t h i r t e e n || Bold Confrontations and Untold Reasons

|2nd February 2019|

HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF A PHRASE THAT GOES LIKE betwixt and between? It's generally used when a person is stuck in a rather uncompromising position while deciding between two decisions, two very hard to make decisions, and does not want to move in either direction, for it owns the potential of wrecking his/ her life either way.

Well, unsurprisingly, that is my situation at the moment.

The three of us: Jael, Dave, and I are sitting around the coffee table, mugs of coffees gone cold lying ahead of us and taunting how the spells of the train of thoughts each one of us is busy in are too difficult to break free from and sip onto the beverage, to find warmth in this situation of bone-smashing cold.

It hadn't been very long after I had called up and informed my best friend of what his 'super-handsome-and-rich' client had done that he had caught the next flight back in here, ditching his house saying, "Oh, that depressing ass shelter can totally wait. It's not like it appreciates my lone wolf-like existence very much, anyway." to come to meet us right from the airport.

He hadn't uttered a word when he had first seen my crimson-rimmed eyes, complexion pale as a jaundice patient on my doorstep; just plucked me off the ground and hid my frame into the warmth of his jacket and kept me there that way for quite a while. I highly challenge thoughts regarding putting me down would have occurred to him anytime soon, had it not been for her who jabbed at his limb from below, mumbling in distaste how she was the one whose best friend (ahem, fake, lying ass best friend but okay whatever) had been shooed away without her knowledge and not me who had shooed said person away that needed comfort, eventually signaling to him with watery eyes to give her the much-needed heat of a hug.

He had instantly thrown me away like I was some potty-filled diaper, simultaneously reciting colorful statements in a rather unceremonious manner about how it would henceforth be his best of interests to make sure no kid is entitled to the torturing pit of hell that I as a mother am holding her captive in.

Then he had filled into his embrace the scent of a fragile girl called Zephrine Wilson.

Despite the warmth being seized from the skin lining my bones, I had smiled at her sobbing figure. Crying or not, she was back in her favorite teddy bear's arms. And this time around, I wouldn't spin out some lame, totally untrue tale to disentangle them.

Still, for some totally doomed reason, I cannot but fathom why this is happening; why despite the fake-marriage deal with the Nithercotts being broken, there is still gloom surrounding us; why despite Elliot Bryson's deceitful deeds being unveiled, there are voices inside of me justifying his actions; why despite everything I said yesterday being from the bottom-most part of my hurt heart, I cannot but suffer discontentment with regards to the aftermath. It is painfully pitiful, really, the way everything has been turning out since the moment in the alley three days ago.

If some person reckons I am to feel guilty and mold my entire form into a ball in some small corner of my bedroom and allow saltwater to gouge my eyes out about every bitter aspect of the past, then I must have disappointed that particular person very much. Because believe it or not, I was and still am in my fully coherent sense of mind, and honestly, I don't find anything about my actions and/or speech to be regret-worthy.

Yet, Zephrine, who had determined for herself that Dave backing me up and telling her what I had done was the right thing to do and that she shouldn't be mad at me because me shooing Elliot away was for her safety and had nothing to do with my 'unreasonable' wrath explosion was the biggest sort of betrayal she had ever experienced, had taken to hibernation in the room adjacent to the one we all are sitting in, her tears being the only apparent source of solace for her, and ever-so often erupting in sobs so loud and frantic that it felt as if somebody was robbing her of her most favorite barbie doll, right in front of her. And every time that happened, a voice inside of me, the next louder than the previous, confessed how I have done wrong, gone off-boundaries, overdosed the people around me with the melodrama tablet.

She hadn't been such a bitter sob even when I had screwed the living daylights out of her after she got discharged because she hadn't once told me about her friendship with a man called Aric, or as she oh-so-fondly likes to call him- prince; or about how he had asked her to not mention a thing about himself to her mother; or even about how he had gotten her involved in such a foolishly dangerous plan and she being the naive girl that she is, had become a part of it.

Jael groans in the silent space, rubbing her palm all over her face in a very rough manner. No wonder how, even with her age being just nineteen, her skin is already as saggy as that of a hundred-year-old. She always mushes and does all sorts of things to it that one wouldn't even do to play dough. Poor skin has been forced to wrinkle prematurely.

I sigh looking at the coffee mugs with black drinks sitting on the coffee table for the hundred-and-fifty-seventh time in the past twenty minutes. It is seldom I feel this directionless and hopeless in life, but because it is happening now, becoming something I cannot for the life of me stop thinking back and again about, I can't help but wish for all of this to be over in the blink of an eye. It is an unrealistic thing to yearn, I'm aware, but does hoping cost me as much as overthinking does?

No.

There, my reasoning.

