40. Noelle
Chapter forty
Noelle
Clearing the air with Cal last night was freeing.
Even though I knew he’d forgiven me, sharing the messy, broken pieces of my heart wasn’t as scary as I’d expected. Giving those shards to him was healing. Like God could forge something beautiful in our lives from the heartache.
The one thing I hadn’t confessed was that I was currently in the middle of a flare-up, and it was killing me.
Pain coursed through my body. I sniffed against the exhaustion pressing into my body as I curled up in the fetal position on the couch.
It’s simple. Pick up the phone and call Jules. She’ll understand.
But would she? Most of my friends in New York had gotten tired of my canceling plans at the last minute. Macy was the only one who stuck around.
“Miss Noelle?” Khia’s big blue eyes widened as she wandered over to me, clutching Mrs. Pickles.
“I’m okay, sweetie.”
It wasn’t fair to worry her, and Cal wasn’t home until tomorrow. I hit Juliet’s contact, and she picked up on the third ring.
“You guys on your way?” she asked.
“Um . . . I’m sorry, but I’ll have to take a rain check on girls’ night,” I said, trying to infuse as much strength into my voice as I could.
“What’s wrong?” Juliet asked, concerned.
Guess I hadn’t hid the pain well enough.
“I . . . I’m having a flare-up,” I whispered. “I’m too tired to get off the couch and everything hurts. There are dishes in my sink, and I haven’t showered in two days.” I sniffed, tears burning behind my eyes. “I’m sorry. Maybe next time? And . . . I have Khia.”
“Don’t apologize, I’m not mad,” she said kindly. “And I’m going to swing by real quick and pick her up, okay? Don’t worry. Do you have a spare key, or can I borrow Cal’s?”
“Um, I think it’s in the fake rock in the garden beside the front steps.”
“So that’s where he keeps it.” Juliet’s voice was positively gleeful, and I mentally apologized to Cal for spilling his secrets.
The line muffled as Juliet said something to someone in the background before adding to me, “Don’t worry about tonight, Elle, okay?
We understand. And take it easy, got it? ”
“Thanks.” I cradled the phone to my chest after we hung up. I hated canceling plans almost as much as I hated coming face-to-face with my own limitations. Accepting help was hard. And resting felt selfish. You need to be productive. Well, I’d pushed through the pain, and look where it got me?
Khia dropped Mrs. Pickles on my lap. “She makes me feel better.”
“Oh, sweetie.” I gently cupped her face. Worry lined her expressive eyes. “Come here.” And I tugged her down to cuddle. “Wanna tell me a story?”
That was all it took, and Khia started explaining the latest Jason Lark adventure—something about pirates and Whitby, England, but I wasn’t positive. My eyes had just drifted shut when a key jangled in my lock.
Juliet poked her head inside and her eyes swept the room, softening when she saw me. “Hey, Elle.”
“I’d get up,” I joked, “but—” I waved vaguely over my body.
But Juliet wasn’t alone. Paisley slipped in behind her, then Shawna and Melissa.
“What—?” I asked in confusion.
“We’re here to help,” Paisley said, her smile radiant.
A lump clogged my throat. A mix of gratitude and embarrassment. I hated people seeing me like this. My weakness on technicolour display.
Khia scampered over to where Shawna was unloading a laundry basket of food items, and Juliet perched on the coffee table in front of me.
“Don’t overthink this, Elle. We’re not unfamiliar with how hard chronic illness is.
One of my best friends has POTS, and I deal with chronic migraines. It’s okay to need help.”
“You’d do well to heed that advice yourself,” Paisley teased.
Juliet snorted. “So would you. The point is, we all need help sometimes. There’s no shame in that.”
Shawna lifted a basket of food stuff. “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought a few things to make for meal prep. I’m used to cooking gluten-free because my stepmom is celiac.”
“Thank you,” I said thickly.
“Laura sends her love. She’d have come, too, but Brett’s on call at the hospital, so she’s home with the kids,” Melissa said.
The women scattered. Shawna started whipping up something that smelled amazing. Juliet roped Khia into helping clean my kitchen. Paisley started on the laundry and vacuuming, and Melissa sat with me in the living room, folding the basket of towels I’d been avoiding for three days.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked. “I hurt you. All of you.”
Melissa smiled. “If you’d come to town with a high-horse attitude, our welcome probably wouldn’t have been as friendly.
” She winked, and I had to chuckle. “But you didn’t.
You came back the same sweet Noelle we all loved.
And missed. You’re one of us. That didn’t stop because you left.
” She leaned over and hugged me. “We’ve got you, Elle.
You don’t have to carry it alone. It’s not selfish to share the load. ”
Their kindness overwhelmed me. Instead of blaming me for ruining their night, they showed up without being asked. No passive aggressive “Noelle canceled again.” Unlike my last group of friends.
Of all of them, I missed Aubrey the most. She’d been with me since freshman year when I was still painfully green to city life.
Now she was married with a couple of babies.
The drift had been gradual at first, but by the time I had to reschedule our third coffee date, she stopped messaging.
Now we were just social media friends. I liked her kids’ pictures, and she liked my candle business posts.
We were nothing more than ghosts in each other’s stories—a phantom of what used to be.
Juliet lifted one of my candle jars. “This is your brand?”
I nodded weakly. “My friend Aubrey used to help me.”
“I love them. So does my friend Liz.” She sniffed deeply. “I’ve missed them. They’re the only ones that don’t trigger my migraines.”
Paisley snorted. “Love is a vast understatement. They both have designated candle cupboards in their houses. Whenever you did a launch drop, they set their alarms extra early to make sure they were awake for Eastern time.”
I chuckled. Talk about dedication. “It’s been a few years, but I’m experimenting again.”
“Consider me a willing guinea pig.” Juliet grinned at me.
“There’s a stack of new ones by the fridge. Take your pick.”
Once they were occupied with candle scents, Melissa added softly, “Have you told Cal how you’re doing?”
I shook my head.
“Don’t you think you should?” she asked gently.
Maybe. Yes. Probably. But I dreaded seeing his look of pity. More than anything else, I hated being pitied.