Chapter 21
Grief.
Some losses never fade.
They settle inside you, carved out where the love used to be and took up space.
Some days, I carried it easily, but today, it was crushing me.
I spent the morning in silence with my father’s old records playing softly in the background.
Every year since his passing, I have taken this day for myself.
But this year, I couldn’t just sit still.
So I baked.
Flour dusted the counter, and there were three failed batches in the trash before I got the consistency right.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, I was exhausted. A knock at the door startled me.
I looked at the clock: 4:36 p.m.
Esther left me alone to grieve today at my request and wouldn’t be home until after seven. El had a project he was working on all weekend, so we barely talked.
I hadn’t expected anyone else.
Dragging myself out of the kitchen, I slowly made my way over to the door, hesitating before opening it. Shockingly, El stood there, holding something wrapped in brown paper.
“Hey,” he greeted.
“Hey. I thought you were busy.” I blinked at him. “What are you doing here?”
He looked me over like he was analyzing my mood. “I was. But I had to check on you.” Then he held up the package. “And… I brought you something.”
Curiosity tugged at me as I stepped aside, letting him in.
“How are you feeling?” he asked as I followed him back to the kitchen.
I just shrugged. “Want one?”
He leaned over the tray I offered, then looked around at all the opened jars of peanut butter and flour. “Are those… peanut butter cookies?”
I nodded.
“But you’re allergic to peanuts, Peanut.”
“For the last time,” I said, rolling my eyes, “peanuts are not a tree nut.”
He smirked, amused but still curious. “What’s the occasion? You like peanut butter now?”
I shrugged, suddenly shy. “They’re not really for me. You like crunchy and salty things. I needed to take my mind off today, so I experimented.”
He stilled. “You made these for me?”
I nodded again. “They should help with your sugar levels. And they aren’t too sweet.”
The energy in the room shifted as he picked one up. Watching me. He took a bite and remained silent as he continued watching me.
“You like it?” I asked, nervously. Please tell me I didn’t waste this afternoon baking something he hated.
He smiled after a while. “You make it hard for me to not catch feelings. You know that, right?”
Damn it.
“Did you get to finish your project?” I countered, eager to change the subject.
He scoffed as he set the package on the counter. “What do you think this is?”
My eyebrows furrowed together, and my nosey nature took over. Carefully, I unwrapped it, and the second the paper peeled away, my breath caught in my throat.
It was a portrait.
Of me. But not just me—me and Daddy.
It was how I looked now, my current self, but he had placed my father beside me as if he were still here. His warm, familiar smile, the slight crinkles around his eyes, the way his arm rested protectively around my shoulders—it was as if nothing had changed, like I hadn’t lost him.
My fingers trembled as I reached out, ghosting over the painted canvas.
“El…” My voice cracked.
“Do you like it?” he asked quietly.
“It looks just like him.” I laughed, but it came out broken, like a sob. “I love it. But—how?”
“The photo in your room,” he admitted. “I took pictures of it when I slept over. For reference.”
I looked over all the details and line work. It must have taken him a while to create this. “You planned this for a long time.”
He scratched his beard awkwardly. “I wanted to get it right.”
Tears burned behind my eyes, and before I could think, before I could stop myself, I turned and kissed him.
My arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer. It wasn’t planned or thought out. It was raw, fueled by grief, by longing, by need. His hands wrapped around my waist, and he took over.
The warmth of his lips and the way he inhaled sharply against my mouth felt too good.
I yanked back, my heart pounding.
“Fuck!” I gasped, covering my mouth with my hand. “I’m so sorry! I just got carried away.”
El didn’t move. He just looked at me, steady as ever.
“It’s fine,” he said simply.
“No, seriously!” My chest heaved. “All this shit with my family, and I’m still grieving my father, and now I just—” I let out a frustrated groan. “It’s like I’m losing control. I can’t tell if I’m an emotional wreck or if my period’s coming.”
El exhaled, then reached out, gripping my shoulders.
“Elliot.”
I swallowed. “Yes?”
“Calm down.” His voice was firm but not unkind. “It’s okay. Just relax, alright?”
I closed my eyes, nodding. “Okay.”
“Good.”
His hands dropped to his sides, but I didn’t miss the way his fists clenched, the way his veins bulged slightly from the tension.
And then my gaze lowered to his pants.
Oh.
Oh.
I needed to get away from him.