Jael suddenly stands up from where she had been lying sprawled over the sofa for the past twenty minutes, sauntering to the kitchen. From my position on the chair that I had pulled from the dining table to sit by the coffee table, and from Dave's position on the single-seater, we see her open the fridge and produce from within a tub of bubblegum ice-cream. Then, she exits the kitchen and enters the room in which Zeph is.

Dave and I share looks, him shaking his head, already foreseeing how Jael Paine is destined to be treated by the fierce little company in that room for whom she had bought the ice-cream, and me pouting at him, already feeling sympathetic towards my sister.

Can we see the future?

Yes.

No, well, no.

The thing actually is, Dave had tried going into the same room as Jael when the latter had gone out to buy her niece her 'happiness pill', and had come out drenched in the same can of soda he had taken in. Despite the weird combination of anger and sadness I had been feeling then, I couldn't help but laugh at his expense for a whole minute. I had no clue Zephrine could get so violent.

A few screeches from the adjacent room are what make us both flinch in surprise. Oh, wait; please allow me to rectify my statement. It is Jael screeching like an old, broken pressure cooker that, in point of fact, surprises us. Dave and I turn to look at the person who exits the room, although we already know it is Jael. Maybe it is to see the freshest artwork Zephrine Wilson's mind and hand have produced in collaboration. What we didn't know, however, is that Zephrine has enough spunk in her to turn an entire tub of ice-cream over her aunt's head.

Now now now, look at that, would you? That's something that doesn't happen every day.

Unlike Dave who freely cracks up at Jael's expense, putting his existence as a whole at stake, I push my fingers into the space of my mouth to keep myself from laughing, wondering what the hell Jael could've been so busy doing until Zephrine had opened the tub and emptied its contents over her head. Maybe she was texting Daniel. Jael herself though, on the other hand, and under the influence of some sort of weird sense of peace, and contradictory to the auditory perception she had made us develop from inside the room about her interaction with her niece, looks so calm, it is actually frightening. "That girl's got too much anger stuffed inside of her. My conscience says that she'll be fine if we all just give her some time."

"And your conscience had been on a voyage to the Antarctic waters when I told the same goddamn thing just, what─ nine minutes ago?" Dave asks, leaning back to enjoy the look of melted cream dripping from her ginger strands.

Jael narrows her eyes at Dave. "Excuse me, Dave, but why do you always seem so eager to send my conscience to the Antarctic waters? I get that you love that place and all, but I hate the cold!"

"Fine then, your next mental adventure is scheduled to the Sahara Desert. Happy now?"

Jael only narrows her eyes further to slits. I won't be surprised if she complains about not being able to see a thing through the thin line that she has kept open. "I never said I liked the hot, either."

He crosses his arms over his soda-stained blue shirt, putting on a thoughtful look. I know it is only a matter of seconds before he hurls another one of his lame comebacks at Jael and the latter retorts with the same level of smartness. "Oh, wait! I know exactly where you'll like it!" he exclaims suddenly, excited. He picks a cushion from beside him and throws it at her, a childish grin shaping itself on his lips. Jael catches it mid-air. "The Amazon forests!"

She shoots him a 'what the hell, man? Be a little creative if you're going to insult me' look. "What are you?" questions Jael, her face contorting into a look of disgust. She grabs a cushion from the sofa beside her, throwing both the cushions in her hands at Dave.

Give one, get two.

What generosity, my goodness.

"Pyjamas!" shouts Dave, smugly catching the flying cushions. "That too one with blue and yellow stripes!"

Jael picks up two more cushions from her side of the sofa to hit him. "You're so dea-"

"I don't get why you both are wasting your time dirtying my house," I intervene, raising my voice by an octave to make my point clear. "Are we fighting World War III here? No, doesn't look it to me. We're just three ordinary people trying to understand where the heck I went wrong that I have now come to witness these types of hopeless, gloom-filled days. So can you both please put your differences and cushions aside for some time and help me figure my life out? And Jael, for heaven's sake, please go get that turban of ice cream off your head. I moped the floor just yesterday!"

Jael looks like she has actually lost the presumed WW III and not a useless argument with Dave. "What the hell did I do that you are yelling at-"

Suddenly, lucky for me, the bell rings, putting an end to Jael's protests.

"I think it's Lauren," I say, standing up and stretching my body. I haven't moved an atom from here to there all day today, yet I feel so tired. The effects stress has on the human body, I tell you. Or perhaps the effects of having to live in earshot of Jael's and Dave's useless fights. "Go open the door, Jael. I'll go make some tea for her. And at least to keep my self-respect intact, put on a shower cap before opening the door."

Jael grits her teeth in annoyance but proceeds to do as told. Meanwhile, Dave stands up and starts tidying the cushions that he and Jael had been throwing at each other for the sake of dirtying my house. She waddles out of her room with a neon yellow shower cap, looking a little like a hoopoe. What can I say, greeting guests with a shower cap on is better than greeting them with a bubblegum ice-cream hair mask on?

