Eloise
Elliott and I make small-talk throughout the rest of the meal but our unenthusiastic voices indicate that our hearts aren't really in it. Elliott sounds exasperated, I feel exasperated, and if it weren't for him being my brother I believe I would have got up halfway through lunch and walked out. There are a lot of things I want to say at him, correct him on, remind him of, but I know Elliott well enough to know that, at this point, all messages will fall onto deaf ears.
He eats much more than I do but I am still stuffed when lunch is finished, mostly because nothing wrecks my appetite like stress. Elliott pays, offering to walk me to my car, but I tell him that I'm going to hang back. I don't want to tell him why but, naturally, like a Laurent, he is curious and inquires, unwilli
