateful for the health I’d been gifted in the years since having a pulmonary embolism. I’d been tested nine ways to Sunday, and no other sort of clotting disorder had been found, which was wonderful.
Except it meant that the pill took full responsibility for the incident. More specifically, the hormones in the pill were the thing responsible for the scare that had always stuck with me.
And you know what happens when you get pregnant?
Hormones.
Hormones happen.
It was a risk factor for any woman, truly, but especially women like me, who already knew how their body would react. Women who’d experienced clotting once were at a higher risk of experiencing it again.
Just a little side effect of pregnancy.
I took a few deep breaths in my car, trying to regulate my nervous system, before I decided to swing by the Pontoon Patio to see my mom. I had time to kill before my medication would be ready for pickup, and I didn’t think I’d be able to concentrate on work today.
Plus, this was overdue.
We’d chatted on the phone and texted a time or two, so she knew I was back. But I hadn’t wanted to stop over while she was home because, frankly, I was afraid of what I’d find.
My mother was kind to everyone she met. She loved me, had always shown up for me when it mattered, but she struggled with her hoarding tendencies and online shopping addiction, something that had always put a strain on our relationship because our home had never felt like ours growing up.
It was filled with her things, leaving no space for mine.
It was why I’d spent so much time across the street with the Londons and why I didn’t have any desire to step back into that house and see what had become of it.
It was late morning, so I assumed my mom would be here since she typically worked the lunch rush, and sure enough, as soon as the bells chimed as I walked into the Patio, I heard my name being called across the cafe.
“Ellie, honey!”
My mom rushed up to me, pulling me into a hug that was tight enough for me to feel how thin she was getting. I frowned but quickly replaced my expression with a tight smile when she released me and pulled back, staring down at my face.
“Hi, Mom,” I said as she began fussing with my bangs.
My mom and I had always looked alike. She had a slight frame with a fair complexion and dark but graying hair.
The only thing I didn’t have was her eyes, which were more of a hazelly green.
Today, they popped against the harsh black of her mascara, and she had on one of those sporty skirts that women wore to play tennis or golf, along with her red and white Patio shirt tucked into it.
It was another picture of familiarity, and warmth filled my insides.
“Do you have a minute before the lunch rush hits?” I asked. “Maybe we can grab a lemonade.”
“Absolutely. Let me just go tell Carrie,” my mom answered and then rushed off.
I was pretty sure Carrie was one of her lead servers, but it was hard for me to remember all the rotating names since most of the staff were seasonal.
I’d also spent a few summers working here in high school alongside my mom before I decided that the movie theater was likely more my speed.
I loved movies.
And making out with my boyfriend, who worked in the back rooms.
My mom appeared a minute or two later, dragging me outside to the massive deck covered with red-striped umbrellas.
She led me to a sunny table located along the water’s edge—the Pontoon Patio was the most popular restaurant on the sparkling lake outside Rosewood—and I appreciated the lily pads that grew along the shore, in all the same places as usual.
My mom instructed me to sit while she rushed off to get us drinks, and I sank into the available plastic chair.
“So, you’re back,” my mom said when she returned with lemonade, dropping her designer sunglasses over her eyes as she cut to the chase.
I nodded and busied myself with taking a long, glorious sip of my lemonade so I could think of what to say.
I had thought about this ahead of time, but that didn’t mean I had a script or anything to follow to get through this sticky, vague conversation.
“I’m back,” I said. “It’s good to be home.”
I forced a smile. Good was perhaps an oversimplification of the truth, but it wasn’t entirely false, either.
“California wasn’t cutting it for you anymore?” Mom asked, and I shrugged.
“The opportunity to go fully remote presented itself, and I took it. Thought it would be a good chance to come back to my roots.”
“Your roots,” my mom repeated, clearly unconvinced by my lie. Partial truth. Whatever. “Are you sure you weren’t coming back to your blond-haired, blue-eyed hunk of an ex-boyfriend?”
“Mother,” I chastised, avoiding her eyes.