She slaps his arm with the back of her hand as she walks past him and towards the main door. "All because of you!" she whisper-yells at him, visibly annoyed. He only throws her a smug smile in response. Shaking my head at them, I step into the kitchen as Jael opens the door. It has been quite a long time since I last met Lauren, and I will be lying if I say I don't miss her.

"Holy mother of four hundred and twelve geese!" exclaims Jael out of nowhere.

A small, barely-there smile tenants my lips, my hands moving to throw two spoonfuls of tea powder in the saucepan with water. Perhaps this time Lauren has decided to dress up like a barbie doll to bring a smile onto Zephrine's lips, and has mouthed to Jael on the doorstep to exclaim loudly so Zeph will feel obliged to exit her room and come meet Lauren. She has done this on multiple occasions now, so it really doesn't surprise-

"Why four hundred and twelve?"

Unless Lauren has secretly undergone surgery and changed her voice, this person is not Lauren. It's a woman, I am certain of that; who she is, or what she is doing at my doorstep is precisely what I am uncertain about. I stop stirring the concoction and listen to Jael and the visitor's conversation. The walls of my apartment are thin, and adding to it the fact that the kitchen is close to the main door, it isn't very hard to hear them.

"Oh," says Jael next with a girly giggle. "That's my boyfriend, Daniel's birth date, actually. The fourth of December," she informs the new person.

I slap my forehead. If there is anybody stupid enough to own a number of geese matching the date of birth of their boyfriend, it is Jael Paine. She is literally- what do I say? obsessed with Daniel.

"Er, who are you?" the other person asks, completely confused.

This is it. I cannot any further compress my curiosity. Whoever knows me, as in knows me personally, knows Jael too. She has been living with Zephrine and me for more than two years now. I wipe my hands on the kitchen towel. "Jael, who is it?" I voice my question as I simmer the flame before leaving the kitchen.

But Jael doesn't reply. She doesn't have to, actually. I see our visitor much before she would feel the need to. And my-my, would you guess who it is?

Olwyn Grey.

Right, my most favorite person.

I frown at the sight, my head inclining very close to an angle that will most likely give me a stiff neck later on, in disbelief as I walk to stand behind Jael. "Olwyn?"

Olwyn's gaze flits to me and instantly, I see her eyes fill up with joy. Wish I could mirror her expression, but I don't lie, you see. "Oh, Celeste! I was starting to think I had come to the wrong address," she exclaims, almost jumping in glee. I move back a little before she can jump forward and hug me. Yeah, she appears to be very ecstatic about seeing me.

I lick my lips, frown deepening. "Well, unless you were looking for a particular Celeste Wilson, you have come to the wrong address."

She sighs. "Look, Celeste. I get that you don't want to see me. I also know that the deal's no longer which means you're no longer planning the fake-marriage and I'm no longer playing fake-fiancee." she purses her lips, carefully gauging my expression before continuing. "And I won't be mad at you if you ask me to leave now itself. But I want you to know that I can tell you a few things that I'm pretty sure you won't be able to figure out on your own."

"Whatever would you mean by that?"

Olwyn inhales, shifting her sling bag from her right shoulder to her left shoulder. "I want one chance, Celeste. Not for me, not for Aric, not for the Nithercotts. For you. Because this is all about you." She is practically jabbing her index finger into my shoulder by the time her mini-monologue is over.

I suck my cheeks into my mouth. What is happening in my life?

"You won't regret it. I promise," adds Olwyn, her eyebrows rising in assurance. She looks so sincere, so confident about whatever she is going to do or say, I can't help but feel that not giving her a chance to get the burden off her chest will be a sin. Major sin.

So I sigh, rolling my shoulders back and forth so as to physically brace myself for the mountains she will be thrusting onto me in the form of revelations, and then wave her in. "Come on in then, Ms. Grey."

A beautiful smile graces her lips as she enters my small space, stopping in the corridor to take her leather boots off. Jael closes the door and I walk Olwyn through the apartment and to the sitting lounge. Dave is there, standing awkwardly behind the sofas when we enter the room, and the way his eyes travel from Olwyn to me and then back at her and then back to me and then back at her and he blinks, gulping, something feels out of place; like I am not aware of something I should know.

"Your place is very beautiful," says she, smiling at me.

I reciprocate her smile. Really, her smile is so contagious, I cannot stop myself from returning the gesture. "Thank you," I say. Then, pointing towards the single-seater, I add. "Have a seat."

Olwyn nods as she moves to settle into the seat Dave previously occupied. At the reminder of his existence, I turn to him behind me and notice how he seems strangely silent. His eyes are slightly wider than would be considered normal, and I wonder what is the matter with him. "Are you okay, Dave?"

His eyes shift to me, and he clears his throat, nodding once. "Y-yes, I'm good."

I frown. Definitely far from good. Besides, why did he not greet Olwyn? I am about to dismiss the matter off as a result of overthinking when a doubt occurs to me. Is it possible for him to have had any knowledge beforehand about Olwyn coming here? "Who gave you my address?" I ask her.

