Chapter 32 Communication #2
As I moved around her, finishing the style, Esther passed behind us and mouthed, You good?
I nodded.
Once I diffused the last section and fluffed out her curls, Samantha looked up again.
“He’s different with you. I saw it in the pictures you posted.” Oh, so she stalked me. “The softness. The way he looks at you.”
I turned her chair to face the mirror.
She looked at herself, blinking slowly. “You’re really good.”
“I know.”
?
When I got home, the lights were low and El was sunk into the couch in his glasses, sweats and a black fitted tee, a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, and some late-night documentary murmuring in the background.
His head turned when the door clicked shut.
“Hey, baby.”
I kicked off my shoes by the door, letting out a long breath. “Hey.”
He opened his arms before I even made it to him. I dropped my purse and climbed onto his lap, curling into his chest like I belonged there—because I did.
He kissed my forehead. “Long day?”
“You have no idea.”
I rested there, breathing in the clean scent of him. Then I pulled back slightly to look at him.
“Your ex-wife came by the store today.”
His brows lifted, but his expression didn’t flinch. “Samantha?”
“Mhm.”
“She start anything?”
“No. Actually, she was… calm. I offered to do her hair while we talked.”
His hand slid up and down my back slowly, eyes on mine. “You didn’t have to do that, Peanut.”
“I know. But I figured it was better than just sitting there in awkward silence. Besides, I wanted to see what she was about.”
He nodded, waiting.
“She said she wanted to see if you’d changed. Maybe compare us a little.”
He exhaled softly, jaw tightening.
I smoothed my thumb along his cheek. “It wasn’t ugly. I held my own.”
“Of course you did.”
“She asked if I knew why y’all broke up. I told her yes. She asked if I was really okay with the decision you made. About being child-free.”
His hand stilled on my back.
“What’d you say?” he asked softly.
I shifted in his lap, so I could look at him fully. His expression wasn’t guarded exactly—just careful. Like he wanted to prepare himself for whatever answer might come next.
“I told her what I told you. I’m fine with it. I told her that I got why she wasn’t, but it’s not a dealbreaker for me.”
His eyes searched mine. “You sure?”
“I wouldn’t have agreed to marry you if I wasn’t.” I paused. “You know that, right?”
He nodded slowly, then rested his forehead against mine. “Yeah. I know. I just… I don’t take that kind of thing lightly.”
“I don’t either,” I whispered. “We’re good, El. Really.”
He kissed me, slow and sweet, his fingers brushing the nape of my neck. But even after we broke apart, I could tell he was still thinking about something. His jaw worked, and his thumb tapped absently against my thigh.
“El…” I said, tugging at his shirt. “What is it?”
He hesitated. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to bring up.”
I raised a brow. “Okay…”
“It’s not about Sam,” he said quickly. “It’s about you.”
Now I was really listening.
“We gotta talk about the drink at your dad’s.”
I tensed. Just slightly. But I felt it.
“I know,” I murmured.
“I didn’t say anything then ‘cause we were in his house, and I didn’t want to add to the pressure you already felt,” he said. “But you said you’d go dry for a month.”
“I know,” I repeated. “I messed up.”
He didn’t scold. He didn’t lecture. He just let out a breath and brushed his thumb along my thigh.
“Was it just that day?” he asked.
I looked away. “No.”
“How many?”
“Maybe three,” I confessed, while cringing internally. “I didn’t even think about it, El. It was like a reflex.”
He nodded, but he looked down at his hand, then back at me.
“I’m not mad,” he said. “I just… I don’t want you caught up in that shit.”
I swallowed. “I’m not—”
“I’m not saying you’re an alcoholic,” he said quickly. “But I am saying that if we don’t talk about it, it’ll grow into something that starts messing with everything else. Understand?”
I looked up at him then. Really looked at him. The concern in his beautiful eyes wasn’t fear. It was love. And not the coddling kind—real love. Grown love.
“I’m trying,” I said quietly.
“I know you are.” He paused. “That’s why I want us to really talk about it.”
I lifted my head from his chest slowly. “Okay.”
He looked at me, eyes steady and warm. “I’ve been reading up… and talking to someone.”
My brow furrowed. “Talking to someone?”
“Yeah. About how to support you better.” His voice was soft, like he didn’t want to spook me. “I know this hasn’t been easy, especially with everything going on. The stress and the pressure you put on yourself. I see it all, baby.”
I swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of the way his fingers kept moving.
“El…”
“I’m not tryna throw you in some rehab house with a bunch of strangers or anything extreme,” he said quickly. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
I nodded, letting him keep talking.
“But I did find a program,” he went on. “A consulting therapist who specializes in women in high-stress careers. It’s private, it’s personalized.
They work with you on your terms. They work with nutrition, habits, emotional regulation, all that.
It’s not just about quitting drinking. It’s about understanding why it became something you needed in the first place.
Maybe you’ll even feel comfortable talking with them about what really happened with your ex. ”
I blinked, unsure if I wanted to cry or crawl under a blanket and disappear. The whole thing felt so foreign to me. Ma always said we don’t talk about this kind of stuff with strangers and the idea of admitting I had a drinking problem made me feel sick.
“I ‘m sorry, I—I can’t.”
He straightened. “This isn’t me saying something’s wrong with you, Ellie. But I saw you with the bottle at your dad’s, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”
My chest tightened, and I dropped my eyes to my lap. I didn’t say anything. He was so worried about me. I swallowed hard. I could consider it if it meant I didn’t make him worry. I could give him that peace of mind.
He reached up and gently tucked a curl behind my ear. “You don’t have to say yes right now. But I’d like you to think about it. I’ll be with you every step. You know that, right?”
I nodded.
He kissed the side of my head. “That’s all I ever ask. Just be willing.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried myself in his chest again, breathing in his scent.
“You sure you’re not gonna get sick of me once I start crying through every journaling session and texting you about my triggers?” I mumbled into his shirt.
He chuckled, wrapping his arms tighter around me. “Please. I’ll be taking notes. Plotting on how to marry you all over again.”
I let out a teary laugh. “We only just got through the first one, and you’re already plotting on the second proposal?”
“Oh, baby,” he whispered against my skin, “I’ve been planning ten of ‘em. One for every milestone. You get through this? That’s a milestone. I’ll be right there. Suit on. Flowers in hand. Ready to marry every version of you.”