38. Kendra
Kendra
Iroll the handful of pills around in my palm and look at them.
A mixture of different shapes, sizes, and colors ready for me to swallow down, day after day, to try and keep my body happy, healthy, balanced.
So many bottles and supplements all organized in a way that makes me feel like I have control over taking them, when in reality these little shapes are in charge and have been for years.
Because if I don’t take them—the consequences would never be worth it.
Thankfully when I was in the hospital they had a list of my medications and were still able to discreetly provide them to me daily.
The last thing that I wanted to do when I gave Eli my long list of things to bring from the cabin was to hand him my itemized bathroom things because I knew it would include all of this.
He would see this part of my life and he would have a million questions, but I have been living with him and Wren for a week and he has yet to bring it up—and honestly it is freaking me out.
For a man that loves a fun bit of town gossip and tea any chance he gets, he gives me a profound amount of privacy and respect.
Stubbornly acknowledging that I need to eat something after taking all this medication, I move quietly through the house to the kitchen, unsure of where Eli might be or if Wren is asleep yet.
She had been fussy today, needing lots of snuggles, and it twisted me up that I wasn’t able to give her any, not that I even know if they’d help.
Being around her all the time and not getting to hold her or participate in any kind of care has been a special kind of torture.
I told myself to keep my distance from her and not get attached, guard my heart.
One look at her sweet face, pouty lips, and a whiff of her baby scent derailed all those plans.
When I held her in my arms the first time, she wiggled directly into my heart—and now my arms are empty and my heart is aching.
Living in the same space as Wren, seeing Eli being a father twenty-four seven?
That is a whole different kind of torture.
He is an absolute natural. The way he moves with Wren is like watching a steady river mold to the banks of a shoreline.
Nothing she does makes him spill over the sides, lose his temper or calm.
He just hums to her, kisses her cheeks, rocks her, soothes her—and she melts into him.
Like the thump of his strong heartbeat, the breath from his lungs, and words rumbling from his chest are the peace and safety she seeks.
Eli is sitting at the kitchen table when I walk in, eating a large sandwich, scrolling his phone—glasses on. I groan and he looks up at me, smirking.
“What do you think we should dress Wren up as for Halloween?” he asks.
“What?” I reply, taken aback by the abrupt question and the use of “we” so casually.
“It’s coming up in a few weeks and I know that she can’t really participate, but I think she should still have a cute little outfit, don’t you?
” He looks at me, zero signs of a joke on his handsome, scruff-covered face.
Since he hasn’t had to shave for work, he has let a bit of a beard grow in, and it’s . . . driving . . . me . . . insane.
I clench my thighs together as I walk to the refrigerator and pull out some fruit salad Eli had made earlier to scoop into a bowl.
“Yeah, it doesn’t matter how old she is, dressing up and taking pictures is still fun.
Kins was a butterfly last year. I don’t think that costume would fit Wren though, she is too much of a peanut. ”
Eli notices me reaching up into the cupboard to get a bowl and says, “Stop!” He gets up from the table in a flash, guides me to a seat, and takes over preparing my snack.
“I can get my own fruit, Hulk,” I grit out.
“Yeah, and you can also strain your ribs or rip out your stitches on your incision when you go on your tiptoes for that bowl. You promised to let me take care of you.” Eli places the bowl down in front of me with a fork and a gentle kiss on top of my head that makes me melt into my seat.
I hum around a bite of a juicy peach and ignore the warring feelings going on inside of my mind and body. I’m supposed to hate Eli. I am supposed to want to be as far away from him at all times, not feel the urge to crawl up onto his lap and purr for him like a fucking cat.
“Kendra? Did you hear me?” Eli asks, smiling at me from his place next to me at the table. He’s showing off something on his phone.
“Sorry, what did you say?”
“We could dress Wren up like a peanut, because that’s the nickname that stuck—see.” He holds out his phone showing me a baby in a peanut costume, and I start laughing.
“Ohmygosh.”
“What? Okay, maybe that’s not the winner. What’s your pick?” He hands over his phone.
“I don’t know why, but this has always been my very favorite baby costume.” I find what I want and give Eli back his phone, trying not to let him see the shimmer of emotion in my eyes that came out of nowhere.
He grins at the bright yellow, fluffy baby chick cracking out of an egg.
“A hatching chicken?” Eli laughs.
“Yes, and I don’t even like chickens.” I glance around the kitchen at the wallpaper boarder, as if I just offended the flock. “But, fuck, that costume on a baby or toddler of any age kills me.” I rub a hand over my heart.
Eli looks at me, tracing the emotions on my face, and his smile lines crinkle around the corners of his own eyes. “She is going to be the cutest little baby chick ever.”
“Really?” I exclaim, shocked. “Just because I like that costume doesn’t mean you have to pick that for her. Eli, there are hundreds, thousands of things you could pick for Wren to be.” My chest feels tight.
Leaning forward, Eli tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and says, “Yeah, but I want us to decide together, and I do like this idea. Plus I already know it’s your favorite.
So when we look at pictures years from now, we can remember deciding on her little chicken costume, and Wren can thank you for not making her be a boring, plain peanut. ”