“I’ll go hang this up,” I blurted, grabbing the portrait. I turned on my heel and practically fled, leaving him standing in my living room because if I stayed any longer, I wasn’t sure what else I’d do.
“Do you need help?” he called out.
“Not at all. Thank you!”
?
I struggled with the frame, shifting it left, then right, then back again, trying to get it to sit just right. The nail wasn’t cooperating, and neither was my patience.
I groaned in frustration, pressing my forehead against the cool wall.
Why was this so difficult?
El’s presence appeared behind me, close enough that I felt the warmth of his body before he spoke.
“How’d you know I still needed help?” It came out muffled because of how squished my face was to the wall.
“Easy,” El said, his voice low and amused. “Whenever you don’t ask for help, chances are you need it.”
I laughed. “Fair enough.”
He reached around me, steady hands adjusting the frame until it finally hung straight. Then he stepped back, arms crossed, admiring our work.
I turned to face him, suddenly hyper-aware of how small my room felt with him in it.
“About downstairs—” I started.
“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted. “You got excited. Mistakes happen.”
I frowned. “That’s just it. I don’t think it was a mistake.”
His expression shifted. “Oh.”
I nodded, my throat tightening. “Exactly. Oh.”
At that moment, all we could do was stare at each other.
“So… what should we do about it?” he asked with a level of vulnerability I hadn’t expected.
I exhaled deeply, my mind a tangled mess of emotions and exhaustion.
“I just wanna lie down.”
He studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Let’s lie down.”
Slowly, we climbed onto my bed, lying side by side but not touching. Together, we just stared at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of the record still spinning downstairs.
“Tell me about your mom,” I murmured after a while.
El turned his head slightly to face me. “What?”
“You never talk about her,” I said, shifting onto my side to look at him.
His jaw tightened, eyes flicking toward the ceiling again. “Why do you wanna know about her?”
“Because I want to know you.”
El’s jaw flexed as he exhaled slowly, his fingers drumming against his stomach. “Well, she died when I was a few days old, so I didn’t know her.”
I hesitated. “Still, I’m sure you’ve heard stories about her.”
His lips twitched like he was debating whether to indulge me or shut the conversation down completely.
“I have.”
I waited, but he didn’t continue.
“Tell me one,” I pressed.
His eyes flicked toward me, then back to the ceiling. “I only remember one. When she was pregnant with my eldest brother.”
I stayed quiet, letting him take his time.
Finally, he sighed. “My mom was… bold. Stubborn as hell. Apparently, it was her way or no way. My dad used to say she had a habit of doing whatever she wanted and dealing with the consequences later.”
Sounds familiar.
“Anyway, when she was about seven months pregnant with my brother, she decided she wanted some fried fish. Not just any fish—fresh catfish, straight from the bayou. But my dad was working late, and none of her brothers were around, so she just… went by herself.”
I lifted my head. “Wait. Went where?”
“To the swamp,” he said like it was obvious.
I squinted at him. “The fucking bayou? Tell me she didn’t—”
“Of course she did,” he confirmed, rubbing his jaw. “She took a little rowboat, paddled out past the shallow waters, and started fishing. Seven months pregnant. Alone. At night.”
“That’s insane,” I muttered, half impressed, half horrified.
“It is,” he said, smirking slightly. They said she had been out there for hours. Finally, she caught a decent-sized fish and started rowing back when she realized she wasn’t alone.”
I sucked in a breath. “Oh, hell no.”
“Mhmm,” El hummed, closing his eyes as if he could picture her. “There was an alligator circling the boat.”
I sat up fully. “You’re lying.”
“I wish,” he said. “She stayed perfectly still, waiting for it to leave. But then it bumped the boat.”
“What did she do?”
El smirked. “She smacked it with the oar.”
I stared at him. “Say you swear.”
“I swear, this is what they told me. According to my dad, she told him if it was gonna tip her over, she was taking it down with her. Apparently, she hit it hard enough to startle it, and it swam off. She got back to shore, walked home like nothing happened, and fried that damn fish at three in the morning.”
I blinked at him, then chuckled. “Your mother was a menace.”
“That’s what I’ve been told,” he said, laughing under his breath.
“Jesus,” I muttered, shaking my head.
El turned to look at me, his expression softer now. “Your turn. Tell me something about your dad.”
I exhaled, flopping back onto the pillow. “Where do I even start with that man?”
El shifted to his side, propping his head up with his arm, waiting. His expression was patient, as if he could lay there all night and just listen.
“Anywhere you want,” he said simply.