Chương 7
"Hello."
"Hi."
Rachel sounded cautious.
That annoyed Eleanor.
"Why are you saying hi like I called you from a hospital bed?"
"Because you scared me."
"I helped someone."
"I know."
"Then why are you scared?"
There was a pause.
Because Rachel was good at pausing.
She had learned it from Eleanor.
"Because you always say you are fine."
Eleanor leaned back in her chair.
"I am fine."
"Mom."
"What?"
"That is exactly what I mean."
The answer irritated her because it was unfair.
And because it was true.
"I do not understand why everyone thinks I am some fragile thing."
"I don't."
"Then what?"
"I think you are someone who has been pretending she does not need anyone for so long that you forgot the difference between independence and isolation."
Eleanor looked toward the window.
The city lights reflected against the glass.
She wanted to argue.
She had several arguments prepared.
She could explain her routines.
Her abilities.
Her reasons.
She could list every task she still completed without assistance.
But none of those things answered the actual question.
"Did you watch the video?" Eleanor asked.
Rachel became quiet.
"Yes."
"And?"
"I saw my mother."
The simplicity of the answer unsettled her.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I saw you."
Eleanor closed her eyes.
"You make it sound like I disappeared."
Rachel's voice softened.
"Sometimes I think you did."
That hurt.
Not because it was cruel.
Because it came from love.
Cruel words were easy to reject.
Honest ones were harder.
"I am still here," Eleanor said.
"I know."
"Then stop worrying."
"I cannot promise that."
Eleanor almost smiled.
That sounded exactly like Rachel.
Not dramatic.
Not sentimental.
Just stubborn.
Like her.
"I am going to bed," Eleanor said.
"Okay."
Another pause.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"I am proud of you."
Eleanor looked down at the table.
She wanted to say thank you.
She wanted to say she was proud of Rachel too.
Instead, she said the only thing she could manage.
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
After the call ended, Eleanor remained seated.
She did not cry.
She had never been someone who cried easily.
Thomas used to tease her about it.
"You could watch the saddest movie ever made and complain about the acting before you shed a tear."
She had told him he was exaggerating.
He was not.
But grief was not always tears.
Sometimes grief was keeping an extra plate in the cabinet because throwing it away felt impossible.
Sometimes it was hearing a joke and turning to tell someone who was no longer there.
Sometimes it was standing in a quiet apartment and realizing you had become a person who needed strangers to remind you that you mattered.
The next morning, Eleanor woke up earlier than usual.
She made tea.
She opened the newspaper.
She ignored her phone.
For twenty minutes, she pretended life had returned to normal.
Then the doorbell rang.
She immediately assumed it was a delivery mistake.
Nobody visited without warning anymore.
When she opened the door, Daniel stood outside.
He looked uncomfortable.
Again.
It seemed to be his natural state.
"Eleanor."
She looked at him.
"What are you doing here?"
He held up a small paper bag.
"I brought something."
"I did not order anything."
"I know."
"Then why are you standing outside my door?"
Daniel glanced down.
"I brought you a tea."
Eleanor stared at him.
The silence lasted long enough that Daniel started looking worried.
"I know that sounds strange."
"It does."
"I just thought..."
He stopped.
Eleanor waited.
She had learned that people often revealed more when they had room to struggle through their own words.
"I thought you helped Chloe, and everyone was talking about you, and I felt weird because I was part of the reason people were talking."
Eleanor looked at the bag.
"Because of the video."
Daniel nodded.
"I am sorry."
There it was.
The thing he had been carrying.
Not the video.
The guilt.
Eleanor stepped aside.
"Come in."
Daniel blinked.
"Really?"
"No."
He looked confused.
She added, "I was being polite."
A small laugh escaped him.
Then she opened the door wider.
"Come in before the tea gets cold."
The apartment was quiet.
Daniel noticed immediately.
Most young people did.
They noticed silence because their lives were usually filled with noise.
"Nice place," he said.
"It is old."
"I did not say it was new."
"Most people mean that when they say nice."
Daniel nodded.
"Fair."
He sat carefully at the kitchen table.
Eleanor poured the tea into a cup.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Two people from completely different parts of life sitting across from each other because a coffee shop floor had brought them together.
Finally Daniel said, "I keep thinking about what would have happened if nobody helped."
Eleanor placed the kettle down.
"Someone would have."
"But what if they didn't?"
"Then someone would have eventually."
Daniel looked at her.
"You really believe that?"
Eleanor considered the question.
"No."
The honesty surprised him.
She sat down.
"I believe people are capable of good things."
She looked toward the window.
"I also believe they are capable of standing there doing nothing while someone needs them."
Daniel nodded slowly.
"That is a little depressing."
"It is also realistic."
He smiled.
"I think that is your version of optimism."
Eleanor looked at him.
"Do not tell anyone."
"I won't."
"Good."
She picked up her tea.
"People already think I am becoming approachable."
Daniel laughed.
And for the first time in a very long time, Eleanor did not mind that someone was in her home making noise.
Daniel stayed for almost an hour.
Not because Eleanor invited him to.
Not because either of them planned for it.
It simply happened.
Two cups of tea became a conversation.
A conversation became something that looked dangerously close to comfort.
Eleanor noticed it and almost interrupted it.
She had spent years being careful about comfort.
Comfort made people settle.
May you like
Comfort made people stop preparing for disappointment.
At least that was what she told herself.
