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It started in the normal way, and ended very much differently.
“The normal way”, of course, was a party where both of them were a little tipsy even though neither were old enough to officially drink alcohol, and “very much differently” was Ephraim leaving without explanation and not speaking to Elle for fifteen years.
But the party happened first, so it is the party that Elle remembers first. They were there with their guitar, as usual, not because they were the type of person to play Wonderwall to random senior girls but because they needed it in crowds. It was sort of like a comfort blanket.
Also, they were the type of person to play Wonderwall to random senior boys.
Ephraim was there with Ava, who was flirting with-- who was it? Elle can’t remember now. It was either Ava’s first girlfriend or her third, they know that, some kind of odd digit, and she had only just come out as a lesbian, so it wasn’t her fifth for certain. Elle’s not sure she’s even had five girlfriends. Either way, she was there, and she was with a girl, which meant Ephraim had been politely exploring the house for quite a while before he ran into Elle.
The fireplace had nothing in it, not even a fake electric fire, but Elle was sitting on its stoop anyway because it just so happened to be the only place in the room where there was room to sit anymore. Ephraim pushed his way through the crowd and sat down next to them.
Elle wasn’t really one to stare (anxiety will do that to you) but in this case, they were a little entranced.
Not to be rude, it was just that-- well, Ephraim had a face like an angel. Sad eyes, long nose, the sort of lips where you know they’re
meant
to be smiling but they aren’t yet and you just need to figure out the right way to put them back in their proper position. Long, dark hair... Dark eyes... Beautiful tawny skin... And, of course, the little birthmarks, and the soft pink triangles on Ephraim’s cheeks. He called them ‘blushies’, which in retrospect was a remarkably silly name, but it was true-- he looked constantly flushed. On this specific night, Elle just thought Ephraim was drunk.
Maybe this misconception was aided by Ephraim’s complete lack of speech. He didn’t say anything when he sat down, which Elle remembers. Elle remembers, because that made things awkward-- It was one of those situations where you don’t want to break the quiet and say something weird, but you also can’t let this strange silence with this beautiful stranger drag on. Elle, of course, just sort of sat there, because they weren’t (aren’t) the type to take control of these kinds of things. Eventually, it was Ephraim who asked what was with the guitar.
Just that, too. “What’s with the guitar.” Ephraim admitted later, of course, that he had no idea what he was doing and he thought that sounded dumb (it did) but it worked.
“I always have it with me,” Elle said. “I write songs.”
This, looking back, was both a mistake and the best thing they’d ever said in their life.
They were both shining, bathed in light, as Elle played for Ephraim. At the time, Elle was pink-haired. Elle had-- has-- a habit of dying their hair; they were into looking like bubblegum at the time. It went oddly with their soft-folded dark eyes, but that night it made sense, reflecting lights and glittering. Elle kept noticing Ephraim staring at their hair, and kept pretending not to notice.
They only knew the most incredibly obscure songs, and a few originals-- “here’s the song that plays in the background of the sixteenth episode of this TV show that ended in the 90’s”, “here’s a song I wrote for my uncle’s cat”, “here’s a song about this graphic novel I read when I was eleven that, looking back on it, really made me who I am today”. That was Elle’s thing, generally, and, happily enough, Ephraim didn’t seem to mind.
And that was when Ephraim asked them to improvise.
And maybe if they’d refused to improvise, or maybe if they hadn’t chosen to sing specifically about thinking Ephraim was cute, or maybe if they’d messed something up and never spoken to Ephraim again, things would have turned out differently.
But they didn’t, and they did, and they didn’t, and things turned out the way they did-- which, immediately after, meant getting Ephraim’s number and feeling sort of like there was a small golden orb of light occupying the space where their heart had been.
Which constituted, to them at least, the “normal way” of starting things.
