Chapter 15
Ellie . . .
Nolan
After the holidays, Elise and I spent as much time together as possible. We told everyone, including ourselves, that what we had was casual. The word became less convincing every week.
We went to small music venues with Maya and Leo, studied in the dorms, and traded meals when one of us was too tired to cook. On Sundays, Elise practiced cello while I developed photographs. We worked in silence, interrupting each other only to share a song or complain about the weather.
She avoided talking about my trip to South America. I avoided asking what would happen when I left. We were both trying to protect the present from the future.
On the first warm day of April, Elise dragged the four of us to the Old Hat at ten in the morning.
“Whiskey,” she told the bartender.
May stared at her. “It’s breakfast.”
“Exactly. We have all day.”
We drank, laughed, and wandered through the city. Elise was determined to make the day memorable, as if a good afternoon could hold back June.
At the park, she challenged us to a game of questions. Each person had to answer honestly or buy the next round.
“What are you afraid of?” May asked me.
“Losing people.”
“That’s too general.”
“Losing Elise.”
The answer silenced the group. Elise looked at me, and the expression in her eyes made the confession worthwhile.
May cleared her throat. “Your turn, Elise.”
“I’m afraid of becoming my mother.”
“You’re nothing like her,” Maya said.
“You don’t know that.”
“You’re stubborn, ambitious, and impossible,” I said. “But you’re not cruel.”
She smiled. “That was almost sweet.”
“I’m trying.”
Later, we went to a bar near the river. Leo and May started arguing about whether marriage was romantic or merely expensive. Elise leaned close to me.
“They’re going to get married,” she whispered.
“Definitely.”
“Should we make a bet?”
“On what?”
“Who gets married first.”
May overheard. “You’re challenging us?”
“I’m observing.”
May pointed at me. “You think you and Elise could get married before Leo and me?”
“I think we could do anything before you two make a decision.”
Leo looked alarmed. “Why am I involved?”
“Because you’re going to marry me,” May said.
“I didn’t know that.”
“You do now.”
Everyone laughed. I shook May’s hand.
“Loser buys the married couple dinner,” she said.
“Deal.”
Elise watched us, amused but thoughtful.
“Would you ever get married?” I asked her later.
“You’re asking a dangerous question.”
“I’m collecting information.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never pictured it.”
“Why not?”
“Because every marriage I grew up around looked like a bargain someone regretted.”
“That’s not every marriage.”
“It’s the only kind I’ve seen.”
I wanted to tell her that marriage could be a choice instead of a trap. I wanted to promise that I would never make her feel owned. But we were not ready for promises that large.
So I said, “You don’t have to picture it today.”
“Good.”
“You can picture tomorrow.”
She looked at me. “Tomorrow is easier.”
In May, graduation approached. I received confirmation about my travel assignment, and the date of my departure became real. Elise was accepted to graduate school. We celebrated with cheap champagne in my room, then sat on the floor among our half-packed boxes.
“You’re going to South America,” she said.
“For the summer.”
“Maybe longer.”
“I’ll come back.”
“You don’t know where the work will take you.”
“I know where I want to return.”
She leaned against the bed. “I don’t want to be the person waiting for a man who may or may not call.”
“Then don’t wait.”
Her head snapped up.
“I mean it,” I said. “Go to graduate school. Play music. Build your life. I want to be in it, but I don’t want you to put it on hold for me.”
“What if I don’t know how to do both?”
“We learn.”
She laughed weakly. “You make everything sound possible.”
“That’s because I’m not the one who has to do the hard part.”
“You’re leaving.”
“Yes.”
“That is the hard part.”
I moved beside her and took her hand. “Tell me what you need.”
“Honesty.”
“You’ll have it.”
“Even when it hurts?”
“Especially then.”
She rested her forehead against mine. We did not call what we were doing a goodbye. We were still together, but the shape of our relationship had to survive distance before we could name it.
On the evening before graduation, we walked through Washington Square Park. Elise wore my old jacket. I carried my camera. Neither of us spoke much.
At the fountain, she stopped. “Ellie,” I said.
She looked up.
“I need you to know something.”
“What?”
“I have never been casual about you.”
Her eyes filled, but she smiled. “You picked a terrible time to become honest.”
“I’m improving.”
She took my camera and photographed me instead. “Now we’re even.”
I pulled her close. “You’re my favorite person.”
“That’s not the same as a plan.”
“No. It’s the reason I’m going to make one.”
We kissed beneath the trees while the city moved around us. The future was coming, and neither of us could stop it.
But when Elise whispered my name, I understood that leaving did not erase what we had built. It only asked us whether it was strong enough to travel.
Back at Senior House, we packed until midnight. Elise labeled my camera cases because she said I would forget what belonged where. I labeled one of her music folders “Do Not Lose This,” and she threatened to throw it out.
“You’re very helpful,” she said.
“I’m preparing you for life without me.”
“You’re not allowed to say that.”
“Why?”
“Because it sounds permanent.”
I sat on the edge of her bed. “I’m coming back.”
“People come back different.”
“So do you.”
She stared at me. “That’s not comforting.”
“It’s the truth. We’re both going to change. We can either be afraid of that or get to know each other again.”
“You make it sound like we’re already old.”
“We’re old enough to have responsibilities.”
“I reject that.”
We laughed, and the tension loosened.
Before sleep, Elise placed a photograph in my passport. It showed us sitting beneath the park tree, her head on my shoulder and my hand resting over hers.
“Take it with you,” she said.
“I will.”
“Don’t look at it every day.”
“Why not?”
“You’ll miss me.”
“I already do.”
She looked away. “Call me when you land.”
“I’ll call.”
“Write if you can’t.”
“I’ll write.”
“And if you meet someone else?”
The question was so quiet I almost pretended not to hear it.
“Then I’ll tell you before you have to wonder.”
She nodded. “Good.”
“And if you meet someone else?”
“I won’t hide it.”
“Good.”
Neither of us believed honesty would make the distance easy. It only made the distance something we could face without inventing stories.
At dawn, Elise slept with one hand curled around the sleeve of my shirt. I watched the sunlight reach the floor and tried to memorize the room.
When she woke, she said my name before opening her eyes.
“Ellie.”
“You’re still here.”
“I promised.”
She pulled me down for one last kiss before the day began. Then we carried my bags into the hallway together.
The elevator doors closed between us, but her reflection stayed in the metal until the last second.