I and Elijah have been coexisting peacefully for the past week. After our conversation, I have researched everything I need to know about IVF, and I think that's the route we're going to use.
He has decided that we should stay in Greece for some more time, which I'm not complaining about, as for the first time in almost two years, I feel like myself again. I and Alena have become close, and we try to talk every day and see each other whenever we can.
I and Elijah are currently sitting in a doctor's office, talking to Dr Roman, who was recommended by our family doctor, so I can have a smooth transition with her when I get back to New York.
"I must let you know that this process can be exhausting, and there will be times that you'll want to stop trying either permanently or temporary. You must listen to your body, and the information it is giving you."
I nod at Dr Roman's words, trying to offer him a smile, but only managing a grimace. I become hyper-alert about the hand that is now resting on mine, on my knee, stopping the frantic movement of my leg.
"I'll give you a moment, while I go and get both of your blood works," the doctor lets us know.
"I don't know if this is the best moment to do this. We can wait, and we can try at a later time. There's no rush." Elijah's voice is oddly comforting, right now, but I ignore the warmth pooling in my lower belly and give him a curt answer. "No. We need to start as soon as possible, so we can get this over and done with, as soon as possible, too."
"Lilliana, this isn't just something temporary. It's a baby. Your baby. Our child, Lilliana. They're going to bind us together for life, and our love for them is going to matter a lot. Rushing into doing this may make us resent them. Is that what you want? To resent your child?"
I roll my eyes, "This isn't what I wanted, it's not with who I wanted it and not at the time I wanted it. I am not going to be happy about this. It'll take nine months for me to feel anything that isn't resentment. Not for the baby, specifically, but for what it represents, for me. When I look into their eyes, I'll fall in love, but until then, don't expect me to be anything more than an incubator for it."
Dr Roman walks back into the room, in time to stop whatever Elijah was going to say and after some final advice, giving us some pamphlets and setting up the next appointment, he lets us go.
The car ride to the rented house we've relocated to since my husband decided that we'd be staying for more than a month, is silent and I can't help but feel anxiety at the thought that I will be growing a human inside of me soon. One that will have half my genetic makeup and half of Elijah's.
As I scan his side profile, I can't help myself from thinking about what characteristics I hope our child will inherit: his small dimple, his dark green eyes and his lips.
There's no denying that my husband is an attractive man - probably the most attractive I know - so, it's been difficult for me to not picture our moment in that empty room, in the club. Those images haunt me at night, before I go to bed, in the middle of my day, as I try to work, as I try to eat.
All these emotions remind me of the small crush I had on him when I was fifteen. We'd known each other since we were in diapers, and I was used to seeing him at all for families like ours until he stopped showing up when we were fourteen.
He came back two years later; turns out, he had been sent somewhere and wasn't allowed to come back to New York or see his family.
He looked so different: sharp features, muscles and a mysterious aura. That was all fifteen-year-old Lilliana wanted in a boyfriend and it was difficult for me to not develop a crush. Then, I met Zak, and I forgot all about him.
However, spending so much time with him is messing with my head, and my emotions, and I don't know how to fix it. I cannot feel anything but indifference for Elijah. Just the thought of falling for him, makes guilt overcome me.
Being with Elijah - for real - would not feel right. It would feel like I was cheating on Zak, the man to who I was supposed to be married to.
I grab the popcorn from the bowl next to me and keep my eyes on the movie playing on the TV. My heart stops as I watch the serial killer set another man on fire at a gas station, just before the girl he abducted can get any help.
"Lilliana." I jump from my seat, as Elijah's voice startles me. I place my hand on my chest, trying to calm my breathing. "Shit, I'm sorry. Are you okay?" I nod, letting him know it's no big deal.
Once my breathing has gone back to normal, I address him, "Sorry about that. Did you need anything?"
"I just wanted to talk." I sit down, move the popcorn to my lap and glance a the space next to me. After he sits, he starts again. "Lilliana, I want a truce. Peace between the two of us. We're going to be parents to someone and I'm not comfortable knowing we're bringing life in a place full of animosity. I want us to be cordial, at least. For the sake of our future child, and our sakes. Let's be friends"
The living room is silent, as I take in his words. He wants peace. A truce.
I know it's for the best, and I can do that.
"I can do friendship."
A noise alarms me and I wake up from my sleep. The TV is still on and flashes light on the couch I'm on, and right next to me is the source of the noise that woke me up. Elijah is almost completely still, but his agitated whispers alert me.
"Stay away from her!" He says, his eyes still closed. I've seen this enough to know what it is: night terrors. I was around enough when my cousin Khalil was suffering from these, so I know not to wake him and let the episode pass, but it's gut-wrenching to see a man that is always so composed be so . . . troubled.
It takes a couple of minutes for his episode to end, and I have a glass of water ready for him. He looks around the room dazed, so I approach him from my position near the door. "Hey, take this."
The glass swiftly leaves my hands and touches his lips. I detest asking people if they're okay when they are not, so I settle on asking, "Are you feeling better?" He nods.
"Did you see and hear the whole thing?" I clear my throat, "Not really - just enough to know you may need some comfort when you woke up."
"How did y- Oh, Khalil." I know he was going to ask me how I knew how to deal with the situation (most people would have just woken him up, a mistake I learned to never repeat) but I knew better.
"Yeah, Khalil," I say, " He dealt with this a lot. Especially before he died. It was horrible, but every time someone would wake him, he would have an anxiety attack and would not sleep for days."
"Thank you," He says, after finishing the water in the glass.
"No problem. Especially because I was the one that chose the film. We probably shouldn't watch disturbing movies before sleeping anymore."
Letting out a soft laugh, he nods, and with a quick goodnight, he walks to his room.
Did he just laugh because of me?
This is only the fourth emotion I've seen him display.
Indifference, determination, lust and humour.