Chapter 53
Ella
Monday
“You could stay just a few more days,” I suggest while Bill packs his dress shoes into his suitcase.
He drove to Evermere two days ago so he could be with me yesterday, and I find myself strangely, constantly torn between wishing he would stay longer and feeling relieved that he’s leaving, letting me be by myself.
Is that an awful thing to think? I can’t tell him that.
“I could,” he answers me while grabbing his work backpack. “But I won’t. There’s a networking event I can’t skip. And I have that wine tasting in two days. Why don’t you just come back home with me?” He kisses my forehead. “And then you can come back here next weekend or something.”
No answer comes out of me. Next weekend or something. That kind of thinking is what kept me away from setting foot in this town far longer than I ever wanted to.
I look at Bill. I’m not sure what I would prefer him to do, but I know that I want to spend this mournful moment close to my family and the community that Miss Amara and I shared.
I want to have the courage to walk inside her house and sit at her piano, letting the memories float through me.
I want to feel the sadness, nostalgia, longing, tenderness, gratitude, and the quiet ache of loss, as part of my goodbye to her.
I watch Bill fold his shirts. I can’t do as he’s suggesting, or I’ll end up resenting him later for a choice that was mine, influenced by his words.
Something inside tells me I have to allow myself to live through all of it.
“I’m going to stay. I’m sorry. A few days in the countryside will do me good.” I leave it at that, not explaining much. Maybe because I’m not sure how much he would understand.
“Alright,” he says, then pauses for a second on his way to the bathroom door and turns back to me. “Is it because of Miss Amara? I’m not underestimating it. I was just thinking: she wasn’t related to you, and I — your fiancé — didn’t really know her. We hadn’t spent much time with her lately.”
There’s no energy in me to lay it all out for him right now.
So I offer him a rueful smile, thinly disguised as a tired one, and shrug one shoulder.
It’s fair that he doesn’t fully understand.
I have talked to him about Evermere, the CIC, and Miss Amara, but he never spent much time here. And then, eventually, neither did I.
I was supposed to aim for the stars. Live in a big city. Cut the “umbilical cord”. “That’s because you’re an adult,” Bill would say to my numbness.
Last time I saw Miss Amara, Bill didn’t come with me. He had already met her, but he’s right, we hadn’t spent much time with her lately. Not us, not even me.
“I wish I had,” I say quietly to myself, while Bill is already removing the plug from his toothbrush to pack it away.
“But, anyway,” Bill says, returning to the bedroom, “she left you her piano. That was really thoughtful of her.”
“It was, yeah.” This time my smile isn’t empty.
I haven’t played piano in a while. I bought a keyboard when I was in college. I used to play to Philia and Cara in our dorm room. Today that’s just part of an old box of happy moments of another time, lost in a dusty garage.
“Where are you planning to put it?” he asks, looking around.
“Actually, I was thinking of taking it to Verryn, back to our apartment. I want to start playing again.”
“Oh.” He sounds surprised. “Okay. Well, we’ll have to figure out if we can find a moving van for the long trip. I don’t know if many companies would do that. And we’ll also need to decide where it would fit best in the apartment. I’m not sure if there’s really space for it.”
“Yes, but—”
My answer gets cut by his phone vibrating. He glances at the screen, and his expression turns concerned. It’s work. He tells me he needs a few minutes, then leans down to kiss me before excusing himself and stepping out of the room.
All of my brothers are in their teen years and little has changed around this house.
The smell remains the same, except for the occasional incense that my mom buys.
The long table still stands, always ready to welcome another plate for dinner.
The air is still alive with laughter, energy and voices that are too loud.
My mom is still the safe harbor and the source of everyone’s wise words.
My sister still reads my thoughts telepathically from across the dinner table.
And my brothers still light up with excitement when I walk through the door, making me smile every time.
What if, when we needed it, there was a window that would take us to the dinners of long tables and voices mixed in the joy of restlessness, where, however, it is the comfort that lies at the core of our deepest connections?
Bill and Leonard get along well. Bill gets along with everyone, really.
He always offers to put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, helps my grandmother down the stairs, talks to my brothers about their future aspirations.
He knows how to discuss wines and art with my aunts and uncles.
Wherever he is, he always gets along with everyone, and that’s something I admire about him.
But just as we decide to play a family board game and start spreading the pieces out, he says he has to leave, that he’s tired and needs to rest for the trip to Verryn the next morning.
I can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment that he won’t be here to share this family moment with us — our moment sprawled across the couch and the cushions on the floor, warmed by the fireplace. The precious moments we once took for granted, guaranteed every week of my childhood.
Bill spends so little time with my family. I just wish he would want to make the most of every minute.
My sister looks into my eyes and realizes it without me having to say a word. And I know she realizes it without her having to say a word.
“Don’t you want to stay just for one round?” She tries to convince him, and I telepathically thank her for it. “Leonard’s always losing at this game. Maybe you could team up with him and give him the much-needed help,” she adds, glancing her boyfriend.
“Thank you,” Bill says, and I know by the tone of his words that he’s not convinced. But I don’t feel sorrow over it. It is what it is.
He says his goodbyes to the family, thanks my mom for having him over, and wishes good luck to Leonard. I walk him to the door.
“Have fun,” he says, putting on his outdoor jacket. “Will it take you long?”
“A few hours, yes,” I say assertively, but there’s a pause before I add, “I’m not sure.”
He nods, his lips pressed tight, not quite understanding where this is coming from, but not pushing further.
If I don’t explain, how could he understand where this comes from?
“I just want to enjoy being here with them and—” I start to explain quietly.
“Sure! I totally understand,” he cuts me off.
But I don’t think he realizes he’s supposed to simply listen.
“No worries,” he adds. “Dinner was great. You’ll stay, and I’ll go review some paperwork. You can tell me about how the game went when you get back,” he says with a smile, kissing my cheek as he opens the street door. “If I’m still up!”
I nod, my lips curving slightly, not quite a full smile, but enough to match his warmth.
He grins back and steps out. I watch him walk away, the door clicking shut behind him — both unaware of my unspoken words.
And I let him go.