The Plight Before Christmas(27)

Opting to lap up the water from the bathroom faucet rather than face him, I jump when I hear him speak up.

“Hey, you. What are you doing in here spying on me?”

Face flaming, I open my mouth to reply when I hear the squeak of a familiar voice.

“Lie!”

Eli clicks on the low light beneath the hood of the stove.

“That’s Eli, little ginger. Where did you come from? I’m pretty sure I helped your dad set up a reinforced cage mere hours ago. How did you manage to get out of it and past the stair gate? You a little Houdini or something?”

Unable to resist, I take a step into the kitchen marginally covered in shadow to see them in a stare-off. Peyton’s fire engine hair sticks up on all sides, his toy truck pajamas fitting his pudgy body like a second skin. Eli scoops him up, and they collectively examine the fridge, bathed by the light of it.

“Mil,” Peyton pumps a grabby hand.

“Milk? Got you covered.” Eli takes the milk out and pulls Peyton’s sippy cup off the dry rack where we washed it together hours before. The sight of my nephew curled in his bicep is enough to ruin me.

“Lie,” Peyton shakes his head. “Ber mil.”

“I don’t know what you mean, little man.”

Peyton refuses the cup when Eli offers it and begins to squirm in his arms to be let down. “Lie…Lie…Ber mil!”

“Shhhh, little buddy, you’re going to wake up the house.”

Insistent, Peyton pushes on his chest and wiggles until Eli relents and sets him down. Peyton waddles back to the fridge. “Lie, comere, mere,” he demands.

Eli chuckles and walks over, and the baby opens and closes his hand at the fridge.

“Okay.” When he opens the door, Peyton points to the strawberry syrup amongst the condiments. “Ber Mil.”

“Ah, strawberry milk. Smart little guy. Aren’t you?” Eli says, grabbing the syrup.

“Soooo smar.” Peyton agrees, and I have to muffle my laugh. Eli walks them back over to the counter, and Peyton lifts his hands with another order. “Up…up.”

“A man that knows what he wants. My kind of guy. Then again, your Aunt was a bit bossy too. Must run in the family. Ignoring the tug in my chest at his recollection of me, I remain planted where I stand.

Eli lifts Peyton onto the counter. “Spoo.”

“On it.” Eli, AKA my nephew’s new bitch, searches a few drawers and finds a spoon before presenting it to Peyton for inspection. “You got a size preference on the spoon, or will this do?”

“Squee. Squee.” He instructs Eli as if he’s the toddler.

“Why do I have a feeling that this isn’t your first rodeo?” Eli flips the cap ceremoniously with his thumb, making a production of it. “So, if I’m getting this right, you want two squeezes?”

“Mep.”

Chuckling, Eli mixes the drink and hands it to Peyton.

“Tank ku.”

“Welcome.”

Milk in hand, he scoops the baby up from the counter just as Peyton upturns his cup. After returning the milk to the fridge, Eli walks him over to my grandfather’s old leather rocker in the living room. Dawn breaks, and purple light filters through the massive windows as Eli gently rocks Peyton, who’s nestled comfortably in his lap.

“Col.”

“Cold?”

“Mep,” the baby sighs out between deep breaths after stealing sips of milk. Eli grabs a throw within reach from the lip of the couch and bundles them in the blanket. Clearly, this is not the same Eli who, when we dated, became suddenly allergic when things got too intimate. Nor the Eli who never took our relationship more seriously than the day-to-day. The Eli who gave me whiplash with his hot and cold, slowly poisoning my whimsical, free bleeding heart after eight months of effort to hand it to him. The Eli who shunned me completely just after. The same Eli, who, despite his best efforts, we became so entangled as a couple it was hard to tell us apart.

Entranced, I watch as Eli runs a palm over Peyton’s hair, a nurturing look in his eyes. “Not sure your parents will be happy with me feeding you sugary milk at 6 a.m., so let’s keep this between us.”

The baby doesn’t respond but sucks on his cup as Eli gently pushes off on his bare foot lulling him back to sleep.

I gaze on at the two of them, my heart aching in a way I didn’t realize was possible. And it’s then I see clearly the why of what hurts me the most when it comes to Eli. It wasn’t just the way we ended. It’s because it’s Eli. The same Eli who used to look at me with raw tenderness yet never spoke a word of how he felt. The Eli who used to torture me with his kiss until I begged him to touch me. My God, the way he used to kiss me as if he would never get the chance to again.

The Eli who made me feel like I was the most important, most cherished woman on earth with his actions.

Unwanted visions of us haze in, of when we were together and of when we were happy. Even if he was cruel in dismissing me—us—I know I wasn’t alone in feeling it. We were good together. Better than good. I never imagined we would end the way we did. Despite his aversion to talking anything future or long-term, I never thought he’d let go of me so easily, so abruptly the way he did. There is a reason I mourned our breakup for so long. But facts are facts. He did let go of me abruptly and without a single ounce of fight. I let him get away with it, shattering my heart without ample explanation because deep down, maybe I knew he was that guy, no matter how much it surprised me…I was right. Chest burning with ancient hurt, I turn and creep back up the stairs, climb into bed, and stare up at the ceiling as morning sunlight fills the room.