Present
MY PHONE RAN out of battery a couple of minutes after I made it through the door last night, and I was actually grateful for the quiet. I’d slept on the couch the realtor insisted I leave in the living room, which was the only room in the house that was somewhat decorated. When I woke up this morning, I went upstairs and sat in the middle of my unfurnished bedroom, thinking about the last time I’d done that. It was when Wyatt had insisted on getting a new bed since I was moving in. He’d bought the house with an ex-girlfriend, way before we met. It didn’t bother me until I realized I would sleep in the bed they’d bought together. That was when he threw out the old mattress and told me to go to West Elm to pick out a new bed, which I did. The room is so dull now though—so vacant without the bed sitting in the middle. The bed, I gave to his mother. I couldn’t bear to sleep in it anymore. I slept in it for an entire year after he died, and I was done with it. Moving on meant giving up even the smallest sense of comfort I’d shared with him.
Yet here I was, back where I started. It’s not that I don’t have an identity without Wyatt or our life together, but I liked the simple act of coming home and knowing what I would find here. For some reason, knowing that this place would no longer be mine soon made me feel a little lost. Where do I go now? Sure, I would buy a new place. Sure, I would decorate it to my liking, but would it feel like home to me? I gather myself up and walk downstairs again, peeking into all of the rooms as I go. And when I open the front door to leave, I drop everything in my hands, because Oliver is sitting outside on the steps with his back facing me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
He sighs but doesn’t turn to face me. His hand runs through his hair. It’s getting long again. I’m surprised he doesn’t have it up in a small bun already.
“I had this whole speech planned out, and now that you finally came out, I can’t even think,” he says.
“How long have you been out here?” I ask, sitting beside him on the step.
He shrugs, still not looking at me. “It doesn’t matter.”
“What was this speech you had planned?”
He dips his head between his legs, resting it in his hands. “That’s the problem, Elle. Everything I had planned to say makes me sound like a complete asshole when I repeat it in my head. All my life I’ve been all about preparing for things and planning things out, and when it comes to you . . . I’m completely lost when it comes to you,” he says, tilting his face to look at me.
“I’m not that confusing. I’m simple,” I say quietly, tucking my hands behind my knees to resist the urge to touch his hair . . . the scruff on his face . . . his full lips.
“Your simplicity is maddening. Everything about you drives me crazy. The way you smile at me, the way you look at me, the way you talk to those kids at the hospital as if they’re adults—as if they matter . . . Not a lot of people do that, you know. Even me sometimes. When I’m working insane hours, I go into their rooms and only address their parents. I saw you teaching them to paint—teaching them to do something with their hands, with their time—and the way you looked at them . . .” he pauses, sighs, and looks at me with those evergreen eyes of his shining like I’m his world. “You know what it made me think? I want to have kids with that girl, because every child deserves to be looked at that way. Everybody deserves to feel that important.”
My heart squeezes at his admission. I open my mouth to speak, but words fail me, so instead, I scoot closer and lean my head on his shoulder. He kisses the top of my head and wraps his arm around me.
“Do you think I’m crazy?” he asks after a beat.
“Absolutely,” I say, smiling, as I pull back to look at him. “Your complications are completely maddening. Everything about you drives me crazy.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “It sounded better in my head.”
I lean into him and brush my nose against his scruffy, cold cheek. “I thought it sounded pretty good.”
“You’re not mad that I came here?” he asks, running his hand down my side.
“How did you even find me?”
“I called Mia. I mean . . . after a while, I had a feeling you weren’t coming back to Vic’s house, and then I called Mia. When she said you weren’t there, I asked her for this address.”
“That girl . . .”
“I owe her a week’s worth of coffee.”
I laugh. “You’re going to be able to afford her addiction on your residency paycheck?”
He smiles. “Maybe she won’t notice if I brew it myself.”
“Doubtful,” I say. We both laugh and look at each other again, my breath catching in my throat at the emotion in his eyes. He brushes his hand over my cheek softly.
“One date, beautiful Elle,” he says in a whisper that makes my stomach coil. I take a deep breath, and I let go of my reservations along with my exhale. I want this. I believe in this.
“One date,” I agree, smiling at his wide grin.
I look over my shoulder, at the house I shared with the man I loved, and I sigh. I don’t feel as bad as I thought I would, agreeing to this date. Maybe for once the stars will align for us.