Eleanor > Recent Status Updates

He steers me toward the passenger side of his car, opens the door, and guides me in so I don't smack my head against the top. He rests his forearms against the frame, smiling down at me while I situate myself. "I got everything I wanted, Delilah."
"A promotion? A newfound confidence in the European model?"
"No, baby." His blue eyes shine bright in the afternoon sun. "You."

She laughs, then peppers kisses all over my face. My cheeks, my chin, the tip of my nose and the bridge of my glasses.
"And now?" she asks, holding on to me tight.
"Back to you," I reply, curling my arms around her. I pull her closer until I can feel her heart tucked to mine. "Always right back to you."

"You said you don't believe in fate."
"But I believe in you," I rasp.
"God, Delilah. Do I believe in you."

“It's almost like it's almost like the universe kept bringing me back to you. Or, I don't know, throwing you directly in my path. And now," I say with a grin, "back to you. Every mishap, every accident, every-" I laugh. "Every hallway collision and spilled coffee. It's always been me coming right back to you. You're the end of every sentence, Delilah. I've just been too stubborn to see it."

"You got it bad.”
"The actual worst."
Except it's not the worst at all. It's shared looks and stolen blankets and a weather map open on her computer. It's coffee-stained Post-it notes and candy in my coat pockets. A laugh pressed against my skin and fingertips tracing along my back.
I always liked the things I could predict best, but it took the one thing I never saw coming to show me how much I was missing.

A smile quirks the corners of her mouth. "Demand more." she whispers.
"Yeah, baby." I squeeze the back of her neck. "Demand more."

"I don't want to mess it up."
He smiles against my mouth. "You hit me with your car once. I don't think you can mess it up."
I rear back and stare at him. "Did I?"
He nods, his smile growing wider. "You nudged me in the parking lot." He pecks a kiss on the bridge of my nose. "It's only up from here."

“You think candy is a food group and you smile even when you don't mean it and - Jesus, Delilah. You drive me insane. You might be too much, baby, but maybe sometimes I'm not enough. Maybe when we're together, we fill each other up the way we the way we need." His voice cracks and he lifts his hand to my face, the pads of his fingers brushing gently over my cheekbone.
"Be too much with me," he whispers.

"I'm a mess," I whisper.
"Then be a mess with me."
"I'm too much."
He laughs. "Yeah, baby. You're too much. You and your hot pink snow pants. Your doughnut snow sled. Your sunshine smile and your ridiculous puns. You laugh too loud at jokes and you talk to every stranger you meet.”

“Why can you help me with my problems, but I can't help you with yours? What happened to us taking care of each other?" He moves closer. "What about ... getting to be loved by the people who choose us?"
I grip his wrist. "Jackson."
"I'm not done with you," he whispers. "Please don't be done with me."

He unfolds the paper he pulled from his wallet, running his thumb along the heavy crease in the middle. It's stained with coffee and has clearly been folded and refolded a thousand times.
Jackson extends it to me. "We have a signed agreement, Delilah Stewart."

"You said friends, and I said okay, because I'm going to take you however I can get you. If you wanted to call it casual, I'd take that too. Because I'd still get a corner of you to call mine. But I won't have you call it nothing. I won't have you taking time and space away trom me. Not when I know how good it is."

"I've always been like this. Maybe I should take some time, you know? Some space to figure things out."
Jackson goes still. "Space from what?"
I lift my hands and drop them. "I don't know. Everything. Is it possible to have a quarter-life crisis?"
He ignores the question. "Am I included in everything, Delilah?" He swallows, the line of his throat working. "Will you be taking time and space from me?"

My toes are being pinched by my shoes, my eyes feel gritty and dry from all my almost-crying, and my heart-
My heart squeezes when Jackson slips both of his arms around my waist and curls his body over mine, gathering me close, burying his face in my neck with a bone-deep sigh.
"Thank you," he breathes.

I grip her arm gently, forcing her to stop. "Delilah." She turns without a word and presses her face in the middle of my chest. I gently cup the back of her head, my fingers threading through her hair.
"Baby," I whisper. "What's going on?"

"Still with me?" Jackson asks. The girls chatter happily in the background and I imagine the three of them tucked together.
I smile. "I'm still with you."

"Will you be patient with him?" Penelope asks.
"Yeah. I will."
"And you'll help us take care of him?" Adeline adds. "He's not great at accepting help, so you have to be sneaky about it."
"Yeah, I've noticed that." I laugh. "But, yeah. Yes. I'd love to help take care of him."

"I want to be your best friend too," I whisper, right above her heart. "I want to keep you safe. I want to hold you steady. I want to-" I drag my mouth back and forth against her skin and laugh.
"Fuck," I whisper. "I want to go sledding with you in a stupid doughnut. I want to be right here with you"

"Will you let me take care of you, Delilah?"

"From that very first kiss," I tell her, "I knew I wanted more from you. I think I tried to convince myself I didn't, but I've always been a bad liar."

"Trust me," I whisper.
"I do." She laughs. A short puff of warm air against the hollow of my throat. "That's the problem. I let you in so fast, Jackson."

"No, Delilah," I say softly. "You're taking it too easy on me. Do you want to be friends, or do you want to be something else?"
Her eyes are wide as she gazes up at me. Almost afraid. "I want to be your best friend," she whispers.

"Demand more from me," I rasp. "I promise I'll give it to you."

"Come on." she says, angling her head toward the hallway, "Let's talk in my office."
We follow dutifully behind her. Jackson's hand at the small of my back the entire time.

"We could make a run for it," he says, wistful. "Get in my car. Drive to the border. Never come back." He pauses. "Make out?"
"A beautiful dream." I pat his chest, already turning and tiptoeing my way across the pockets of ice. "You seem to have a Thelma and Louise fixation."
Jackson grips my elbow and gently helps me over the worst of it.

Blue eyes find mine. "We aren't working together anymore," he says.
"No. We are not."
I've felt his absence like a shadow. I keep almost turning during my weather reports, looking for someone who isn't there.

"Oh?"
"Bad influence," he says. "I can tell you about it at lunch." He hooks one finger in the opening of my jacket, using it to pull me closer. I didn't bother zipping it up all the way before I left the station, and his knuckle brushes against the very practical and professional silk blouse I have on underneath.

"I'm not even sure what we're arguing about anymore."
"Oh. Is this arguing?" He pushes off the back of his car and saunters closer. He stops right in front of me, so close I need to tip my head back to watch his face. He has a subdued smile, his eyes tell the truth.
He's happy to see me. "Hello, Delilah."
I'm happy to see him too. "Hi, Jackson."

I peel the note off my window.
Lunch? it says, in Jackson's neat, careful handwriting.
I smile. "Is that a threat or an invitation?"
Jackson hums from behind me, leaning up against the bumper of his Honda with his arms crossed over his chest. "Why is it always one or the other with you?"

"Will we still be friends? Now that we're back home?"
"Yeah baby. We'll still be friends."
My heart eases. "Good, cause I think I'd miss you if we went back to glaring at each other across a parking lot."
He sighs, then presses a kiss to the back of my head. "Sleep, Delilah."

Jackson hushes me, his hands pushing through my hair.
"You're all right," he says, voice low, and I nod because yes, I am.
With him here, everything feels manageable.

He stays in front of me, his body between my knees, his hands cradling my face in the dark. I close my eyes and lean into his touch as he traces his thumbs under my eyes. The same way I did to him at the lodge.
His thumb catches a tear, and a sigh rattles out of him.
"Baby," he whispers, sounding so impossibly sad. "Don't cry."