{"id":3991,"date":"2018-04-02T18:03:33","date_gmt":"2018-04-02T18:03:33","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/?p=3991"},"modified":"2018-04-02T18:03:33","modified_gmt":"2018-04-02T18:03:33","slug":"love-and-other-words-chapter-3","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/2018\/04\/love-and-other-words-chapter-3\/","title":{"rendered":"Love and Other Words – Chapter 3"},"content":{"rendered":"
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We’re back and just over a week to go! Love and Other Words hits shelves and ereaders everywhere on April 10th, including a signed edition available only at your local Target.\u00a0 As always, happy reading!<\/p>\n

Now <\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Tuesday, October 3<\/p>\n

Elliot still hasn\u2019t seen me.<\/p>\n

He waits near the espresso bar for his drink with his head ducked as he looks down. In a sea of people connecting to the world via the isolation of their smartphones, Elliot is reading a book.<\/p>\n

Does he even have a phone? For anyone else, it would be an absurd question. Not for him. Eleven years ago he did, but it was a hand-me-down from his father and the kind of flipphone that required him to hit the 5 key three times if he wanted to type an L. He rarely used it as anything other than a paperweight.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen was the last time you saw him?\u201d Sabrina asks.<\/p>\n

I blink over to her, brows drawn. I know she knows the answer to this question, at least generally. But my expression relaxes when I understand there\u2019s nothing else she can do right now but make conversation; I\u2019ve turned into a mute maniac.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy senior year in high school. New Year\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n

She gives a full, bared-teeth wince. \u201cRight.\u201d<\/p>\n

Some instinct kicks in, some self-preservationist energy propelling me up and out of my chair.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d I say, looking down at Sabrina and Viv. \u201cI\u2019m going to head out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course. Yeah. Totally.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll call this weekend? Maybe we can do Golden Gate Park.\u201d<\/p>\n

She\u2019s still nodding as if my robotic suggestion is even a remote possibility. We both know I haven\u2019t had a weekend off since before I started my residency in July.<\/p>\n

Trying to move as inconspicuously as possible, I pull my bag over my shoulder and bend to kiss Sabrina\u2019s cheek.<\/p>\n

\u201cI love you,\u201d I say, standing, and wishing I could take her with me. She smells like baby, too.<\/p>\n

Sabrina nods, returning the sentiment, and then, while I gaze at Viv and her chubby little fist, she glances back over her shoulder and freezes.<\/p>\n

From her posture, I know Elliot has seen me.<\/p>\n

\u201cUm\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d she says, turning back and lifting her chin as if I should probably take a look. \u201cHe\u2019s coming.\u201d<\/p>\n

I dig into my bag, working to appear extremely busy and distracted. \u201cI\u2019m gonna jet,\u201d I mumble.<\/p>\n

\u201cMace?\u201d<\/p>\n

I freeze, one hand on the strap of my bag, my eyes on the floor. A nostalgic pang resonates through me as soon as I hear his voice. It had been high and squeaky until it broke. He got endless shit about how nasal and whiny he was, and then, one day, the universe had the last laugh, giving Elliot a voice like warm, rich honey.<\/p>\n

He says my name again\u2014no nickname, this time, but quieter: \u201cMacy Lea?\u201d<\/p>\n

I look up, and\u2014in an impulse I\u2019m sure I will be laughing about until I die\u2014I lift my hand and wave limply, offering a bright \u201cElliot! Hey!\u201d<\/p>\n

As if we\u2019re casual acquaintances from freshman orientation.<\/p>\n

You know, as if we met once on the train from Santa Barbara.<\/p>\n

Just as he pushes his thick hair out of his eyes in a gesture of disbelief I\u2019ve seen him make a million times, I turn and press through the crowd and out onto the sidewalk. I\u2019m jogging in the wrong direction before catching my mistake halfway down the block and whipping around. Two long strides back the other way, with my head down, heart hammering, and I slam right into a broad chest.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh! I\u2019m sorry!\u201d I blurt before I look up and realize what I\u2019ve done.<\/p>\n

Elliot\u2019s hands come around my upper arms, holding me steady only a few inches away from him. I know he\u2019s looking at my face, waiting for me to meet his gaze, but my eyes are stuck on the sight of his Adam\u2019s apple, and my thoughts are stuck remembering how I used to stare at his neck, covertly, on and off for hours while we were reading together in the closet.<\/p>\n

\u201cMacy. Seriously?\u201d he says quietly, meaning a thousand things.<\/p>\n

Seriously, is it you? <\/em><\/p>\n

Seriously, why did you just run off? <\/em><\/p>\n

Seriously, where have you been for the past decade? <\/em><\/p>\n

Part of me wishes I could be the kind of person to just push past and run away and pretend this never happened. I could get back on BART, hop on the Muni to the hospital, and delve into a busy workday managing emotions that, honestly, are much bigger and more deserving than these.<\/p>\n

