Page 2 of The Art of Loving Ellie
I nervously laughed my way through ten awkward minutes of silence from him. I continued filling the space around us with random thoughts and words until he finally barked out a laugh, relieving me of anymore embarrassment, and telling me he was happy to finally have some entertainment in the workplace.
“Earth to Ellie?” Snapping his fingers in front of my face, I blink away the memory as I’m brought back to the present.
Shrugging out of my thick coat I reply, “Sorry, sorry. It’s been a weird morning.” I hang my coat over the back of my chair and cross my arms. “Oddly enough… I was thinking about my parents earlier, and you know, that receptionist at the front desk really isn’t very nice, and—”
“Your parents,” he interrupts, his brows wrinkling with confusion. “What about them?”
“Well, mostly how their negligence led me straight to you, girlfriend.” I give him a wink and he laughs.
“Are you buttering me up, Sugar? Because you know I could use some butter on this biscuit. I’ve been in a dry spell so long, I might as well commit to wearing a widower’s gown.” He takes a sip of his coffee and crinkles his nose in distaste. “Maybe your dry spell is affecting my own?” I shake my head. This man hasn’t had a ‘dry spell’ the entire time I’ve known him.
Putting a hand to my chest, I feign offense. “Me? I don’t need a man to make me feel good, Alex, you know this.”
I move my chair to take a seat, and he has the audacity to look from my face to my crotch, and back up. “You could use a good tramp to knock the dust off.” He gives me a pointed look, and heat begins creeping into my pale cheeks.
“I’m not just talking about that," he continues. "I’m referring to the fact that it’s been what, at least six months since you’ve created anything other than a headache for me?” He’s half teasing, but he’s right. I’ve fallen into a strange role of being his errand girl, arranging meetings and art gallery showings, and overall just keeping him in check.
One of the first things he said to me when I arrived at his office—the same day that I word vomited all over him, was that my painting,Sorrowing Mother Bird, made him cry like someone had lit his couture closet on fire. I blushed, flattered of course, but I haven’t been able to evoke the same emotions since. Not from him, and certainly not from myself.
Changing the subject, I tighten my ponytail and roll up my sleeves. “What’s on the agenda for today, boss?”
I take a seat at my desk while he briefs me on the new projects we have going on, but I find my eyes wandering to the perfect view of a small park outside the window closest to me.
I watch as a bundled up couple kisses and throws a ball to their dog, who barks happily and takes off. They laugh together, and I get the strange feeling that I’m in the middle of a production of aHallmarkmovie as the man begins to tickle the girl. She throws her head back laughing as if being tickled is the most hilarious thing ever, but I know it’s not—no woman likes to be tickled.
I’ve been staring too long because by the time I look back at Alex, he’s glaring at me across the room, his face telling me that I’ve been caught not paying attention.
“What?” I ask innocently.
“Just wondering if you heard me say I need you to work until midnight tonight.” My eyes bug out of my head at his statement, which causes him to chuckle. “I’m kidding.”
Alex makes his way over to me to see what’s more important than his briefing. He leans close to the window, and his breath creates a thin film against the cold glass. “Are you ever going to settle down?” he asks playfully.
I snort under my breath. “I don’t even want to entertain the idea of getting married or having kids.”
“No one said anything about marriage, honey, but good lord, can’t you at least hop in the sack with someone?” He’s grinning at me, showing off his pearly whites.
My computer pings, alerting me that I have an email, and I open it, attempting to shift my focus back on work. “Your obsession with my sex life is borderline creepy.”
His face sours, and I grin, thoroughly enjoying irritating the shit out of him. He rolls his eyes. “Spinster,” he teases me before adding, “you know what? That’s fine. Keep that chastity belt on, and I’ll scoop up all the cuties for myself.” He wiggles his eyebrows playfully, leaving me to return to his space on the opposite side of our studio. Grabbing a large blank canvas, he sets it up on a wooden easel and starts lightly sketching an idea that he’s been working on.
Although Alex has many other people who work for him, it’s just us up here. It may seem lonely to an outsider looking in, but in this space, I feel important. This job, though not what I intended it to be, makes me feel wanted and loved by a dear friend, and that’s truly all I need in my life right now.
As we work late into the day, tiredness begins taking hold of me, and I can’t resist the pull of my thoughts toward my parents. I think about my mother, and the small little West Texas town she was raised in. And my father, Robert, who was a twenty-one-year-old farm boy at the time that they met. He came from a wealthy ranching family and thinking back now, I guess I never realized that she was probably more attracted to him for the money his name held than the actual man who foolishly fell for her.
He told me, once upon a time, that sparks flew when they first met, even though my mother was barely at the legal age to marry—but from my standpoint, there weren’t any sparks. It was all a façade she had put on to get her hands on some cash, and how ironic that she would put in all of that work, hustling Robert, just to become a poor housewife like her momma.
They eventually married, after getting pregnant with me, but not even I could stop her from turning to the bottle. I guess that was when things started souring between them—and eventually, all of us. I remember countless fights, and I suppose I can thank them for my endless list of anxieties.
Although I try my hardest to resist the temptation, old habits are hard to break, and dark thoughts call to me like a siren’s song. Leaning back in my chair, I close my eyes, listening to the eerie call of the voices in my head. My thoughts are wild, but despite the chaos, they greet me in a way that’s familiar and comforting—like a nice hot bath.
I breathe a lungful of air deep into my chest, relaxing further and further until I realize that I feel as though I’m underwater. It’s dark and warm, and I’m gulping the liquid by the mouthful, unable to breathe. Faintly, I can hear my parents screaming at each other as a painful distant memory attempts to surface.
I open my eyes, startled, and realize I must have dozed off. Blinking a few times, I try to focus the room and settle my blurry gaze on a pink sticky note that sits alone on my desk. My eyes slowly bring Alex’s neat handwriting into focus.
Hey, sleepyhead, I’m done for the day. Go home, and get
some rest. We have a big week ahead, and I need you sharp.