Because after that, they started eating lunch with Ephraim and Ava instead of alone in the stairwell. And after that, they started finding excuses to hold Ephraim’s hand. And after that, they went into the forest with him and found out that actually kissing someone was
really really hard,
because you have to lead into it, you can’t just throw your head at someone without warning, so they sort of waited for half an hour of walking around and doing almost nothing and then just blurted out “can I kiss you,” and Ephraim smiled and said “okay” in the absolute smoothest voice possible, and Elle remembers wondering how he wasn’t absolutely
terrified out of his mind,
and maybe he did not actually like Elle as much as Elle liked him, and Ephraim had his whole little speech about how of
course
he liked them; he was dating them, wasn’t he? And they laughed and said yes, of course, and they felt reassured, and two years later he was saying he had to leave.
But it didn’t happen just like that, really. That’s only in Elle’s mind. They always jump straight from “everything was good” to “one day Ephraim absolutely hated me”. But they were fine for two years, weren’t they? Two years of holding hands and talking and walking through the forest at night. That was a good time, it was a sweet time-- Elle had dated people before, for sure, but not like this. Elle and Ephraim snuck out of their houses and walked fifteen minutes each in the dark to see each other, they planned secret sleepovers when their parents were out of town (and when Elle’s siblings were out of the way), and in the midst of all of it was the time they spent with Ava.
Because that was something, too. That feeling of wholeness, of completeness; with three being the perfect number and all.The little soft-edged triangle of their friendship. Ava and Ephraim and Elle were all three as close as any people could be, and they went everywhere together. The woods, the park, the halls at school... Ava drew up plans for how their schedules intersected just so they could figure out how to meet each other between classes all at once. Sometimes they passed notes, or snacks; Elle figured out how to make cookies halfway through junior year and just didn’t stop, and Ava was always carrying at least one Hi-Chew around with her. For luck, she said.
So Ava and Ephraim and Elle, all together, went out together constantly. They dared each other to order complex drinks at Starbucks, they played drawing telephone together, they tried to figure out basketball at the old abandoned court in the middle of town, and they found several solitary berry bushes in the woods to pick from.
It was here, actually, that Elle thinks Ephraim was first different. It’s difficult to remember the first moment, not when everything changed so gradually, but that day sticks out, because Ephraim arrived in the woods red-eyed, and with Ava. Which meant that they had met up beforehand, without Elle, which would have been fine if Ephraim had not been so obviously
crying
. If Elle’s boyfriend was crying, shouldn’t Elle be able to help him?
But it was just that one time, so Elle let it slide-- after all, who could tell what had happened? They were sure that, whatever it was, Ephraim would tell them eventually. If Ava knew, then Elle would know, and everything would be solved, and maybe Ephraim just didn’t have the energy to talk about it right now, and besides, trust! You have to trust that your boyfriend will be honest with you when necessary. Maybe this was just not necessary.
And then there was the sort-of date, which Elle couldn’t view as a date once they were on it, because Ephraim was depressed and quiet and so secretive about everything.
“What’s wrong?” Elle asked, and tried to touch his shoulder.
“Nothing,” Ephraim lied, very very obviously, and brushed Elle’s hand away. “I’m fine.”
So it was not really a date, because dates are usually had when two people spend an enjoyable time together, and this was not enjoyable or even spending time, really. It was just a lot of pain, and they happened to be in the woods and together while the pain was happening.
Well-- that’s all, really. It happened over and over, in different places and with different situations, each time leading to Elle getting pushed away. Over and over and over and over. Tears, pleading, anger-- nothing could make it better; nothing could even get Ephraim to admit that he wasn’t happy in the relationship, which was (Elle’s best French coming up) absolute horseshit, because who on earth was happy in a relationship where they couldn’t even trust their partner with basic information like why they are suddenly
crying
all the time?
And Elle knew they shouldn’t be mad at Ephraim, because of course he was going through something difficult, but somehow they couldn’t help being mad anyway because it was just-- so cruel. So cruel, to hurt and then lie about hurting. To hurt, and hurt others, and keep denying Elle’s help anyway. And Elle was stressed; they were losing sleep and eating badly, and they were keeping it from Ephraim, and this was all sort of ruining their life. Understandably so.
