Chapter 66
Ella
Friday
I had stumbled upon something that I knew would change Miles’s life forever.
I was shaking.
I almost told him over the phone, but I couldn’t. Not like that.
It had to be face to face. Eye to Eye.
I told him about the birthmark, about all the little details I had gathered from Mr. Marlin’s story, about his illness, and about how special a human he is.
Miles’s dad is the most endearing person. He’s kind, warm and effortlessly charismatic. I understood immediately why Miles is the way he is. It’s in his blood.
Two weeks have gone by, and watching them reconnect is one of the most moving things I have ever witnessed.
They aren’t just two people linked by biology, they are becoming friends.
Toy Story kind of friends. Best friends.
Not because there’s some unshakable, instinctive bond between father and son, but because they genuinely enjoy each other’s company.
Miles has stayed in Verryn for the past two weeks. He’s staying at a hotel close to the Research Institute. The day after meeting his dad, he drove back to New York just to grab a suitcase with a few essentials: his laptop, guitar, clothes, etc.
Yesterday, I went to the Elmwood Center and found them watching a movie on Miles’s laptop in Mr. Marlin’s room.
One of the movies Miles had written some songs for.
Mr. Marlin was so impressed that he decided not only I, but the entire Center, should have a movie night to experience the amazing production his son had been part of (these were his exact words).
He didn’t know I had already seen the movie.
I didn’t tell either of them. It was right after New York, in December.
I had written the title down so I wouldn’t forget it.
One night, after work and a quiet dinner alone at Bill’s apartment, I found it online and “experienced the amazing production his son had been part of.”
The whole time, I kept picturing Miles in the studio, his thoughtful expression, unchanged even now, as he worked through the chords, crafting each melody. He had done an amazing job. No doubt about it. He’s so talented.
Today is Friday. Philia and Cara met Miles earlier this week. They had to come to the Elmwood Center on Monday when I did. Simply because they had to.
Miles was really nice to them. He had coffee with us and made them laugh out loud when we sat at a table that was off balance.
They brought up the topic of “younger Ella”, the soup-spilling accident on a table with uneven legs, and other stories.
My friends didn’t get to meet that Ella, but their verdict was: “Not much has changed,” which I tried to disagree with.
Miles parted ways with us, saying it was really nice to meet them, and hugged me goodbye. He was taking his father out to dinner.
As the three of us left the building together, my girlfriends exchanged a suspicious look.
“What’s going on?” I asked, bracing myself for their thoughts on Miles.
“When is he leaving for New York?” Philia asked, her face clouded with concern.
“I’m not sure,” I said.
I haven’t asked Miles that directly, but I’d heard a rumor, from the nurses, that he’d asked questions about the possibility of transferring his dad to a care center in New York. He hasn’t mentioned it to me, though, so for now, I’m still not believing it.
I don’t want to believe it. I don’t even want to think about it.
“Maybe he’ll be moving around, kinda like me. He has his job there, but his father is here,” I said, and paused. A hollow feeling settled in my stomach for a moment. The idea of him looking for a nice care center back in New York actually makes sense.
“But I’ll ask him!” I said… but I still haven’t.
Another quiet, suspicious exchange passed between Philia’s and Cara’s eyes.
“What?” I asked, suddenly worried.
I thought maybe they had heard the rumor too.
My heart ached.
“And when are you going to tell him?” Cara asked softly.
“What?” I repeated.
“That you’ll be heartbroken if he says goodbye to you again,” Philia said.
I opened my mouth to answer, but no words came out. I moved my arms to gesticulate, but they meant nothing.
My girls stepped closer and wrapped me in a hug, not forcing me to answer, as if they had already read my mind.
I have never opened up to a guy before, not like that. Not with these feelings. Not with this vulnerability. This is both old and familiar, yet new and terrifying at the same time.
Is it possible that I’ve only truly known love like this at twenty-seven? Am I ready for love?
They let go, and we started walking toward our destination, our arms intertwined. Wrapped in our comfortable silence.
I smiled as I observed each of them.
Patience is one of the softest forms of love.