Elizabeth Scott - Between Here and Forever

“Hey,” I say as I pul up to him. “What are you doing out here?”

“I was waiting inside but I—” He points at his hands. “Bad day, with the tapping and stuff, and there was a little kid waiting to see someone and he kept asking me what I was doing and then copying me and—anyway.”

He careful y stil s his hands, awkwardly forcing them to lie flat. “I also thought—I thought maybe you might not want to see me after I … after I told you al that stuff,” he says.

“I thought about not coming,” I say, and he braces his hands on his knees so hard I can see the tension in them. “But not because of you. I … my parents said some stuff last night about Tess. About how—they say she’l never be the same, that her brain is … she won’t ever be the same.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Are you—are you al right?” he says, and when he does, al the reminders I’ve chanted to myself, al the things I’ve sworn I won’t forget, they’re gone. Just like that. Just because of him.

“I’m okay,” I manage to say, and try not to watch him as he gets up.

I do, though, and I’m glad he has to walk a little behind me as we go inside the hospital. It gives me a chance to pul myself together. Or at least pretend I have, because then we get on the elevator and it’s crowded and he’s right next to me and he smel s good, like sunshine and laundry detergent and something else, something that’s just him, and I know al about pheromones but never believed in them until now.

Clement gets on at the floor before Tess’s and says, “And how are you today?” to me.

“Al right,” I say, and he glances at Eli. “So, am I al owed to say I’m your grandfather now?”

Eli blushes and folds his arms across his chest. “I never said—” He breaks off, his fingers starting to tap.

Clement looks stricken and then whispers to Eli. I try to pretend I can’t hear what they’re saying but the elevator is smal and Clement isn’t exactly quiet.

“I’m sorry I upset you,” he says. “I know you didn’t say I shouldn’t talk to your father, but I assumed it’s because of how your father talks about me and—”

“It’s fine,” Eli says. “I just—my parents always say I … I don’t want to embarrass you. Okay?”

“Not possible,” Clement says, and Eli mumbles something, then races off the elevator when it stops again, for once not waiting until I go first.

“Sorry,” he says when I catch up to him. “I—I’m stil getting used to the fact that I have a grandfather. Not to mention that I’m living with him.”

“Is it bad?”

“That’s the thing,” Eli says. “He’s … he’s nicer to me than my parents have ever been, and I—I don’t know. It’s strange.”

“Complicated.”

“Yeah,” he says, and smiles at me.

I smile back—I can’t help myself—and start to put in the unit code.

“Hold on,” Eli says.

“What?”

“Look,” he says, pointing, and I do. I see Claire in Tess’s room, moving around, straightening things.

“Oh, it’s just Claire,” I say. “She works here.”

“No, not that. She visits your sister a lot, doesn’t she?”

“Right. Works here, remember?” I say, and punch in the code, pul ing the doors open as it buzzes.

Claire leaves as we’re almost at the room, waving at me and raising her eyebrows just enough that I know she’s thinking things about me and Eli. I shake my head at her, and she smiles.

Thankful y, Eli doesn’t seem to notice Claire’s look, and we settle into Tess’s room like we have every other time he’s been here.

“Hey,” I say to her as I sit down. “Me and Eli are here, and you should probably save him from having to answer whatever dumb questions I can think of.”

“Like what?” Eli says.

“Which is better, powder detergent or liquid?” I say, and then stage-whisper to Tess. “See? You’ve got to help me out here.”

“Liquid,” Eli says. “My turn. What’s better, cornflakes or oatmeal?”

“Ugh, neither. I like anything that goes in the toaster and has frosting on it, or better yet, comes with frosting packets.”

“Or waffles,” Eli says. “Clement makes only one thing, waffles. But he’s real y good at it.”

I can just see Eli eating waffles now, al sleepy-eyed and dressed in—what would he wear to bed? Boxers?

I mental y shake myself. Tess. Think about Tess. “Tess likes waffles. She and Claire used to make the frozen ones and then put ice cream on them.” I pause, aware that I’ve just said a name I know Tess doesn’t want to hear.

“Sorry,” I whisper to her, and then say, “Eli, what’s your idea of a perfect first date?” Oh … I just. Great. I know my face must be bright red now because it feels like it’s on fire. Why did I ask that?

I know why.

“Not talking about school,” Eli says, smiling.

I look at him, hoping my face isn’t stil bright red, and rol my eyes, then nod in Tess’s direction, glancing at her face.

“I actual y don’t know what my perfect first date is,” he says after a moment. “What about you?”

“I don’t know either. I’ve never been on a date. Tess used to talk about hers, though. Going out to dinner, going to the movies, stuff like that.” I squeeze Tess’s hand gently and tel her, “I know you miss al that.”

“Favorite food?” Eli asks, and Tess doesn’t move.

“She likes fish sticks,” I say, watching her face closely. Stil nothing. “Just kidding. She likes spaghetti and meatbal s. She has it every year on her birthday.”

“So you like fish sticks?”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “The best is putting them on a rol with some cheese and mayo and a little lettuce.”

“Real y? Fish stick sandwiches?”

“What’s wrong with that?” I say, and look at him again.

He’s watching me, smiling like he likes what he sees, and my whole body, from my head to my feet, feels alive in a way I thought I’d forgotten.

“Nothing,” he says. “I just never thought of eating fish sticks that way. You want to have lunch with me tomorrow?”

“What?” I drop Tess’s hand, I’m so startled, and it makes this soft, sickening sound when it hits the bed, like it’s a thing, like it’s not alive. Like it’s not her.

I look at her again then, wishing I was a better sister, a smarter person, wishing—as I’ve always wished—that I could be like Tess. That I could—

and would—always know what to do.

“I said, do you want to have lunch with me tomorrow?” Eli says, his face red. “You can come meet me at school. We’re al owed to bring a guest if we have enough Saint points and—anyway. Do you want to come?”

“Saint points? For real?”

“Yeah. We get them for showing up on time and stuff.”

“Wait, you get points for just going to school?” Rich people real y do have it al . I wish I got rewarded for going to school, although the idea of the reward being the chance to bring someone to the cafeteria for mystery meat and limp fries isn’t very appealing.

“Pretty much,” Eli says. “So … wil you—do you—you want to come?”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you want me to come?”

“Because I … we were talking about food and I’ve got al these stupid Saint points and I figured—I don’t know,” he mutters. “I just thought you might like to come.”

Could he—could he real y want me to come eat lunch with him? Like, as a thing? A sort of date-ish thing?

I look at him again and realize I’m crazy. He could have anyone, and he’s probably asking me to lunch because—

Because maybe he wants to.

Oh, I hate my brain, but it won’t let go of that thought. That hope.