Almost immediately, her eyes glide to Dave, gaze wary as she tries to subtly raise her eyebrows at him. I get my answer; it is Dave who has been going around giving my address to everybody he wills to see me engage in conflicts with-- first Elliot, and now Olwyn. Money, food, clothing, are some things that are given out as charity, Mr. Malfrey, not addresses. I am about to chide him regarding the matter when Olwyn decides to go ahead and lie to me. "Aric. He gave it to me."

My eyebrows climb my forehead on their own accord. Wow, hide-and-seek? Sounds fun to me. "Really? But I think I saw Dave sending my address to you." I add a little trickery in my reply.

Olwyn's mouth hangs open in surprise. "You told her?" she asks him.

Of course he didn't, Olwyn. Why would he anyway, when he knew for certain what my reaction to his request would be? It's his awkward behavior that gave him away. I turn to look at Dave who is frantically shaking his head in response. "No, I didn't tell her any-"

"I'll deal with you later," I say, nodding at him in a threatening manner. He pouts, trying to melt my anger away with the soft expression. I dismiss his face and turn back to Olwyn. "Tea?" I offer. I had almost forgotten the hot beverage and had it not been for the strong smell of the tea powder my aunt had purchased for me from China, I would have totally let it scorch down to fine soot.

Olwyn nods. "Sure, thank you."

I stand up to leave to the kitchen, but Dave places a hand on my shoulder, pushing me back down. "I'll go get it," he lets out gently. He leaves, and even Jael who is standing idly by the doorframe takes this as her cue to leave us alone, thus following Dave into the kitchen.

Then, finally, I fix my eyes on the dainty girl sitting across from me. She averts her gaze from me, a mildly exasperated look engulfing the whole of her facial features as she seizes a moment from time to inhale and prepare herself for the onslaught of secrets she has gotten herself much more than necessary involved in. She raises her hands in the air, palms facing me as she locks eyes with me once again. "Let's keep this thing brief, yeah?"

I nod in agreement. I suppose it is written all over my face that I just am in absolutely no mood for playing dodge ball with someone beating around the bushes.

"Alright. First thing, I'm not his fiancee. This is- was, I mean, a setup designed by Elliot to win you back."

I stare at her, features rendered dry with the repetition of the dialogue that Elliot too had told me. And just like my mind had responded back then, it brings up its question once again as to why this way? "He totally lost it when it came to scheming the way things were supposed to be done, I agree with you on that, but it's not like he does this for a living, Celeste," she tells me, and I notice how her eyes soften as she speaks of him; perhaps she really is a very good friend of his. "This whole idea is just about as new to him as it is to you."

Dave enters the room just then, a tray of biscuits and tea in his hands. He takes a seat adjacent to mine and pours out the drink for the two of us. He then leans over and hands Olwyn her cup, leaving mine on the coffee table in front of me, knowing it will be best on his part to not do anything that will sacrifice the equilibrium of my train of thoughts. Then, he exits the lounge, casing me an assuring smile as he deserts us.

"Olwyn," I say after a moment of silence, my eyes on the dark hot liquid standing still in my cup. " I think you should first decide what role you are playing here; that of a public prosecutor or a defense lawyer."

Olwyn smiles, her thin glossed lips spreading over her face, sending beams of genuine gratification out across to me. "Neither, actually. I just want to help you."

"Why?"

"Because," she says, as if that one word is enough to reason for everything, but when she sees me waiting to hear more, she chuckles and continues. "Some people just want to help, Ms. Wilson. No ulterior motives or anything."

"Such people are very rare, you know that, don't you, Ms. Grey?"

"All the more why I want to be amongst them," she replies immediately.

My lower lip sits wedged between my upper and lower set of teeth as I observe her, wondering why she would want to get involved in a mess that she is bound to get nothing from but headaches and the severe urge to buy some aspirin for their cure. Eventually, though, upon one final sweep of observation across her calm posture and friendly eyes and well-mannered speech, I realize that she is right; she wants to do this only because she wants to help Elliot. And I must tell you, she has to be one heck of a big-hearted person to do that. "You're a good person, Olwyn."

She laughs at that. As I look at her, I can't help but recall a quote I had once read about a good laugh feeling like sunshine in the house. And her laugh, woah, it really does feel like a ray of sunshine in my small apartment. "Thank you, Celeste." she waves her hands in the air, an air of modesty building around her, still smiling. "But I'm not here for bagging compliments, you see. I'm here to tell you that you, my dear friend, are depriving yourself of the company of another, even better person who is known as Aric Nithercott to the whole world but Elliot Bryson to the girl he hasn't stopped loving since he first got to know her almost, what- eight years ago?"

"Nine years, actually."

