Finding Him

C H A P T E R - N I N E

Sweet Sixteen

E L E O N O R A ' S P O V :

The sun obnoxiously burns through my windows. I can taste the smell of my morning breath. My boob is almost out of my tank top. My feet are freezing from falling out of my blanket but my torso is hot. My hair sheets around my face.

I hate mornings.

Dragging myself out of bed, I brush my teeth and do my business. I throw on a sweatshirt with pajama pants because it's freezing in this house. Winter couldn't have fallen harder.

I hold onto the rail, half-asleep, until I reach the kitchen where I hear rustling. My ears perk up.

"Papà—"

I stop. I look. I relax.

"Happy Birthday, Ellie."

Papà wears a soft smile on his face. Balloons of shades of pink and gold are randomly placed around the kitchen, clearly taped up by papà. The smell of bacon and fresh pancakes make my mouth water. I take it all in. There are new flowers sitting on the counter. My body exhales.

"Papà." I state. It's all I'm able to speak.

"I'm so glad the timing worked out perfectly." He says. "I was nervous you weren't going to wake up in time." I walk over to him, behind the island.

Wake up ask in.. coma. Sometimes I forget that happened.

I can't get the words out. My mouth parts as I stare at papà's hard work. He did this for me. He loves me still. I feel tears prick the back of my eyes.

Fuck. I've been so emotional lately. I can't tell if it's because I've just been reunited with my family, put in a coma, kidnapped like way too many times, almost killed my cousin or if I'm just about to start my period.

Each highly likely.

Instead of speaking, I grab onto papà. I hug him tightly. He holds me back with just as much love.

"I have the whole day for us planned." He whispers, rubbing my back. "Unless you wanted to spend it with your friends." Papà chimes in like I would ever abandon him.

I suck my tears back before they can fall. A smile tips my lips up as I look at him, my chin resting on his chest.

"Like I'd ever miss a chance to hang out with my pops."

His once uneasy look, flips into a smile.

"Pops?" Papà's eyebrow raises.

"Yeah. Y'know, I'm not just Italian now. I've been influenced by lots of America. Maybe I'll start calling you dad—"

"No." Papà cuts me off with a disgusted look. "I am your papà.. not your dad." He mocks with an American accent. I let out a laugh. "You are Italian, baby. Through and through."

After I pull away from him and hop on the counter, I ask, "So, what's on the agenda?"

"First breakfast." Papà states, sliding a plate of bacon and pancakes with maple syrup towards me. "And of course."