Home Is Where the Heart Is
By Misha
Disclaimer- Not mine. I’m just borrowing them for a little while.
Author’s Notes- All things must come to an end and this is the end of The Path Least Expected. I may revisit this universe for special requests, etc. but I don’t see myself setting out to write more stories, because I’ve told the story I wanted to tell. There are 26 stories in this universe, which was originally meant to be a one-shot. Chronologically, this is not the last story, this takes places somewhere in the middle of the timeline but it’s the end of Eleanor’s journey in a lot of ways and the last story I wanted to tell. I fell in love with Dante and Eleanor and their love story and I’m glad I got a chance to tell it and I’m thankful to everyone who shared the journey with me.
Paring- Dante/Eleanor
Rating- PG
Summary- Dante and Eleanor visit Eleanor’s childhood and she takes the chance to let go.
Words- 1878
Eleanor stared at the For Sale sign in the yard of her childhood home. She’d taken Dante here to show him the house, but the sign caught her off-guard.
After all, it had been barely three years since she’d sold it to the current owners. She wondered what change in circumstance had brought upon the sale, hopefully, nothing as tragic as what had led to her placing it for sale.
“We can buy it,” Dante said in a quiet voice, his hand already reaching for his phone. “If you want it, it’s yours, Ellie.”
She had gotten used to hearing the nickname from him, loved the warmth with which he said it, but it was odd to hear that name here. She had been Eleanor for so long, leaving Ellie behind her until Dante, and yet, this was place where Ellie had grown and thrived.
Her eyes darted across the yard, taking in the familiar and noting the few changes. There weren’t many, maybe there hadn’t been enough time, and mostly it looked the way it had the day she sold it, but also the way it had when this was home.
Her home. The place where she had grown up, where there had been so many moments, the house she had sold in the wake of tragedy when her life had been torn apart.
“At least let me arrange for a viewing,” Dante continued when she didn’t answer. Eleanor nodded wordlessly. Dante made the call, using that cajoling voice and somehow he arranged for the realtor to see them that afternoon.
He drove them to a coffee shop to wait, Eleanor’s head in the clouds. Dante didn’t press her, he just held her hand reassuringly as they drank their coffee.
Finally they returned to the house to meet the selling agent. Dante took the lead, introducing himself. Eleanor stayed quiet, hanging back.
The realtor unlocked the house and led them inside. “This is a wonderful house,” the realtor began, ready to give the whole speech.
Eleanor tuned her out, taking in the details instead and remembering the little things. Like how she’d drop her backpack by the door, only to have her mother scold her.
“Seriously Ellie, how hard is it to pick up a backpack and hang it up instead of just dropping it on the floor.” Jennifer Sloane’s voice rang in her head as if she’d said the words a few minutes earlier, not a decade prior.
Eleanor moved from the foyer towards the living room, making a face at the unfamiliar decor. A stark reminder that this wasn’t her house anymore.
She quickly moved towards the kitchen, Dante and the agent following behind her. The kitchen was unchanged and Eleanor was swept back, to all the times she had spent cooking with her mother.
“She had this kitchen specially designed,” she said absently, to no one in particular. “It was her one vanity, she said, she had to have a good kitchen.”
The agent looked surprised. “Are you familiar with this house, Mrs. Nevrakis?”
“My wife grew up here,” Dante answered, resting his hand comfortingly on Eleanor’s back. “It was why we were so eager to see it when we realized it was for sale.”
The agent was quiet for a moment and Eleanor was sure she was thinking about the history of the house, which any good agent would know, and putting the pieces together.
“The kitchen is certainly spectacular,” she said after a moment.
“Yes,” Eleanor agreed, running her hands over the counter-top. “It was her 40th birthday present, the kitchen remodel.” She laughed. “She drove Dad and I crazy making us look at samples and pictures.”
Eleanor glanced around the kitchen again, the new owners had put their own touches, of course, and the house had also been staged for sale, but it was still so easy to see Jennifer’s touch in this room. Unbidden, tears came to her eyes as she pictured her mother standing at the counter.
“Should we stick to the classics today, Ellie, or should we experiment?”
There had been so much laughter in this room over the years.
“I take it this is where you learned to cook so well?” Dante asked in a low voice, his hand still on her back, his presence incredibly comforting.
“Yes,” Eleanor answered, “when I was little I’d sit at the counter and watch, helping with little tasks, but as I got older, it became something we did together. This was her favorite room of the house and mine too.”
She thought suddenly of their kitchen in London, the room where Dante had proposed to her, a tender smile replacing the tears. To her, the kitchen was still the heart of the house. What made it a home, something she’d gotten from her mother.
“Would you like to tour the house in private?” The agent asked after a moment, “since you are familiar with it?”
“Yes,” Dante answered before Eleanor could speak.