I subtly shake my head then, trying to eradicate the bit of information Olwyn just gave me about Elliot not stopping loving me since he first got to know me. It is a hard task, or so it seems to my brain, because all it does after that point of revelation is repeat it to me, not stopping even after my brain metaphorically bursts with the inability to hear so much all at once. And the widening of Olwyn's eyes upon my obviously unexpected correction only upswings my urge to punch my forehead. I should really consider buying myself that mouth-filter Jael keeps talking about. "See, you remember everything so well."

I shake my head once again, sighing. "But his methods, Olwyn. They're not right."

She tilts her head to the left, observing me for a moment. The wheels inside her brain are turning fast, I can literally feel it from where I am sitting across from her, and after she has decided upon what she will tell me next, her lips part. "Why don't you try and focus on his motives instead of his methods?"

Because I don't want to, I reply internally. Because I am such a weakling that I cannot stop myself from loving him; so instead, I avoid him and all topics related to seeing him positively, and give my conscience that one damned opportunity to make him the bad guy. Because I have too much to lose if I don't.

I place my head in my palms, leaning on my knees, my fingers tightly gripping my strands as I permit my eyes to close. I don't want to create a ruckus of my pathetic ass brain because every single time I wonder about Elliot and his actions, all I get as answers are more questions. And this has become a tiring cyclic occurrence that I seriously want to get over with permanently. Add to it the fact that Elliot had kept contacts with Zephrine behind my back and Zephrine hadn't told me a word about it makes my fingers itch with the desire to tear him apart.

"Celeste, look here," mutters Olwyn softly, dragging me out of my dangerous ideas. I glance up; her face is soft, looking so soothing, so gentle, I dare not go back to whining with my head in my hands. She exhales before continuing, "Sometimes, this force called desperation drives us to do things we would normally never do. And the same is Elliot's case. He spent nine whole years away from you, girl, yet not one day did he complain to anybody about how lonely he felt without you, not for a moment did he tell himself to stop waiting for you and just go find someone who has the capability of taking his mind off you. Though I'm certain that nobody can do that." she interjects her own statement, a smile on her face as she shakes her head to match her words. Her eyes widen as she resumes her talk. "You won't believe me, but not even once has he ever looked at any girl in a way that would give her a wrong idea. He has female friends, don't get me wrong, but he has his strict-- very strict limits as well. You know, that day in the beach house when he kissed me on my cheek, that was literally the first time I was seeing him get so close to any female, except for his mum, of course, and I was shaken. I mean, c'mon, I wasn't ready for that, bro!"

I lick my lips, unable to understand how Elliot had managed to live under such extreme constraints. I mean, I had Zephrine and Jael and Dave and Lauren and so many others to keep my mind off my past. But Elliot? I don't think his case was the same. But before I can try and completely understand Elliot, Olwyn speaks up again. "And you know, when he told me about the plan and everything I was supposed to do before he moved back here a few weeks ago, it was a very simple plan, I swear. That's actually why I agreed to it in the first place. And honestly speaking, had things gone accordingly, then you both would've already gotten together and perhaps would be on the way to your first honeymoon destination! But I think something happened the day you showed him how to propose, and I guess that's where things started drifting away from the plan, off his grip. Because the moment he saw you pulling yourself away from him and not fighting for your love the way he had speculated you would, he couldn't take it. Don't tell him I told you this but he practically cried that day."

I wince back in pain, my palms folding into crescents in my lap. Elliot had cried because of me. No wonder he had behaved so strangely the next time I had met him, when the Nithercotts had come to the office to sign the deal. "Ouch."

"Yeah, and that's when he knew he had to do something. He didn't tell me what he did, but yeah, he did inform me of the mess his plan created," she informs me, grimacing as she recalls what I assume is a briefing given to her of how I had punched Elliot the other day.

It is then that I realize how it will only be fair for me to tell her what exactly he did that pushed me to such an extent where I have now become a bad person in my own daughter's eyes. "Yeah, well," I drawl out, cautiously selecting my words, "He asked my daughter to bring me down to the alley late at night, pretending to want ice-cream, and then he sent two men to corner us. They threw my daughter at a wall that he claims had layers of blankets put on beforehand for her protection." I explain monotonously, watching with a blank face as Olwyn winces once again. She seems to be able to justify my actions of yesterday. "I'm a mother, Olwyn, and she's my only reason to live. You really have no idea what I would've done had something actually happened to her."

Olwyn stifles a laugh. "I honestly do have an idea of what you can do." She purses her lips as I smile as well. "How's she now? What's her name, by the way?"

"Zephrine," I inform her. "And well... she's mad at me."

"She'll get over it. Damn sure she loves her mother more than she loves her ego."

I smile again. Olwyn really is a nice company. Surely I wouldn't have allowed myself to see her as the 'nice company' that she is had she really been Elliot's fiancee, but that's not the case here, you see.

