Pull Over - a short story

Chapter Six - Pancakes

Pull Over

Chapter Six - Pancakes

⇆⇅⇄⇅⇆⇅⇄⇅⇆⇅⇄

When I was nine, I faked a stomach ache to leave a sleepover. It was my first one, my first night away from home, and I was too afraid to say anything. I turned on the sink, filled my mouth with water, and then pretended to vomit into the toilet.

I really just missed my mom. I wanted nothing more than to curl up with her and my dad on the couch, watch a movie, and have them carry me to bed when I fell asleep.

I tried to convince my mom that I really did have a stomach ache, but looking back, she had to have known. Still, she didn't hesitate to pick me up from the sleepover. In the morning, my dad made pancakes. If you're feeling better, of course, he said. He knew I wasn't really sick, either, but pancakes always made me feel better.

Even though I've been awake for half an hour, staring at Elliott's slightly parted lips, I'm thinking about my parents. I dreamt about them, I miss them, and they deserve so much more from me.

I never wished they were different people. I never wished they were Christina or Mark, but maybe they think I did. Maybe they think I do. I should call them later.

"Still overthinking in the morning, huh?" Elliott suddenly speaks, and I flinch. I didn't expect him to be awake. "Sorry." His eyes stay closed. "Don't move." I stay put, like he requests, and his arms tighten around me. They tighten so much that it pulls me closer, and I've quickly forgotten how to breathe. "G'morning." His eyes flutter open, and his thumb circles my hip. "How are you feeling?"

"It happened, right?" I whisper. Slowly, he nods and I whine, closing my eyes again. "Can we go back to bed?"

"Absolutely," he kisses my forehead, emitting a long breath from my lips. "C'mere, come closer." I'm practically on top of him, letting him hold me close and feeling the breathing of our chests together. While I play with the sleeve of his shirt, I realize that Elliot has worn t-shirts to bed this entire trip. But he never sleeps in t-shirts.

"Why are you sleeping in shirts?" I whisper.

"I thought we were going back to bed," he laughs.

"You knew that wasn't going to happen." I rest my head down, my ear pressed to his heart. "Why t-shirts?"

"Didn't want to make you uncomfortable," he mumbles. I feel his fingers playing with the ends of my hair that rest at my back.

"You never make me uncomfortable."

He hums, it vibrates through my body, and I hold onto the feeling. His fingertips dance near the edge of my own shirt. "That's good to hear." Lazily, he lets his hand slip beneath my shirt, and I shiver. "Sleep for me, J." I'm not convinced I'll fall back asleep, but he starts to slowly scratch my back and my eyes grow heavy. I stay connected to him, holding onto his body, and then I drift off under his touch.

I wake up in the same position, Elliott's hand resting against my skin as he breathes rhythmically in his sleep. I smile, looking up at him, because this feels right.

Everything else — Dylan, my birth parents, starting med school in the Fall; it all goes away. Maybe it never mattered as much as the person in front of me. Maybe I was too stuck in my own plans to notice.

I shift my body until I'm fully on top of him, straddling his lap. I sit up, watching him stir beneath me. He wipes his eyes with the backs of his hands, and then he laughs, smiling up at me. "What?" I grab his hands, placing them on my hips to hold me steady.