Here Comes the Sun

20 | moon girl

        I STARE INTO THE BLUE, with Eleanore's face in my mind like a tattoo for hours after I woke up. That night at her house and me telling her about last semester is on a loop. It's nearly the crack of dawn, a bluish hue fills the room but it's still dark. This is probably the first time that I'm not awoken by my occasional nightmares in a puddle of cold sweat.

        But I know that I can't seem to get back to sleep like I want to. Something is eating away at me, somewhere in the pit of my stomach. It's not guilt or shame but I do know that it's something that is urging me to make things right with her. "You need to be patient, Immy." I say to myself, looking up at the ceiling. I turn over to my side, facing the door and where Bea is sleeping. I wrap my arm around her to feel the soft vibrations of her purring.

         I glance at the time on my clock, watching carefully as the numbers change overtime while it's getting less dark in my room and my eyelids are growing heavy as time progresses. It isn't long until I finally drift off to sleep. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that I might have to make it up to her for dropping it all on her like that.

         When my eyes snap open, I'm nearly blinded by the morning sun bleed through my window. More like it was Bea's loud meows and excessive kneading on my face. She tends to get antsy when she isn't fed breakfast on time. My eyes shift to the time on my alarm clock that reads, 10:45 AM; it's almost brunch hour. My legs are tangled up in the sheets, one foot somehow is hanging offside the bed.

         I look back at Bea. "Alright, fine. I need to get up anyway." I sit up and stretch before standing up, letting out a yawn.

          I get out of bed and into the hallway, Bea eagerly tails behind me. Not a single soul in sight in the kitchen. I would've thought that my parents would be up by now but I guess not. The tiled floor is stone cold beneath my feet as I fill up Bea's food bowl and she doesn't waste any time on chowing down. I quietly start rifling through the pantry, finding an old wicker picnic basket sitting in the corner on the floor and I place it on the counter. It looks like it's still in good shape too so I put a blanket in there.

          I pull out a frozen can of Pillsbury biscuit. My mom must've gone grocery shopping yesterday before the star-gazing event. It took me about eleven to eighteen minutes later to make eight of them in total before pouring them into the basket along with jars of jelly (grape and strawberry) and a set of napkins and plastic silverware. I retreat back upstairs.

          There, I take a quick hot shower and throw on a simple pale pink shirt, jean shorts, and I trade my usual Chucks for white Keds instead. I gather an extra pair of clothes just in case and then my keys and out the door a minute later.

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          After making a detour to the nearest convenient store for juice boxes and the local floral shop, purchasing a small bouquet of daisies, purple violets, and hyacinths. I nervously stand in front of Eleanore's door, the wooden porch floors creak beneath my feet. It's hard to believe that all of this is hers. Inheritance? Possibly so. I use my pinky to ring the doorbell, faintly hearing Prince's barking. I chew the inside of my mouth, slightly wincing at the pain but I need something to distract myself from the anxiety that I feel.

          When Eleanore opens the door, a look of equal parts question and surprise with blotches of paint covering her face. Her hair is tucked under a white floral print headscarf in a low messy bun. She's wearing a lavender blouse that looks like it's halfway buttoned up and the sleeves are rolled up, and so the cuffs of her pants as she stands barefoot in the doorway.

           "Moggy?"she says, her eyes scanning my face—probably taking every detail of me.

           "Ellie. Sorry, I didn't mean to catch you at a bad time," I tell her, pointing at my cheek.

           Her eyes widens then tries to wipe off the paint but instead it smears across her face. "Oh. No, I was just in the middle of a painting but I can always finish it later. But anyways, w-what are you doing here?"

           "Here," I abruptly hand her the flowers. "I, um, these are for you by the way. I saw some daisies and kind of... thought of you and figured you might like these."

           Eleanore raises her eyebrows and closes her eyes as she takes the biggest whiff of the flowers and glances down at the basket then says, "Aww, thank you. That means so much. So, what's with the basket?"

            "I thought that we could sit out here or go out and have brunch today—maybe see where that takes us? If you'd like to?"

            "Miss Imogene Quinn, are you asking me out on a date?"

            "N-no, this is just a get together between two best friends," I deny while also trying to hide my bashful smile from her.

            Eleanore smirks. "Whatever you say."

            "So, is that a yes? No? Maybe?"

            She smiles, hope glimmering in her eyes. "Well, it would be nice to take a break from my painting for a while and I haven't eaten anything so it's a yes. Just let me tidy up and I'll be out shortly."

            I nod and Eleanore slips back into the house. I go to sit down on the porch next to the small coffee table and stare out at the neighborhood. It's quite peaceful here even with the birds singing from the tree tops. I don't know why she wants to leave all of this for New York City. The pink and purple flowers in the bushes surrounding the house makes me feel at ease, like stepping inside of a pop-up fairytale storybook.

            About five minutes later, Eleanore steps out of the house with a fresh face. Her hair falls over her shoulders, with the front two strands braided. She put on her usual red lipstick that brings out her hazel eyes. She slings her handmade tote bag on her shoulder. After a day of not seeing her, it just feels like a giant weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. She smiles again, flashing her pearly white teeth, but—she's still herself.

            "So, where are we going?" She asks, closing the door behind her.

            "You'll see," I grin as I take her hand. "I'll drive."

             "Ooh, first the flowers, then you ask me to brunch, and now you're going to take me to a secret location? Moggy, you flirt and I like it."

             I feel slightly nervous about holding her hand even though we've done this before. But only as a friend or as an acquaintance. Or even as a stranger. Is it weird for strangers to hold hands after a couple of stolen glances? Maybe.

             "Yeah, yeah, don't let that go to your head, Elle." I fight back the urge to smile at her playful comment. I open the passenger side door for her and she slides into the seat. 

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