A silence falls upon us, and amidst the peace, my ears draw to my brain the sound of profanities being exclaimed at the top of the lungs of two highly unreasonably idiosyncratic humans. It is Jael and Dave being engaged in one of their usual verbal conflicts in the kitchen; something about who would eat the larger cookie. When they will stop hating each other and finally get along, I never know. All I can hope for is such a day to arrive before I die.

Just then, another doubt occurs to me, and I waste no time in voicing it to Olwyn. "But, Olwyn," I start as she places her now-empty cup on the table to listen to me. "If what you're saying is true and Elliot has loved only me all these years, then why didn't he come for me earlier? In fact, why did he even leave? Why make us both go through this hellish episode of life for nine years?"

She shrugs in response, her lower lip rolling outwards. "That's his story to tell."

I nod, albeit very slowly, as if doing it that way will somehow ease the task of information absorption.

I fail, as predicted.

"What I can do, though, is simplify the process of getting your answers for you."

My eyebrows knit together in confusion. "How so?"

"I can drop you at his place."

I raise my hands in the air, waving them at her in wild, unequal horizontal lines to mark my denial clear. "Oh no, no, no, no, no, no, no. No way I'm meeting him. He..." I trail off, but because I am suddenly unaware of what to say about him, I resort to sticking to my initial resolution itself. "No, I ain't meeting him and that's final."

Olwyn shakes his head, a smile on her lips.

"Why are you smiling?" I ask, interest piqued as I think of all the reasons why she would use that knowing smile on me.

She shakes her head once again. "No, I'm just thinking how much of a comedy circus Elliot's and your banters must be. You both are so stubborn!" she exclaims, eyes bright.

My fingers dance in the air, all the way from my lap to the back of my neck, and I scratch it awkwardly, not replying to her observation. What am I to say, anyway? Oh, yes, Olwyn, you're totally right. In fact my life has been a comedy circus from day one. Like, you know, I was born in the tenth month and not the ninth one like other kids. And even then, I had been so stubborn about not wanting to leave my mother's womb that the doctors had to do a C-section to get me out. Yes, life has been so much fun, girl!

No, thanks.

"Anyway," declares she, "Do you have his address?"

I move my head from east to west and back in reply.

"Then you should take it down."

I cross my arms over my chest and lean back into the couch. This girl's confidence will one day make her win an Olympics gold medal; mark my words. "How are you so certain that I will change my mind over this matter?" I put her to quiz. The nonchalance with which I manage to put my question out surprises me; mainly because I am already having a double mindset about this.

You really should take Olwyn's advice and go meet Elliot, Celeste. It's not like answers to your questions will come walking up to you right here, anyway, advises my subconscious to me.

But why? I groan in response.

Cause you deserve an explanation and he deserves a chance to prove his innocence, it replies.

Olwyn smiles that beautiful, gentle smile of hers. "This isn't about me being certain about anything, Celeste," she tells, and then leaning forward, she places her elbows over her stocking-clad knees. "This is about you understanding why Elliot had to do things this way. Why you're still here and he's still there when he has done all of this for none but you and your daughter. And I have a feeling you already understand what I'm trying to say," she concludes, a noticing grin on her face.

I toss my head back against the headrest, grumbling loudly. "Fuck my ego, dammit!" I cry out, earning a pleased laugh from Olwyn. "I want answers!" I stand up and pick my phone from the dining table; I unlock the gadget and hand it to her. "Type the address for me, will you?"

I lied to Olwyn.

Yes, I lied to her. In all actuality, it wasn't answers I ever craved; surely I have always made it seem like that's what I want, but no, it has always just been a bland lie to cover up for my unachievable desire of getting Elliot to stick to my side. And never ever leave. If answers come along with his arrival, well and good, but even if they don't, I honestly have not much hardship in accepting things as they are so long as there is trust, respect, and loyalty in our relationship.

All of which he has yet to pass tests of.

"Absolutely!" she replies energetically and begins typing the address away in notes. With her mini-task over, she hands it back to me. I scan the address, eyes wide as the distance separating the Earth from heaven, simultaneously sighing in disbelief because Elliot who once lived in a small two-roomed apartment, is now domiciled in the most elite area of San Francisco.

Ha, the future is so unpredictable, I tell you. One minute everything is so blurry you're burning your eyesight out to make sense of stuff lying right ahead of you and then just the next one, everything is so, so clear, it physically hurts your eyes to look at it, and that's exactly when the infamous future goes like, "Hey, babes! Gotcha after long, didn't I? Let's have some fun, what say? Oh shut up, you really didn't think your say was gonna matter anyway, did you? Hahaha!" Similarly, had somebody reached out and told me a month ago that on today's date, I would be going out to try and understand the Elliot Bryson and his bizarre strategies of getting things done, I would've escorted that person to the mental asylum. But look at me now, like, yay, what joy.