Ava was no help, either. Elle had assumed out of hand that she would talk to them, that perhaps she would say something at least vaguely reassuring, but all she gave them was the same information they already knew: that Ephraim was ‘dealing with stuff’, and that he couldn’t talk about it with them. His boy-aligned-friend.
So what did that mean about Elle? What was so fundamentally broken about Elle that they couldn’t help Ephraim with his problems? What could possibly be holding Ephraim back from telling one of his two best friends what was going on?
“You told Ava,” Elle tried one night, because Ava suggested explaining the issue to him clearly, and Elle was all about communication, or whatever. Ephraim mumbled something about needing her help, and Elle... did not take it well. “Why don’t you ask for
my
help? What’s
wrong?”
“I can’t
tell
you,” Ephraim said, probably for the fifth or sixth time, and the two of them lapsed into silence, sitting on the edge of Elle’s bed. Dates just kept ending like this now; with one of them bringing up the issue (or Ephraim simply starting to cry), and then some kind of fight, and then this. Resolute silence.
So they stopped talking about it. Elle turned to comforting Ephraim as best they could, trying to tell some part of themself that This Is Just How Relationships Are Sometimes, and Ephraim cried on their shoulder without telling them anything. Elle still held him and kissed him and called him their boyfriend, but everything was different. Everything was wrong.
And then, as if finally recognizing that things were not going to get fixed like this, Ephraim told Elle he had to leave.
It had sort of been coming for a while. They were either fighting or ignoring the issue, creating awkward, frustrating silences, dancing circles around the problem. By this point, Elle hadn’t sung to Ephraim for a long time.
Which didn’t make it any better. Elle wanted to fix things, wanted to
properly
hold Ephraim in the worst way, but Ephraim wouldn’t
let
them, and Ava just stood by and watched it all unravel, and then Ephraim left.
Not just the relationship, either: the entire town. Ephraim said he had relatives somewhere, far out in the middle of nowhere, and he was going to finish high school with them and then go to college in that state. And could Elle please not contact him again.
“Can I-- what?” Elle said, and Ephraim scrunched up his hair and ran his fingers through it, nervously playing with the individual strands.
“Can you... delete my number,” Ephraim said. “Please. And just... forget about me.”
There was a long pause here, where Elle tried to comprehend the words Ephraim was saying. And the tone, and the expression, because he didn’t look mad. And he didn’t even look
sad,
exactly. He was making this “I-Am-Doing-This-For-Everyone’s-Best-Interest” face, which had always made sense when he stopped Elle from playing the opening theme to
Buffy
on their guitar and singing along with the terrible lyrics they wrote, or when he was trying to keep Ava from slingshotting berries at people from school. It did not make sense here, because Elle
loved
Ephraim.
So:
“Yes,” Elle said. “But no. I won’t forget about you.”
(Very cliche-romance-novel of them.)
“Please,” Ephraim said, taking Elle’s hands in his. “I’m just gonna leave, and you can-- I don’t know. Find other people. Better people.”
“I don’t
want
better people,” Elle murmured. They looked down at their and Ephraim’s hands, clasped together. “I want you.”
“I’m not an option anymore,” Ephraim said. Very firmly. And he looked down at his hands around Elle’s, and let go. And that was that, really. They were still dating (sort of), and still talking (sort of), but it was too late. Ephraim told Elle when his mind was already made up. There wasn’t arguing with him, because he was as good as already gone. And, Elle realized, had been for weeks. Months. It was already over. There was just no way to explain that to themself.
On Elle’s last night with Ephraim, there was an absolutely beautiful sunset.
“Can’t you stay?” Elle asked, leaning against his chest. Ephraim braided Elle’s strawberry-blonde hair (they’d dyed it several times since the party) and sighed.
“I already booked the flight,” he said. “It leaves tomorrow. I told you.”