The agent nodded and left them alone.
“We always hate breakfast in the kitchen,” Eleanor commented after a moment. “Always together, before Dad caught the train into the city and I went to school and Mom went to work. It was important to them, that we start our day as a family. In high school, I complained. I wanted to grab a coffee and a granola bar like my friends, but they were firm, we started the day as a family.” She sighed, leaning against Dante, taking in his strength. “I’m so glad they insisted on it.”
“It’s a good idea,” Dante commented, “we should do that, when the time comes.”
Eleanor smiled, suddenly picturing the family they would have. “We should.”
“I never had that,” Dante added, “I mean, I kind of did when I was with my grandparents, they were big on shared meals, mostly dinner, but the rest of the time it wasn’t like that.”
Eleanor nodded. “Your mom’s not really the family breakfast time,” she commented.
“My mother’s idea of an early morning is getting up at noon,” Dante said with a laugh, “she is, what she is and I have come to accept that, but… This… It must have been nice.”
“It was,” Eleanor agreed with a warm smile, thinking back to all the breakfasts she’d had in this kitchen, all the conversations.
After a moment, she took Dante’s hand, pulling him out of the kitchen. “We only used the dining room for company,” she told him, glancing around. Like the living room, this room was completely changed. She didn’t linger here.
They continued their tour, though Eleanor hesitated at the door of what had been Michael Sloane’s home office. Dante squeezed her hand, silently supportive as always, and she took a deep breath.
This room had also changed, but Eleanor barely noticed, so lost in the memories. She could hear her father’s deep, friendly voice.
“Do you need math help again? Come here, let me see.”
This had been her father’s private domain, but she’d always welcome here, had always been confident that both of her parents treasured her company and she’d spent many hours with her father in this room.
After a moment, she stepped back. There was still more to see, more memories to confront.
They made it upstairs. Eleanor didn’t need to see rooms that had once been guest rooms or the various bathrooms.
“This room was my playroom and then later my study room,” she told Dante with a laugh, nodding toward a door, “since I was a spoiled only child, I had two rooms to myself. I used this one for my toys and then when I got older, I kept my computer and books here.”
After a moment, Eleanor reached for a door, hesitating for a moment. She took a deep breath and opened the door to her childhood bedroom. It had changed, of course. Just like it had many times over the years.
“It was pink and white when I was a child,” she told Dante, “until I told my mother I hated pink. After that, it was purple, and then later, blue, and finally, shades of grey because she wouldn’t let me do black and red, at least not for the walls.”
She closed her eyes, picturing the room as it was at various point during her childhood and teenage years.
“I had horse pictures on the wall when I was 11,” she continued with a laugh, “movie star pictures when I was a teenager.”
“I wish I could have known you then,” Dante commented, “the girl you were.”
Eleanor laughed, “I was a silly, dreamy teenager, probably would have driven you nuts. Though, I would have definitely had a crush on you.”
“Is that so?” Dante asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, yes,” Eleanor told him, “I used to dream about falling in love with some dark, mysterious man who would sweep me off my feet and take me away from my boring life.” She laughed. “I never imagined it would actually happen.”
Though the life that Dante had swept her away from had been anything but boring.
“I was happy here,” she said after a moment, “In this room, in this house. The kind of happiness that for a while, I thought I’d never find again. But I have.”
“Do you want me to buy this house?” Dante asked her, “because I will. It can be a vacation home.”
Eleanor shook her head. “No. This house deserves a family, it deserves to be lived in, to have more memories created. I don’t need this house, I have the memories, and I have a new home where I will make new memories.”
Dante just nodded.
“But I’m glad I got to show you the house,” Eleanor commented, “and to come back here, now that the grief has faded a bit. I needed this.”
“Then I’m glad you got it,” Dante told her, “let’s go find the agent.”
Eleanor nodded and let him lead her away, down the stairs. Dante had a quick conversation with the agent and then they headed towards the rental car. Eleanor paused for a moment, taking in the sight of the house, of the rose bushes, knowing she’d never see them again.
“My father planted those the day I was born,” she told Dante, pointing to them. “They were my mother’s favorite.”
She was glad they were still blooming, that the roses would continue to bring and joy to the world, for others to enjoy.
Eleanor let herself take in all the details of the house, filing them away, and then she turned and got in the car, ready to focus on the future, not the past. This had been her home once, but it wasn’t the house that had been home, it had been the people and they were gone. That life was gone.
But she had a new life, a new home, and the crushing grief that had once threatened to destroy her had eased into a familiar, almost comforting ache.
“Are you ok?” Dante asked as they drove away.
“I am,” Eleanor told him and she meant it. It had been a long journey, a hard few years, but she had made it through and she had the most wonderful future ahead of her.
- End