"Fine, then," she says, standing up and smiling. She yanks her sling purse over her shoulder and fixes her coat. "Thank you so much for having me, Celeste. For a moment there on the doorstep, I thought you were going to call the police on me or something. I'm sure more than just one person on this planet will agree with me when I say that you look like Mary Com in the ring when you're mad." She laughs.

I raise my eyes from the screen of my phone to look at her, a grin itching to escape from the corners of my lips. "Thank you for coming, Olwyn. And yes, all the way from my mom to my boss and now you, everyone has told me that. And yes again, you were right about what you said; I would have never known any of this all the while I'd spend scowling and whining at home."

She waves a hand dismissively. "Oh, c'mon. It's not like I'm doing this for nothing. Of course I need a return favor."

I chuckle. My mood finally seems to be in a good state. "And here I was thinking you had absolutely no ulterior motives."

A smirk lifts the charming pinks of her lips. "Invite me to yours and Elliot's marriage, whenever it happens."

I suck in a breath, the veins of my fingers suddenly shoving moisture into the fine lines. Mine and Elliot's marriage. Our marriage. Marriage. The idea seems so surreal yet so close to happening. Biting my teeth, I shrug in uncertainty. "If it happens, then yes, definitely."

What Olwyn does next is something I would expect a person of her personality-type to do, yet considering the fact that she does it to me, it still brings with its arrival shock. The fact that her arms are around my back, wrapping my being in a tight embrace, while her fingers caress my hair in a consoling manner, bring to me more peace than I have felt in days; especially the last two of them. "Everything will be fine, Celeste," she whispers into my shoulder, gently.

In that very moment, I can't help but feel delighted that it had been Olwyn and not Lauren on the doorstep, that it had been someone new and almost foreign to me who could tell me something I wouldn't already know and not somebody who would repeat to me the same mantras of staying away from Elliot that I already have many people to remind me of, because no matter how much of a joy Lauren is, she is a busy person with a tight schedule and with an age-old habit of agreeing with me on everything. She does take time out of the said schedule for my family and me, don't get me wrong, but it happens so rarely that when she is available, I am occupied with some big event, and when I finally free myself, she would be busy attending patients as a nurse, and when we finally meet, we end up agreeing on everything just for the sake of saving ourselves some time.

On the contrary, I don't mean to imply that Olwyn knows me as well as Lauren does or has taken care of Zephrine when I had to work until late hours; no, what I do mean instead is that Olwyn is a promising character, one that I'm sure Jesus hasn't sent into my life only to make me understand why I should give Elliot a second chance. And I will surely give her that role in my life that she being the amazing human she is, deserves.

I don't know when I return Olwyn's hug, but when she finally pulls away and my hands fall back at my sides, I know I have hugged her and expressed through the gesture how grateful I am for her presence right now, and forever.

"I don't have your number, you know," she says, pouting.

I smile. "Give me yours."

She proceeds to tell me her number, and I hasten to add her to my contacts, saving her name as secret superhero without her knowledge. After that, I send her a message so she gets my number too, and we both then put our phones away as I walk her to the main door. We bid each other temporary goodbyes, and she leaves.

I stand in my corridor for a while after she has left me to make my decision, watching the transparent elevator take her down. In a way, the process resembles my life and how everything has been so inconsistent as of late. I suck in a heavy breath, summoning my thoughts, and comprehending what a huge quest I have taken upon myself. Shutting the door, I turn around, all molecules of oxygen emptying my lungs as I see Jael and Dave standing right behind me, their arms crossed over their chests and their eyes expectantly waiting for me to reveal everything Olwyn and I spoke about. Placing a hand over my chest to calm my poor heart, I say, "Geez. Don't you both know what sneaking up on people like that, from behind can do to their mental equilibrium?"

Jael tsks while Dave rolls his eyes. "That seemed to have gone well," he remarks, nodding at the door to further decode his statement.

I make a fish-like pout with my lips, generating weird noises as I walk past them and enter the hall. It is after I have reached the middle of the room that I turn around to address Dave, excusing him from being ignored. "Only because it went well, you're forgiven without having to say sorry. You may instead pay me for the debt with that DIY cinnamon tiramisu you make. I haven't had that in years."

Dave snorts, rolling his eyes and casting me a smug smile before speaking. "Like something Dave Malfrey does ever goes wrong."

I cross my arms over my chest, my eyebrows rising in a challenging manner. "Wait till I get back and enlighten you with all the things you've done that have gone straight down the culvert."

"You goin' somewhere, sis?" asks Jael immediately, her furrowed eyebrows expressing her curiosity.

I only nod in reply.

"Where to?" she pushes.

Dave reached out and whacks Jael's arm at this, looking bewildered. "How many times do I have to tell you that when somebody is going out, you shouldn't ask them where they're going to! It's rule number four-hundred-and-six of the privacy policy."

