I toss my hand in the air, hailing a cab to take to James’ so I can tell Alice about my night and as I do, I shake my head at my own stupidity. It’s been a while since I’ve thought of Elliot, but in that second when I thought I heard someone call my name, his face was the first thing that I saw.
The cab comes to a screeching halt at the curb and I reach for the door, opening it and just as I’m about to climb in, I feel a hand clutch my elbow.
I turn and find myself staring into the eyes of someone I never thought I’d see again.
“Nora,” he says and it’s like my name was meant to be said by him and only him. The way it falls from his lips, so simple and pure.
I take note of his hand still wrapped tightly around my arm and the warmth it brings spreads throughout my body.
The world suddenly comes to a standstill. The streets of New York fall silent around me as I stare at him without fully knowing what exactly is happening.
There was a time in my life, many actually, where I thought I would die if I didn’t find him, and now that he’s standing in front of me, I think I might crumble to pieces.
“Elliot,” I whisper, but the sudden rush of city noise that floods my ears swallows my words. They’re lost so I say it again, testing his name and making sure what I’m seeing is real. “Elliot,” I repeat, the words strangled on a ragged breath.
The cab driver blasts his horn, startling me, and Elliot’s hand drops from where it had been holding onto my arm. The loss of his touch sends a chill throughout my body as a deep seeded longing to have him hold me in his arms takes over.
“Hey, lady,” the cab driver screams and I instinctively turn to look at him, but panic that in that second I’ll look back and Elliot will disappear.
I slam the cab door closed and step away from the curb, my eyes trained on Elliot, still trying to grasp if what I’m seeing is really happening.
We haven’t spoken and I’m not certain what I should even say. I’ve longed for this moment for thirteen years, but never fully expected it to ever come to be. I have nothing but jumbled thoughts of excitement and desire, mixed with anger and fear, but most of all an overwhelming sense of nervousness.
My hands are shaking and my mouth is completely dry. I’m not certain I could speak right now if I had to. Yet I know I have to say something, someone has to.
The silence between us lingers, Elliot staring at me as he runs his hand through his hair and glances down at my trembling hands.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to find you,” he eventually says and I burst into tears.
I expect him to be alarmed by my reaction but he isn’t. He’s far more composed, his eyes sympathetic and he reaches out to me, but pulls his hand back as if he’s questioning whether he should touch me or not. Part of me wants to scream out for him to take me in his arms, but another part is conflicted. This isn’t my life and Elliot isn’t mine. I’m not his.
“Is there some place we can go and talk?” he asks, his voice steady and controlled.
I look around at all the people moving on the sidewalk unaware of what is happening here. But to me, to Elliot, this is a defining moment. It could change our lives just like our meeting did thirteen years ago.
“My apartment is just up the street,” I say, the words out of my mouth before I can stop them. Should I be inviting him to my home? The sensible adult in me is screaming no. But the wild and reckless child in me remembers what it felt like to throw it all away and run off with him. The lust and the rebellion and the need all pooling and making me want to be irresponsible. Which all led to feelings I’ve been trying to recreate for over a decade.
“Okay,” he says and I begin walking. Within seconds he falls in line next to me, his hand slipping into mine like it belongs there. He strokes the top of my hand with his thumb and with each pass of his finger, I begin to relax. There’s nothing awkward or uncomfortable about it. It’s like he knows it’s a source of comfort for me, as is the silence between us.
I can’t believe how easily we’ve fallen back into the pattern of when we first met. The companionable silence, the handholding, the feeling of butterflies filling my stomach and floating into my chest. It’s all very surreal.
I’m still sniffling when we approach my building and neither of us has said a word. Elliot is okay with my tears, never questioning me or making me feel uncomfortable.
“Are you sure it’s okay if I come up?” he asks as I stop out front of the building. When I take in his face it nearly breaks my heart. Sadness fills his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes, while his once vibrant smile is now turned down as if he’d be crushed if I said it wasn’t okay. And quite honestly it would crush me to watch him walk away, to turn him away after all this time.
“Yeah, it’s okay,” I answer back, but again my voice is hushed, a nervous quality to it. I feel like I should be more welcoming, but I’m still struggling to figure out exactly what is happening here.
By the time we reach my apartment, the silence has overcome us once again. The elevator ride is slow and silent and as we enter, we say nothing, but Elliot’s hand brushes the small of my back and I swear my legs feel like they might give out.
I suck in a hard breath as it takes everything in me not to throw myself in his arms or scream at him or start sobbing again. I’m a fucked up mess right now.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask without turning around, heading straight into the kitchen.
“Sure,” he says and his voice melts through me. Everything he does brings back a memory, a feeling, the desire to be near him, but at the same time, I’m completely terrified.
“Beer?” I respond shakily, my voice failing me and giving away exactly how I’m feeling.
“Yeah, that would be great,” he answers back and I catch the nervousness in his voice this time. It hangs on his words, as if he’s struggling as much as I am.
I linger longer in the kitchen than necessary, bending down and letting the cool air from the refrigerator clear my head. Despite the shock of the air, my head remains clouded, if anything I’m worse than I was before. Having him in my house, knowing he’s standing in the other room, has my entire body fighting to gain control. Each part of me is at war with another. My heart is yelling at me to run to him, throw myself in his arms, but my head is telling me to be sensible.
What if he’s married? Has a girlfriend?
He was never mine and he still isn’t and to think that we can just fall into a relationship, be in love, live happily ever after is unreasonable, but there’s a reason he found me. There’s a reason he’s stayed with me for thirteen years. And there’s a reason things happened the way they did so long ago.
When I return to the living room, Elliot is standing holding my book with a small smile on his face.
“That’s my book,” I respond, but it comes out harshly as if I don’t want him to have it and his smile falls.
“I was hoping you could sign it,” he says and again there’s a nervous quality to his tone.
“You came here for me to sign your book?” I question and my voice fails to gain control. I’m suddenly angry, upset for believing he would be here only to find me. My mind forces me to believe there are other reasons for his sudden arrival.