Chapter 37
Eleanor
Each day I showed up to the Easts’ home just as the sun began to rise.
Every time I saw it coming up, I said a little prayer for them.
I found gratitude in the little things, because that was what Mom had taught me to do.
I tried to appreciate all the small moments, because at the end of the day, those were the ones that count the most.
One Friday when I walked into Greyson’s house, I first made my coffee and then went to wake Lorelai. As I rounded the corner toward her room, out of nowhere came Greyson. I crashed straight into him, spilling hot coffee all over his suit.
“Shit!” he hollered, jumping back a bit.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I exclaimed, placing the mug down and rubbing my hands all the way down his chest to try to sweep the spilled coffee off of him. I paused my movements as I realized I was patting down Greyson’s privates.
Oh my gosh, stop rubbing coffee off his crotch.
Oh my gosh, it’s moving!
I leaped back as I felt my face heating up from embarrassment. “Oh my, I’m so sorry.”
Stop staring at his crotch, Ellie. Look up, look up, look . . .
I looked up, and Greyson appeared furious.
In that moment, I much preferred the lower half of his expression.
Look down, look down, look down . . .
“Jesus, you need to watch where you’re going!” he barked, angrier than really needed. It was clear it wasn’t my intention to spill coffee all over him and grope his privates.
“I’m sorry. Obviously, it was an accident.”
“That doesn’t make it better. This is a seven-hundred-dollar tailored suit that you just ruined,” he snapped once more, his harsh tone grating on me.
“Well, why the heck would anyone buy a seven-hundred-dollar suit to begin with?” I barked back.
Being around Greyson was so confusing. You never knew if you were going to get the heartbroken version of him or the angry one.
“Plus, there’s a thing called a dry cleaner,” I said.
“I don’t have time to deal with this or you.”
“Why are you being so rude?” I asked.
“Why are you so clumsy?” he responded, pushing past me. He rounded the corner, leaving me there, stunned.
“Way to act like an asshole, Grey,” I muttered to myself, shaken by Greyson’s unnecessary attitude. Sure, I spilled coffee on his ridiculously priced suit and tie, but there was no need to be nasty about it.
Mistakes happened.
“What’s an asshole?” a small voice asked.
I turned around to see Lorelai yawning with her butterfly wings on, rubbing the tiredness from her eyes.
“Oh, nothing, Lorelai. I said askhole. It’s like a person who asks a lot of questions,” I quickly stated, trying to cover up my mistakes.
“My dad is an askhole?” she wondered, her K still sounding quite a bit like an S.
Great.
“Well, no, I mean . . . well what I meant was—”
Before I could remedy my actions, Lorelai went marching off, speaking loudly. “Daddy! Daddy! Did you know you’re an askhole?! You’re such an askhole, Dad!”
* * *
That evening I wasn’t at all surprised when I opened my email and saw one letter from Greyson in my inbox.
FROM: GreysonEast@
TO: EleanorGable@
DATE: March 8, 7:34 PM
SUBJECT: Really?
Eleanor,
Askhole.
Really?
Strike two.
Warm regards,
Mr. East
I closed my laptop and slightly shrugged my shoulders.
Well, OK. I guess I kind of deserved that one. But still, I got a strike for saying askhole and not one for his daughter missing weeks of school. I was starting to think this strike system was flawed.
I went about the rest of my Friday evening doing what I did best—I tried to call my father, and when he didn’t answer, I went back to reading.
Shay was locked away in her bedroom working on her next screenplay for the remainder of the night.
Us gals really knew how to have wild weekends, that was for sure.
I sat on the living room couch reading my novel late into the night, and around midnight, my phone dinged.
I picked it up to see a new email.
FROM: GreysonEast@
TO: EleanorGable@
DATE: March 9, 12:04 AM
SUBJECT: Today
Eleanor,
I apologize for snapping at you today . . . I was dazed and confused after after a night of not sleping. I couldn’t shut my brain off, and I took it out on you.
You confuse me.
When you’re in a room I don’t know where to look.
I don’t know hoow to act.
I don’t know how to be in the same sppace as you without feeling some kind of way.
I don’t know what it means that you’re here after all of this time, and that drives me insane.
This is a bad week.
I woke up on the wrong side of thhe bed, and I took it out on you.
Forgive me.
Grey
I sat up, rereading the words over and over again, noting his typos, taking in his words. My gut was tight, and I felt nauseous as my eyes kept darting back and forth trying to process his email. It was the last thing I’d expected to receive after the day I’d had.
My phone dinged again with a new email.
FROM: GreysonEast@
TO: EleanorGable@
DATE: March 9, 12:09 AM
SUBJECT: Please Dismiss
Eleanor,
Please ignore my last email.
I’ve been drinking, and I am sorry.
Mr. East
Please ignore my last email. How could I do such a thing?
For a moment in time, he’d slipped. In the first email, he had signed it as Grey, the boy I’d once known so well, the one who was hurting and struggling and letting me in just a little bit to see the shadows that lived around him.
Then, minutes later, he was back to being Mr. East.
Short. Closed off. Straightforward.
It was as if his soul was swinging back and forth in a world of muddle. Parts of him were yearning to open up, screaming for help, while the other half wanted to be buried alive.
He was fighting the biggest fight against himself, and I was almost certain he was losing.
At least we were on the same page about one thing: I, too, was confused by him. When he walked into a room, I didn’t know where to look. I didn’t know how to act. I didn’t know how to be in the same space as him without feeling some kind of way.
For a moment, I thought about responding, but then I realized I didn’t know what to say to him anymore. I knew the words I would’ve delivered to him in the past, but he wasn’t that same boy anymore, and I wasn’t that same girl.
Now I didn’t know what made him angry or what gave him comfort. I didn’t know what made his struggles harder; I didn’t know what soothed him.
So the best thing I could do was respect his wishes.
I gave him my silence.
I ignored his emails.
* * *
On Monday, I showed up at work to find Greyson standing in Karla’s bedroom doorframe, staring at his sleeping daughter. He looked so deep in thought as his eyes studied her.
It wasn’t the first time I’d witnessed him checking in on his sleeping children. Once I swore he was even counting their heartbeats.
I wondered how long he’d been looking in there that morning. I wondered how often he studied his daughters from afar.
“Hey,” I said, making him look toward me. “I know you have a flight to catch, and I wouldn’t want you to be late. Plus, the roads are pretty bad with the snow.” He was heading to New York for the next few days, and I was having my first stay at his house with the girls.
“Yes, of course.” He broke his stare with me quicker than ever, and he looked back to Karla before turning my way.
“Thank you for watching them. Allison and Claire will be around if you need anything, and if there is an emergency, please don’t hesitate to call,” he told me, smoothing out his outfit.
“Of course. Have a safe trip.”
He nodded once and walked past me. When he did, his shoulder slightly brushed mine, and I swore for a split second, time froze.
“Oh, and Eleanor . . . um . . .” He cleared his throat and shifted around in his loafers. “About those emails . . .”
I gave him a small smile and shrugged. “What emails?”
A sigh of relief escaped him as his tensed-up shoulders relaxed.
For the first time ever, he looked at me, and I mean really looked.
His eyes locked with mine, and I swore I saw straight into his soul.
“Thank you, Eleanor,” he said, his words coated in gratitude.
He lowered his head and sniffled before giving me a faint smile. “Thank you.”