Ella

Going out on a date feels wrong. Since Melody was diagnosed, my life has revolved around taking care of her and Kaleb. It's been difficult to balance, and I'm sounding like a broken record. As much as I deserve a night out with a nice man, I feel like a mom being separated from her kids. I'm worried about Kaleb and Melody, even though I know Kaleb can take care of her.

Smoothing my dress out—a simple black halter dress with a flowing, sparkly skirt—I take a deep breath and gather my purse. After making sure it has all my requirements (phone, lipstick, credit cards, and extra tampons), I head downstairs.

At the bottom of the stairs, I can hear their voices trickling down the hallway. The air smells of baked bread and cinnamon. A sad smile encompasses my lips. Kaleb is a phenomenal baker, but he only bakes for two reasons: Melody asks him to or he's stressed. Something tells me it's not the latter. Melody has been asking him to do little things for her. They've gone on many trips to the beach and collected an abundance of shells. Kaleb brought home a shot glass from every city he's visited, adding to her collection that started with Montréal, Halifax, and Dublin.

"I love your cinnamon buns," Melody says.

Kaleb's melodic chuckle echoes down the hallway. "You love anything with pumpkin spice in it, Mel." Something clangs, and I'm assuming it's his wedding ring against the bowl while he kneads the dough. The same happened the other night when he was baking bread.

"What can I say?" she laughs. "I'm a basic white girl."

Melody's mouth drops open and she rushes to greet me. "Ella! You look fantastic! Isaac won't be able to keep his hands off of you!" She pauses and frowns. "Sorry. That's horrible language I just used—even if it is just metaphorical. He will keep his hands off of you unless you ask him not to."

"And if he doesn't," Kaleb adds. "Call me and Shea. We'll set him straight."

Smiling, I try not to focus on Melody. She's lost nearly thirty pounds because of pneumonia and cancer treatment. Her cheeks are hollow and her clothing hangs from her body. But at least her smile still shines. There's still power in her voice and her bright blue eyes. As much as weight and power contradict each other, Melody is still Melody. Which has been a lifesaver, not only for Melody, but for Kaleb as well. I fear the day that Melody succumbs to the effects of the illness. Where will the tumours spread? Will she choose MAID (medical assistance in dying) if things become unbearable?

There are too many questions running through my head.

Melody adjusts the skirt of my dress and then looks at me. She snaps her fingers. "You need lipstick! I'll be right back."

She rushes into the office, where she keeps her purse.

While I'm waiting, I watch Kaleb. He tosses the dough onto a wooden cutting board and kneads at an impeccable rate.

I saunter over, dipping my finger in the mixture of pumpkin spice, brown sugar, and butter. I lick it away, enjoying the sweetness that coats my tongue. With January settling over us, it's strange to taste something with pumpkin spice. All I can think about now are sweaters and boots and pumpkin space lattes and falling leaves. But it's a delicious flavour, anyway.

Giving Kaleb a nudge, I say, "What did that dough ever do to you?"

Using the heel of his hand, he pushes down on the dough and then folds it. He repeats this motion several times before turning to me. There's a sheen coating of sweat on his forehead. "I hate this, Ella. She goes through these spurts of energy and then crashes. Each time, the intervals get longer and longer. For half an hour, I have my Melody. The next, I have a dormant version of her."

My smile is painfully weak. I've noticed her crash and burn several times over the past few weeks. It's almost like having pneumonia has stolen her cache of energy. It's unreliable when compared to how it was. "Remember what your therapist said. Cherish these moments."

He picks pieces of dough from his fingers. "Sometimes, I don't want to. Sometimes, all I want to do is break down."

I give his arm a reassuring squeeze. "You're not the only one."

"Found it!"

Melody comes bounding into the room, carrying her signature tube of lipstick. Midnight Heroine. I know the name because I've stared at the tube many times, wishing I could pull off black lipstick. Like the colour red, black adds a mysterious allure to a persona.

"Oh, Melody," I say, shaking my head. "No. I can't wear black lipstick. You pull it off so much better than I do."

She tosses her dull platinum blonde hair over her shoulder. "Bullshit, Ella. You can wear any colour." Pausing, she wrinkles her nose. "Okay, maybe not green. Green does not suit your complexion. But you look good in darker colours. I've seen you rock dark reds, pinks, oranges, and browns. Even navy blue. It's time to use the black lipstick. We'll put a layer of gloss over it after."