“What?” She threw her hands up like she didn’t understand what was so wrong with the question.
“I certainly wouldn’t blame you. That man worships the ground you walk on, and believe me, honey, that’s awfully hard to come by.
I wouldn’t blame you if you found that out the hard way and decided to come back to him. ”
“I—it’s—” Man, I had not been expecting my mom to go on the offense about Sully. I’d expected it from Anne, but not so much from my own mother. “It’s complicated, Mom.”
“Okay.” She blew a breath out. “I’m just saying, I would have given anything for your dad to treat me the way he treated you.”
I was momentarily stunned. My mom never brought up my father.
“Mom—”
“That’s all I’ll say.” She waved me off, clearly not wanting to continue down this road she’d presented. “I’m done now, and I won’t pry.”
In other words, I shouldn’t, either.
I took a long sip of my lemonade before deciding to say, “Sully and I are working through a few things. That’s all.”
“Alright, then.” My mom tapped her red nails on the glass patio table. She sat back in her chair, crossing one toned leg over the other. “And you’re settling in across the street?”
“I am,” I said. “Anne seems relieved to have someone in the house again. You should come over for dinner next week, maybe? Once I’m unpacked and everything.”
“That sounds nice, honey.”
My mom gave me a smile that I suspected wouldn’t reach her eyes if I could see through her shades. But I’d pretend it did.
After downing my glass of lemonade and listening to a quick rundown of small-town gossip, I told my mom I had to get back to work.
It was a partial lie. Technically, I’d taken the entire day off because of the appointment this morning, but I had a few projects I wanted to tinker with this afternoon.
When I left the Patio, I had a text from Sully waiting for me.
SAWYER: How was the appointment?
It went well. Do you want to call me after work so I can tell you about it?
SAWYER: What if I brought you dinner and we talked?
I blew a slow breath out between my lips.
When I’d decided to move close to Sully so he could be involved, I hadn’t realized just how involved he’d end up wanting to be. I didn’t expect him to insist on fixing the furnace or watering the flowers or bringing me dinner. And this was only the beginning, too.
Was this just his initial response, an overreaction of sorts? Or was it going to be nine months of me trying not to get caught up in the possibility of Sully and me being…more again.
SAWYER: It’s not a date, Eleanor.
Yeah, I was aware of that. And it was sort of, kind of, the problem.
Dinner with Sully that wasn’t a date.
I wasn’t sure if I’d done that, ever.
SAWYER: It’s just food.
SAWYER: I want to make sure you are eating.
Excuse me, I am a responsible adult who is capable of feeding herself.
SAWYER: Yeah, so what have you eaten today?
Fuck him.
Fine, you can bring me dinner, but I get to pick what it is, and I pick tacos.
There was a place around the corner from Sully’s old apartment that had the best street tacos a girl could ever ask for.
Historically, they were the only thing that would make me feel better after hangovers and nights spent puking in college.
I wasn’t totally sure if Sully still lived in that area, but it was worth a shot.
SAWYER: Not surprised. Don’t worry, I know your order.
SAWYER: Are you nauseous?
SAWYER: I will pick up some other things that might help, too.
Shit.
Trying to keep things from the one person in the world who knew me better than anyone was going to be pretty challenging, huh?
You don’t need to pick up anything. I’m just leaving the Patio and have to stop by the pharmacy anyway to get medication that the doctor prescribed.
SAWYER: OR how about we go to the pharmacy together, and you can tell me more about how you’re feeling?
SAWYER: After you eat tacos. At least three of them.
Sawyer.
SAWYER: Eleanor.
SAWYER: I know things aren’t the same between us as they used to be, but I don’t know how to not worry about you. Please let me take care of you in some way.
SAWYER: It’s my fault you’re experiencing this.
It was definitely both of our faults.
But okay. Tacos, talk, and then the pharmacy. Let me know what time you’re coming.
SAWYER: I’ll be there at six.
Okay, then. A dinner not-date with my ex-boyfriend and father of my child, coming right up.
Couldn’t wait.
And, unfortunately, I meant that.