And that was it, really. Elle didn’t have the heart to argue on their last night. Ephraim refused to say anything about what he was doing or where he was going, and Elle made sad little questioning comments about when Ephraim might return.
“I’ll come back,” Ephraim said. “Maybe.”
“Be still my beating heart,” Elle said, and leaned back to touch Ephraim’s face. Ephraim sighed and tucked a strand of Elle’s hair behind their ear.
Which was how most of the night went. The usual secrets and ‘possibly’s, coupled with Elle working unbelievably hard not to cry. Elle made some jokes, they kissed Ephraim. And they woke up the next morning and he was gone.
They were very numb. The beach was still empty, and they had sand in their hair, and the sun was making strange shapes appear across the water. Elle looked out at those shapes, processing. There was half a breeze in the air, and it ruffled their clothes. They watched people come out and sit down on the beach for a while before getting up to go home.
The next day was fine, and the day after that. Elle had had breakups before, just less intense ones. They knew what they were doing, in a vague and fuzzy sort of way. Wake up, get dressed, eat food, go to school. Ava was supportive, at the very least. Elle dropped themself into her life completely, which seems kind of wrong now-- using their support for her as an escapist fantasy? But they did care about her, genuinely. They were just very numb.
So they did alright after that. They didn’t just drop off the face of the earth, after all, and they
had
a life-- they just kept living it with Ava instead of both her and Ephraim. But things were difficult, because no matter how many times Elle cried on Ava’s shoulder, or went to the park with her, or helped her with her girlfriends, she kept hiding the truth from them. Which, they supposed, was part of the deal-- no telling Ephraim’s nonbinary-but-kind-of-a-boyfriend the whole story, ever. Keep them in the dark, because that’s just what’s best for them.
And Elle couldn’t even be
mad
about it. Not really. They were mad briefly, but Elle wasn’t an angry person. They still aren’t. For them, the situation was unfair, but it didn’t seem fair to be mad at Ephraim, either. Because he did love them-- at some point, at least-- and this was all for their own good, blah blah, how could they be mad without hearing his side of the story. So Elle was sad instead of angry, and that suited them just fine.
The good thing about general sadness is that it is not always debilitating. Elle balanced sadness with both college and therapy, switching between majors, eventually settling on psychology; perhaps due to the amount of absolutely terrible therapists they had to deal with. Therapists with too many plaques on the walls, therapists with too little compassion, therapists who looked at Elle like they were some kind of small, interesting animal. Elle decided to do better.
They dated; sort of. A few people, in relationships that didn’t so much end poorly as they did never really begin. They liked people, for sure, but in strange, floaty sort of ways. One thing they were aware of is that it is never polite to ask someone whether they think you genuinely like them or are just using them to fill the romantic void inside you, so they refrained from that and dealt with the issue by repeatedly breaking up with people. Which is what every therapist, including (now) Elle, would call a “band-aid solution”, but sometimes you only have band-aids and no medical equipment, so considering that, Elle is doing just fine.
And that is how it has been for fifteen years now. Elle has moved on past Ephraim-- it was one boyfriend, it was not their first boyfriend, it happened
over a decade ago--
but they can’t move past Ava. Mostly because she is still around, and still keeping things from them.
It makes a good deal of sense to Elle, not to trust anyone. They asked Ephraim if he loved them, and he said yes, and then he left. They thought Ava was their friend, but at the last moment she turned around and started hiding things from them, too. And, even after all this time, with Ava living just on the other side of the forest and Elle seeing her almost daily, they
still
don’t have the truth.
Which is partially why most attempts to befriend real, genuine human beings have gone down the drain. Elle does not trust people, and those people feel hurt by the distrust, and Elle tries to give them the Fifteen Years Ago The People I Loved The Most Betrayed Me talk, and the people decide they just do not want to deal with Elle’s tragic backstory.