I shake my head while she narrows her eyes at him. Here we go, fight number seven hundred and eighteen of the day. I don't understand how their tongues aren't already tired of all the bickering they do together. But I do understand one thing for sure; this time, he didn't make use of the nth reference from his insubstantial code catalog just to infuriate her. He witnessed firsthand this morning her intentions and the extents she is willing to go to, just to 'teach Elliot fuckin' Bryson a lesson' when she had balled her fists and with a bloody glare in her eyes, had stared at the room in which his stuff is kept as she explained to us with a contradictingly calm voice how her knee is itching to cause damage to his manhood in a way that even a hundred surgeries won't help him in making babies (poor Elliot!), and hence knows what a majestic catastrophe is destined to break out if and when Jael were to find out where I am heading to. She would definitely, totally, absolutely, no doubt, stop me then.

Perhaps if things between Elliot and I get better, then I can personally take up the task of convincing her into accepting him as our old-yet-new family member, but no, not now. It's too early for that kind of talk. Far too early.

"Dave!" She yells in irritation. "What problem do-"

I cut Jael off the same way I had before Olwyn's arrival. "Before you both once again launch your energies in a full-fledge battle that will not end before either of you ends up butchering the other into finely chopped meat, I must tell you that if and when Lauren comes home, you ask her to wait. No listening to any of her excuses, just keep her here until I return. And if she doesn't comply," I turn to Jael at this, "You know where the ropes are kept in my room," I complete.

She propels me a dirty look because all I have done since morning is interrupt her. Dave, on the other hand, smiles gleefully. "Sure!"

I hope Lauren's ears don't start bleeding from their...ahem, ahem, mutually antagonistic 'interactions' before I'm back from my hopeful sojourn to Elliot Bryson.

I nod at them once again and fend off to my room. Within a matter of just one and a half minute, I have changed my clothes, brushed my hair, painted my lips a light shade of pink, applied a coat of mascara, and am putting on a warm coat because today seems to be colder than it usually is (I think the weather is trying to match my mood for today, and maybe if things with Mr. I-love-confusing-the-living-daylights-out-of-Celeste-cause-damn-it's-so-much-fun go well, I can be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the sun), pairing it with my black boots. With one last glance at my image, feeling satisfied with looking presentable, I leave my room and walk towards Jael's room where Zephrine is sitting.

Somehow, as I rub my tired-from-staring-at-coffee-mugs eyes, careful not to ruin my mascara, I realize that the mere thought of meeting Elliot Bryson once again but with an understanding perspective this time owns the capability of making my brain and heart go all molten candle wax. Oh, yes, yes, I know, my self-control is on a totally different level when it comes to stability.

I gradually open the door and peek in. Of course, what I see is what I had expected-- spilled soda and molten blue ice-cream creating rather disgusting looking swirls on the peach carpet. And then I spot her on the other side of the bed, back facing me as she leans on the bedside, her knees to her chest and her head resting over her arms; the same way crying girls are depicted in books. I haul in a deep breath. "I'm going out," I announce to draw her attention.

No reaction.

"I'm going to meet your favorite person," I say, almost gritting my teeth in frustration because it is now that I realize how I have allowed myself to be convinced into doing this thing which, to be honest, feels a little too stupid on my behalf, especially considering how just yesterday I told him that I didn't want to see his damn face ever again.

Zephrine turns around immediately, her big, swollen eyes wide in surprise. "Huh?"

I squeeze my lips in a thin line. So he really is your favorite, Zephrine? Where do I stand, then? "You heard me," I say nonetheless, thinking it better to not voice my jealousy.

Zeph sniffs and wipes her wet nose with the back of her woolen sleeve. She slowly stands up and looks at me with hope in her eyes. The same hope that will surely be the death of me. "Can I come with you, mom?" she almost begs.

And then, ladies and gentlemen, I lose it. "Do you want to see me break your favorite's bones once again?" I snap. Of course, that's not what I have in mind, but I'd still like to make it seem as if I have got some sort of control over this.

My daughter's gaze lowers to the floor. Timidly, but clearly, I hear her say, "Please don't hit him, mom. He really didn't ever mean to hurt you."

I can't help but roll my eyes at her. She is talking as if- okay, stop it. Control yourself, Celeste. "Go, eat your food. I want you to finish all of your pending homework by the time I come back," I say. I point my index finger at her, and, "Maths homework included," I declare sternly.

She casts me a faint-hearted nod, slowly making her way out of the room. When she is about to pass by me, she halts in her steps. "When... when will we s-see the movie you promised to show me yesterday?" she whispers, her face cast downward.

It is only when I bite my under lip to keep myself from smiling at her innocence, that I realize just how easy it must've been for Elliot to trick her. Whatever you may do to them, children will always be so naive and adorable and dear. "Alita: Battle Angel, you mean?" She nods wordlessly again. "Only if all of your homework is done by the time I return, we'll watch it today."

She looks up at me at this and wipes her wet nose. And when she lets her hand down, I see the one thing I haven't seen since morning and had almost died wondering when I would see it again: her goddamn smile.

••••