Page 70 of Healing Eleanor

I exhale and rub the back of my neck. “I’m actually here for me.”

Evelyn turns fully toward me, knife still in hand. “I’m always here for you. Is everything okay?”

“No. Just… a lot on my mind.” My palms press against the cool countertop, grounding me. “I feel lost… like I don’t know what I’m doing. Mama has an agenda… so here I am.”

Evelyn points the knife at me, her lips curving into a smile. “Lay it on me,” she says, and returns to chopping.

So I do, telling her everything.

What happened with Eleanor in the studio, how Mama insists she’s in my life for some reason, how her words don’t match her eyes when she talks about chemo, and the way it all gnaws at me.

The entire time, Evelyn doesn’t interrupt once. She just listens with that quiet patience she always has. Even Lily remains uncharacteristically silent beside me, though I catch her biting back questions more than once.

When I finally run out of words, Evelyn sets down the knife and wipes her hands on the dish towel. “Well,” she says thoughtfully, “that sounds like one big pickle. And right now, you’re just in the vinegar.”

Beside me, Lily sighs dramatically. “Pickles sound so good right now.”

Evelyn shoots her a look. “Control yourself, Lillian. You had nachos, popcorn, and a soda at the game.” Then she turns back to me, her expression softening. “What I mean, Nik, is I heard everything you said. But what I didn’t hear is how you feel about it.”

Before I can reply, the sound of light footsteps reach the kitchen. Grace appears in the doorway, her cheeks still pink from the football game. “It smells amazing in here. What are you making?” She spots me at the counter. “Oh—hey, Nik,” she says, giving me a small wave.

I pick up the bouquet from the chair and extend my hand toward her. “For you… since I couldn’t be at the game tonight.”

Lily cranes her neck. “Wait. When did you even bring those in?”

Grace’s eyes widen as she takes them, lifting the flowers to her nose, breathing in their scent. “Thank you.” Her lips curve into a shy, grateful smile.

“No problem, kiddo.” I pat her lightly on the back.

“Grace, check my room. I think there’s a vase in there,” Evelyn says with a pointed look that sends her youngest toward the hallway.

The second she disappears, Lily rests her chin in her hand and shoots me a mock glare. “Why don’t I get flowers after my performances?”

Despite everything sitting heavy in my chest, a reluctant laugh breaks free. Lily always has a way of knocking down walls without even trying. “I’ll get you flowers next time.”

Her pout immediately turns into a grin. “You better.”

Evelyn’s voice returns, loving but grounded. “All right, back to this pickle you’re in.” Her eyes meet mine with quiet patience. “Tell me how you feel, Nik.”

I have never been comfortable with sharing my feelings. There’s something about dragging my deepest thoughts into the open air that makes me want to shove them back inside twice as fast. But if anyone can give me real advice, it’s her.

By some miracle, Lily saves me from my own hesitation. “I’m going to go help Grace. I just can’t stand the thought of her hacking the stems on those poor roses.” She clutches her chest dramatically before dashing out of the kitchen like she’s been sent on a rescue mission.

Thank goodness for Lily’s green thumb and her obsession with flowers. With her gone, the room feels a little more mellow. It’s not that I think she’ll judge me, but right now I need the steady counsel of someone who can see past my walls, not the teasing of a friend.

Evelyn gazes at me with those steady, expectant eyes. “I can’t help if I don’t know how you feel, dear.” She moves to the stove, the soft sizzle of beef filling the air as she stirs. “Here, would it help if I wasn’t looking at you?”

“Actually, yes.” My shoulders loosen a fraction. Without her gaze pinning me, it doesn’t feel like I’m sitting under a blinding spotlight, waiting to confess every bad thing I’ve ever done. “I’m not even sure where to start.”

Evelyn’s wooden spoon scrapes against the pan as she folds in the chopped vegetables. “How about we start with Irina. You said you think she isn’t telling you the truth?”

I release a slow breath. “Yes. She wouldn’t look me in the eye when I asked about Dad, or why her chemo is more expensive this time.”

Evelyn glances over her shoulder, brow raised. “And?”

I lean back, spinning the stool a few inches back and forth. “Honestly? It makes me angry. I’ve been spreading myself thin to help her, and I’d do it again without question, but there’s something she’s keeping from me. Something she doesn’t want me to know. And then I feel guilty for being angry with her on top of it. What if I’m just imagining things? But she’s never kept things from me before…”

She grabs a bag of hamburger buns from the pantry and sets them on a sheet pan. “It’s okay to feel that way, Nik. It makes sense. When someone we love isn’t being open with us—especially with their health—it can feel incredibly frustrating.” She turns fully, leaning a hip against the counter, arms crossing as her expression softens. “Sometimes our anger comes from fear. Fear of being left out. Fear of losing control. People who are sick sometimes hold back to protect the people they love. Or because they’re barely holding on themselves. Even if that’s the case, your feelings are still valid.”