Saying no to Melody feels like a crime. Instead of arguing, I nod and sit down on a stool. Using her lip pencil, she outlines the shape of my lips and then uses the lipstick to colour in the area. Next, she coats my lips in a sparkly gloss that tastes like vanilla. When I look in the small compact mirror she grabbed, I can't help but sigh. Had nursing not worked out, she could've been a makeup technician. Because of her handiwork, my lips look fuller. They also match my smoky eyes and my dress. Paired with the sparkly heels...

I feel like a badass.

"Melody..."

She smiles and closes the compact just as the doorbell rings. "No need to thank me, Ella. If you ever want your makeup done, let me know." I climb to my feet and she gives me a nudge. "Now get going. Your man is waiting for you."

Behind us, Kaleb crosses his arms and grumbles something incoherent.

Melody looks over her shoulder. "Don't be grumpy. You like Isaac."

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, so?"

She cocks her head to the side. "Then maybe be, I don't know, supportive? That always helps."

Kaleb's brown eyes meet mine. "If you're not home by eleven, without texting me, I'm tearing this city apart to find you. With Shea."

"Okay, Dad," I laugh. "Slow down. I'll let you know what the plans are, but you don't get any details. Got it?"

His smile is sardonic. "No, Ella, I want to know all about your sexual life."

It's my turn to roll my eyes. Turning my back to them, I say, "I'll see you soon. Don't wait up. Thanks again, Melody!"

"Have fun, Ella!" she replies.

My heels click against the hardwood as I head down the hallway. After I've grabbed my jean jacket, I open the door. Isaac stands before me. His auburn hair is slicked bag, but not greasy. His jade-coloured eyes are bright as his gaze grazes over me.

"Ella," he smiles. His British accent draws out the syllables, making me shiver. I don't care how cliché it sounds, but I love accents. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes," I nod.

After I've closed the door, he holds out his arm and I take it, letting him guide me down the stairs. Isaac hasn't told me where we're going for dinner, but I suspect it's somewhere high-end. His tailored suit and polished shoes, as well as his multi-million dollar contract, speak volumes. So does the dress I'm wearing. It sits at the back of the closet, only seeing the light once every few years. That's what happens when you're a homebody.

"Am I allowed to ask where we're going?" I ask. Now that we're alone, I'm a little nervous.

"If it makes you more comfortable, then I can tell you. But I would like it to be a surprise." We pause on the passenger's side. He looks down at me, smiling. "Whatever you're comfortable with, Ella. Telling you where we're going will not ruin the evening."

I resist chewing on my bottom lip—I don't want to ruin the lipstick—but I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. Trauma still lingers in my being. There's a disconnect between the concept of trust and my mindset. It's like I don't know how to break the barrier. Truth be told, I don't fully trust Isaac, no matter what Shea and Kaleb say. Maybe he's proven to be a good person to them, but not to me—even if we've been texting and spending time together. We haven't been in a situation where trust needs to be tested.

Expelling a deep breath, I decide I need to know. That way, I can text Abbey and let her know where I am. "Please tell me." An apology lingers on my tongue, but I don't let it through. I don't need to apologize for wanting to be comfortable.

Oh, how I love smashing the internalized patriarchy.

Isaac smiles and opens the passenger door. "We're going to that new Italian restaurant downtown. Then I thought we could go skating at the outdoor rink."

With one foot in the vehicle, I pause, staring at my shoes and then my dress. "I'm not dressed for skating!"

Isaac chuckles. "Melody and Brenna helped me out. There's a bag with clothing and footwear in the back, love. I wouldn't let you freeze." He pauses. "Are you okay with that?"

Some of the tension in my shoulders dissipates. "That sounds like fun."

He breathes a sigh of relief. "Okay. Good. I was worried for a minute. Thought maybe you'd want to do something different. Not that I would've cared. The whole point of a date is for you to have fun. That's all I want. Especially with everything that's happened and is happening and... And..." He pauses and shakes his head, turning his face away to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks. "I'm gonna shut the fuck up."

When I'm sitting in the passenger's seat, Isaac closes the door and jogs to the driver's side. While he's buckling his seatbelt and starting the engine, I text Abbey and the group that comprises me, Melody, Brenna, Shea, and Kaleb, letting everyone know where we're going and that everything's okay.

I'm still nervous, but I don't want to let experiences, ones that I didn't cause, wreck my perception of romance. Whenever I see Kaleb and Melody and Brenna and Shea, I'm reminded that there are chances and opportunities out there. It's not fair that women have to be so careful. That we're the ones crucified if something goes wrong in a relationship. We shouldn't have to display our strength and resilience with every passing moment.

But that's what we do, while also telling the patriarchy to fuck off. Mess with one woman and you mess with all of them.

After adjusting the heat, Isaac looks at me. "Ready?"

Nodding, I smile and say, "Yes."