Just Between Us (Nashville is Calling, #2)

by Madison Wright

I consider telling her the truth. In fact, a week ago, I probably would have. Sadie is my best friend, and I share almost everything with her, but I keep my deepest secrets for Ethel alone. She’s crass and honest and always gives me the best advice. I want more than anything to spill my guts to her about the entire thing right here and now. But that’s the problem, apparently. In my parents’ eyes, I should never be close enough with a resident to share the most vulnerable pieces of my heart with them. “I’m good,” I tell her and plaster a smile on my face. “How are you?” “A little pissed that you’re lying to me,” she says, crossing one bony leg over the other and pinning me with her milky blue eyes.

“El,” Alex says, placing his fork back down on his plate. He reaches for me, wrapping me in a hug, and it’s only then that I realize my uncontrollable laughter has turned into sobs. "I just don't know what I did. I thought working for them would make them proud of me. And despite everything, I thought I was good at my job." I sniff loudly and hiccup on a shaky breath.

Adam’s arms wrap around me from the other side. “Ellie Sandwich,” I hiccup. “Ellie Sandwich,” they echo. When we were kids and I needed affection, I’d find my brothers and make them give me hugs just like this. I always called it an Ellie Sandwich—although they usually called it a Loser Sandwich.

I line up my gaze through the viewfinder, not worried about how someone looks at the other end or whether this shot will turn out how I need it to. No, as I release my breath and snap the shutter, it’s just me and my camera and the trees. That ever-tightening band around my chest loosens just the tiniest bit.

Standing, I move to sit next to her on the couch, careful to maneuver around her propped ankle on the ottoman. I lean into her, breathing in her sweet, powdery scent. “I wish I had a chocolate penis for you,” she says softly. “They always help.” I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me.

Ellie looks like a perfect fall day. She’s dressed in pumpkin-colored pants that look soft enough to run your hands over and another one of her huge sweaters that slips off her shoulder, this one a deep emerald green and tucked into her waistband.

I can’t blend into the shadows and capture the little moments no one else sees anymore. I’m suddenly right there in the middle of the action, drawing even more curiosity with the camera glued to my face. But here at the harvest festival, with kids squealing, parents laughing, and couples leaning on each other, drifting through the madness with their focus only on each other, I can lose myself.

Somehow Ellie and I always end up under a blanket of stars.

I don’t know why I still go through the motions of heating the stove, cutting up the vegetables, and trimming the chicken. I tell myself to stop as I fill up the Tupperware I bought at the pharmacy. I beg myself to stay put as I load all my purchases into the grocery bags and cross the parking lot dividing our buildings. Raindrops pool in the hollow of my throat and catch on my lashes as I stand outside her door, warring with myself. I can’t keep doing this, putting myself out there, only to have her turn me away. This is the last time. With that thought ringing in my head, I knock.

He lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging. “Because, Ellie, sometimes what you want and what you need are two very different things.” His gaze pierces mine. “What do you want?” I want this. I want him.

His lips quirk in a smile so devastating it’s hard to watch. He is a shooting star on a cloudless night, sunrise over a crashing surf, the first flower in spring. He is everything simple and lovely in life, and I can’t believe he came back here.

“Elizabeth,” Ethel snaps, resorting to my full name so I know she’s serious. “Stop talking in circles and tell me what’s got you looking like little heart-shaped bubbles would come out if you farted.” I grimace. “Ethel, you have the worst analogies.”

“I’m seeing someone.” I’m more than a little shocked when she doesn’t respond and instead stares, searching around the mounds of magazines and bonbon wrappers littering her sofa. “What are you doing?” I ask. “I’m looking for my phone.” This is not at all the reaction I was expecting. “Why?” “I want to play that Lizzo song.” I roll my eyes so hard I see stars. “My gosh, Ethel. Can’t you just say you’re happy for me like a normal person?” She finally locates her phone with an Aha! She must have that song queued up because it starts playing, loudly, within seconds. Flashing me a bright grin, she yells over the music, “You wouldn’t love me as much if I were normal.”

I yell back, “Your neighbors are going to complain about this noise!” “Nonsense! Newman hasn’t been able to hear since Y2K, and I have to listen to the young couple on the other side have loud, acrobatic sex three times a day. They can listen to my music.” She turns down the music a touch, though. “So who are you dating? Tell me everything.”

When we finally crest the hill, Cam stops, taking in the view. I do too, but it’s him I watch instead of the scenery. I watch those photographer eyes assess every slope and valley, every light illuminating the night sky. It’s Nashville, in all its beauty, spread out before us, like it was founded just for this night, for two souls to find peace in.

It’s the Tuesday before Thanksgiving,

I read this The Tuesday before Thanksgiving 😆

I like it, though, our unorthodox take at dating. We’re less a guidebook and more a vintage game of Candy Land—missing some cards and having to make up the steps as we go, but still full of color and sweetness, nonetheless.

“Can’t sleep,” she says. “No one made me tea before bed.” Chuckling, I ask her, “Who made you tea before I came around?” “Well, I did, but it doesn’t taste the same anymore.” “I wish I could tell you it’s my special touch, but really, I just add a little honey.”

“Yes,” I say with a laugh. “The first time I made tea for you, you kept talking about how good it was and how you were going to have to keep me around to make it for you every night.” I pause, not meaning to end up where my sentence took me. “I just wanted you to keep me around, I guess.”

Before I can ask why they’ve suddenly turned into Richard and Emily Gilmore when Rory decided to go to Yale, the doorbell rings. Mom and Dad hurry to answer it, leaving Alex and me alone in the kitchen wearing matching confused expressions.

“I thought maybe we could do this together instead. Me and you under the stars.” I look back up, taking in the view. “Me and you under the stars, Daisy.”

Cam is stargazing and too-sweet tea. He is gentle touches and homemade soup. He is all the best things, and I don’t know how I got him.

No, that’s a good thing. You are an explosion of color in a dreary landscape. You’re a striped sweater in a crowd of black dresses. You, Ellie Bates, are the statement piece the whole house is designed around.”