But another part of me has been expecting this exact moment for the past eleven years. Relief and anguish pulse heavily in my blood. I\u2019ve wanted to see him every day. But also, I never wanted to see him again.<\/p>\n

\u201cHi.\u201d I finally look up at him. I\u2019m trying to figure out what to say here; my head is full of senseless words. It\u2019s a storm of black and white.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. ?\u201d he starts breathlessly. He still hasn\u2019t let go of me. \u201cDid you move back here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSan Francisco.\u201d<\/p>\n

I watch as he takes in my scrubs, my ugly sneakers. \u201cPhysician?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah. Resident.\u201d<\/p>\n

I am a robot. His dark brows lift.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo what are you doing here today?\u201d<\/p>\n

God, what a weird place to begin. But when there\u2019s a mountain ahead of you, I guess you start with a single step to the straightest point ahead. \u201cI was meeting Sabrina for coffee.\u201d<\/p>\n

He scrunches his nose in a painfully familiar expression of incomprehension.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy college roommate,\u201d I clarify. \u201cShe lives in Berkeley.\u201d<\/p>\n

Elliot deflates a tiny bit, reminding me that he doesn\u2019t know Sabrina. It used to bother us when we would have a month in between updates. Now there are years and entire lives unknown to each other.<\/p>\n

\u201cI called you,\u201d he says. \u201cLike a million times. And then that number changed.\u201d<\/p>\n

He runs his hand through his hair and shrugs helplessly. And I get it. This whole fucking moment is so surreal. Even now it\u2019s incomprehensible that we let this distance happen. That I let this happen.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know. I, um, got a new phone,\u201d I say lamely.<\/p>\n

He laughs, but it isn\u2019t a particularly happy sound. \u201cYeah, I figured.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cElliot,\u201d I say, pushing past the clog in my throat at the feel of his name there, \u201cI\u2019m sorry. I really have to run. I need to be at work soon.\u201d<\/p>\n

He bends so that he\u2019s level with my face. \u201cAre you kidding?\u201d His eyes go wide. \u201cI can\u2019t just run into you at Saul\u2019s and be like, \u2018Hey, Macy, what\u2019s up,\u2019 and then you go to work, and I go to work, and we don\u2019t talk for another ten fucking years.\u201d<\/p>\n

And there it is. Elliot was never able to play the surface game.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not prepared for this,\u201d I admit quietly.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you have to prepare<\/em> for me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf there\u2019s anyone I have to prepare for, it\u2019s you.\u201d<\/p>\n

This hits him where I meant it to\u2014straight in the bull\u2019s-eye of some vulnerable nucleus\u2014but as soon as he winces I regret it.<\/p>\n

Goddammit.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust give me a minute,\u201d he urges, pulling me to the edge of the sidewalk so we aren\u2019t obstructing the steady stream of commuters. \u201cHow are you? How long have you been back? How is Duncan?\u201d<\/p>\n

All around us, the world seems to go still.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m good,\u201d I say mechanically. \u201cI moved back in May.\u201d I am obliterated by his third question, and my answer comes out trembling: \u201cAnd, um\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. Dad died.\u201d<\/p>\n

Elliot lurches slightly backward. \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d I say, voice garbled. I am struck dumb by this, struggling to rewrite history, to rewire a thousand synapses in my brain.<\/p>\n

Somehow, I\u2019m managing to have this conversation without completely losing my shit, but if I stand here for two more minutes, all bets are off. With Elliot right here asking about Dad, and going on two hours of sleep and the prospect of an eighteen-hour day ahead of me\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. I need to get out of here before I melt down.<\/p>\n

But when I look up at him, I see Elliot\u2019s face is a mirror to what\u2019s happening in my chest. He looks devastated. He\u2019s the only one who would look that way after hearing that Dad died, because he\u2019s the only one who would have understood what it did to me.<\/p>\n

\u201cDuncan died?<\/em>\u201d His voice comes out thick with emotion. \u201cMacy, why didn\u2019t you tell me?\u201d<\/p>\n

Holy shit, that<\/em> is an enormous question.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d I start, and shake my head. \u201cWe weren\u2019t in touch when it happened.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nausea rolls up from my stomach to my throat. What a cop-out. What an unbelievable evasion.<\/p>\n

He shakes his head. \u201cI didn\u2019t know. I\u2019m so sorry, Mace.\u201d<\/p>\n

I give myself three more seconds to look at him, and it\u2019s like another punch to the gut. He\u2019s my person. He\u2019s always been my person. My best friend, my confidant, probably the love of my life. And I\u2019ve spent the last eleven years being angry and self-righteous. But at the end of the day, he tore a hole in us, and fate ripped it wide open.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to go,\u201d I say in an abrupt burst of awkward. \u201cOkay?\u201d<\/p>\n

Before he can answer, I split, booking it down the street toward the BART station. The entire time I\u2019m speed walking, and for the full rumbling trip back under the bay, I feel like he\u2019s right there, behind me or in a seat in the next car down.<\/p>\n

MORE SOON!<\/strong><\/p>\n

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