This is why Elle has very many acquaintances and so few friends. They know people-- how could they not, this town is tiny and everybody goes to the same grocery store-- but they don’t
know
know people. Other than maybe their ex-boyfriends and also some of the children that they advise at school.
So there they are: Miss, Mr., or Mx. Valentin, school therapist who casually dodges questions about why they are still unmarried in their thirties. Fortunately, Ava is also unmarried in her thirties, so Elle borrows her excuse and cites “lady troubles” that they do not have because they are not interested in women.
And, occasionally, they stay up until 10 pm (instead of 9:30-- they absolutely
loathe
going to bed late; it is unhealthy and upsetting and it causes one to wake up
after 7:00,
which is a travesty) drinking weak tea and considering things that happened long before.
An hour or so ago, when this thought process began accidentally after their bath, they convinced themself that they were, in fact, not thinking about Ephraim, because Ephraim was over a decade ago. They were thinking about their commitment issues and relationship problems with Ava, which unfortunately stem from Ephraim, so at that point they had to admit that they were indeed heading into one of their Ephraim thought-spirals. They don’t often think about Ephraim, anyway, so it’s fine to indulge once in a while, right?
This is the thought-process that led to them deciding that it would probably be best to just sit this one out and see where it went.
Where it has gone: their kitchen. Elle is sitting at their small, round table, hands around their mug of tea on top of their pink-and-white plastic checkered tablecloth. It matches the counters, which are lavender-and-white checkered. The counters match the walls, which are plain lavender, and the walls go nicely with the white cupboards. After living in this house for roughly five years, Elle has decorated everything possible to go with their pastel grandma aesthetic. Unfortunately, the aesthetic, while very sweet on a normal day, is not helping tonight.
Elle nudges one of the white table legs with their bare foot, moping very quietly. What do they know? Absolutely nothing. Not Ephraim’s location, not why he left, not what he’s been doing, and not why he can’t return. Because he said he
might,
and what’s stopping him coming now? They know this is sort of petty, given the Imposing Largeness of the situation Ephraim said he couldn’t tell them about, but... they miss him. And they are petty, somewhat.
This is what they are thinking while they stare into their big pink mug of tea. It is dark out, and starry, and sort of cold (they don’t have the energy to close the small window over the sink), and Elle is just sitting at their table in soft, worn, pastel-rainbow pajamas and a clip in their (now freshly honey-strawberry-blond) hair. They feel like a very tired mouse. Behind them, they can hear their fairy clock ticking.
They run a hand through their hair tiredly, disturbing their signature half-mini-bun (half their hair is up in a bun, and the rest of it is down, and all of it is too short for a regular bun, and of course they have long bangs.) Sighing, they fiddle with their hair until it returns to its usual floppy fixed-up state and tap their fingers on the table. It’s very quiet out, and their nails (decal’ed with little white clouds) are the only thing they can hear in the night.
And then the doorbell rings.
Elle’s first thought, which should be ridiculous but is actually somewhat reasonable, is that it is some kind of incredibly late delivery of bath bombs. This is what starts to come across their mind when they have not gotten to sleep at a reasonably early hour.
There’s a long pause between the doorbell ringing and someone very, very tentatively knocking on the door, and Elle uses it to double-check their hair and make sure they’re suitably dressed, which they sort of are, and anyway if something is happening at 9 pm there is no reason it cannot happen with them dressed for what usually happens at 9 pm, which is sleep.
Also, Elle knows everyone in the town, which is why they are fairly certain it won’t actually matter if they open the door in pastel rainbow pajamas and no shoes.
They fiddle with the little lock on the door (it’s been half-broken for some time now) and open it.
His eyes meet theirs, and Elle feels lightning, square in the chest. They absorb it, just barely, while trying to stick all the pieces of the person in front of them together. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark eyebrows, soft lips, that height, that stature, that
face--
It’s him.
“Ephraim,” Elle breathes, looking just barely down at him. He was always an inch or two shorter than them.
“Elle,” Ephraim says, and smiles.