Twenty
Oliver
Elle lets herself into the apartment, two bags of groceries hanging from her arms, along with the three other canvas bags she carries to work with her every day.
When I first saw her carrying them, I couldn’t imagine what she lugged back and forth in those things.
It’s not like she packs her lunch. I snuck a peek last night when my insomnia was in full force, since I can’t exactly run on the treadmill when Elle is asleep on the couch. And the answer is books.
The girl carries books around Manhattan for no apparent reason.
No wonder she is freakishly strong.
“Hey,” I say, rising from the couch as she closes the door behind her.
She is in casual work mode today, no chic dress with black tights—I’m a big fan of the tights.
She’s wearing a high-neck, white sweater with khakis.
It’s the end of April, I’d be sweating in that outfit if I was her.
She has a shy smile on her face when she walks in the door, so I ask, “What are you so happy about? Did you see the baby corgi again?”
“Ugh, I wish,” she says, dropping the bags on the counter.
“I could have gone shopping,” I offer, leaning against the bar top.
“Well that would defeat the purpose of my cooking dinner, now wouldn’t it?” she says, emptying a pack of chicken thighs on to the counter.
“And why are you suddenly feeling so domestic?”
“I told you, as a thank you for letting me stay here.” She takes a cutting board out of one of my cabinets and starts dicing the chicken. She moves with such ease, it’s like she’s always lived here.
“It’s really not a big deal—”
“Baked chicken and mac and cheese,” she says, interrupting me. She turns the oven on and jumps when the gas turns on. “It’s my brother’s favorite.”
I smile. I love when she talks about her brother. Her face lights up in a way that I don’t see any other time, except maybe when she talks about Lucy.
We’re quiet for a few minutes as she moves around the kitchen, cooking the chicken and chopping some vegetables. As I watch her, curiosity sneaks in my brain. “Can I ask you something?” She hums and nods. “You said you needed a project when we started our New York deal.”
“Yeah,” she replies.
“Why? And don’t say because Lucy moved out.”
Elle shrugs. “It’s what I do. I help people.
Make them feel better. I’m a really good hype girl.
” When I don’t say anything, Elle continues.
“It’s just the way I am. I told you my parents got divorced and my brother needed some extra attention, so I picked up the pieces.
As I got older, I guess it became a habit, taking care of people.
” She smiles as she adds a bag of shredded cheese to a pot.
“When is the next time you’re going to see your brother?” I ask.
“Well, that’s what I want to talk to you about. Next weekend, Lucy is coming for our final dress fittings. And then she’ll be back the following week for her book launch party.”
“Uh huh,” I mumble, setting two dishes out for us on the counter. I keep an eye on Thor, who is inhaling his food like he’ll never get another morsel again.
When I turn to face Elle, she’s dropping a box of pasta into the boiling water. She seems hesitant to speak again, avoiding my gaze and stirring the pasta more than she has to.
“Mikey said it’s going to be at least another week until my apartment is livable,” she finally says. “So I’m going to have to stay at my mom’s and commute next week. If you don’t mind me staying tonight, then I’ll take the train tomorrow after work.”
I look at her for a moment, trying to figure out the logistics of what she just said.
She’s… going to commute from her mom’s in Jersey?
She’d rather do that than stay here with me?
I think back over the past few days, wondering if I’ve been a terribly annoying roommate.
I don’t think I snore that loud, and I know for a fact I am not a messy person…
“Oliver,” Elle says, snapping me out of my thoughts. I meet her gaze, my face still contorted in confusion. “I’m really grateful for you letting me stay here, but I can’t impose—”
“You’re not imposing. I asked you to stay here,” I say, a sharp edge to my voice.
I don’t know why I’m getting so… territorial about her staying here.
It’s just the thought of not seeing her for a whole week.
Should it bother me this much, just the idea of that?
Especially when she clearly doesn’t think the same way, so much so that she’s planning a way to avoid this situation?
“Plus, who would watch Thor next week while I’m at work?” I continue, ignoring the fact that Thor would probably be fine on his own at this point. If I have to leave him and Elle isn’t around, he’s usually okay. I find him upside down in his anti-anxiety bed when I get home.
“Ugh, I didn’t think about that,” Elle says, brushing some stray strands of hair off of her forehead.
She thinks for a moment before speaking again.
“But it’s a little weird, me sleeping on your couch for so long, don’t you think?
” she says, shrugging her shoulders up to her ears as she leans her back against the counter.
“Why would it be weird?” I ask, my brain racing for a way to change the direction of this conversation.
“Well, it’s not like we’re dating—”
“If we were dating, you certainly wouldn’t be sleeping on the couch,” I say impulsively.
I can’t say I haven’t imagined the picture of Elle in my bed, her soft skin wrapped in my sheets.
I gauge her reaction, expecting her to snap back with some witty remark, but instead her eyes just widen at me, and her cheeks flush pink.
“Are you… blushing?”
She turns around immediately, shutting the stove off. “No! No, I just—”
“Was imagining being in my bed,” I say, a newfound confidence in my voice.
A minute ago, I thought Elle was trying to avoid me, but now, after seeing her reaction to that idea, I can’t help but wonder if she’s pictured the same thing I have. If she’s been thinking about the day she found me panicking and we almost kissed, or at least I thought we were going to.
I take a step towards her, boxing her between me and the counter. When she turns around to get an oven mitt, she comes face-to-face with my chest, and a delicious gasp escapes her lips. I clench my fists beside me to prevent myself from reaching out for her.
“What are you—?”
“I want you to stay here, Elle, and I think you do too,” I say in a low voice.
Her eyes slowly make their way up my body until she meets mine. “Why would I want that?” she whispers. I inhale as she speaks, and I’m met with the scent of her shampoo—fruity smelling, mixed with vanilla.
My stomach tightens with anxiety at the thought of what to say next.
I have no right to want Elle. I threw her at Henry because I thought he was better for her.
But she said it herself the other night.
She didn’t feel right with him. And things have felt different since then. It can’t just be on my end.
“Why did you end things with Henry?” I finally say, my gut saying fuck it to my brain for the first time in years.
I think Elle might actually burst from the color that rushes to her face. She literally cannot hide a single thing behind her expressions. Her mind is right there on her face, a book for anyone to read.
“I—I told you, we just didn’t work out,” she stammers. She looks around me for a way to escape the situation, pressing her hands against the counter, dropping them, and repeating the motion. She won’t meet my eyes again.
“Elle—” I say, reaching out and tracing a line down her arm. I see goosebumps rise along her skin. “Look at me.”
She nods her head so she’s looking even more at the floor. “I—I… We can’t…”
Her reluctance feels like a punch to the stomach.
What was I thinking? I’m the reason we can’t do this.
I’m the reason I pushed her away all those months ago.
I’m the guy who told her he doesn’t want a relationship.
The guy who is so unsure of his career, his family, himself…
And here I am acting on impulses, being completely selfish.
I take a step back, a chill falling between us. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” I say, my words stumbling over one another.
“Oliver, nothing has changed for me. I still want—”
“I know,” I say, nodding, but not meeting her eyes.
“I lost myself for a moment I guess.” I swallow hard and finally look at her.
She looks small against the countertop, and I want nothing more than to take her in my arms. I’ve hurt her, which is the last thing I ever wanted to do.
“You’re my friend. I don’t want to lose that. ”
She nods. “I agree.”
“But I still think you should stay here. It’s just another week. Thor would miss you too much.” At the mention of his name, Thor trots into the kitchen and plops into a sit, waiting to see if he’ll get anything. Elle laughs when he tilts his head at her expectantly.
“I would miss him too,” she says. When I look back up at her, she’s smiling.