Page 24 of The Art of Loving Ellie
“And what purpose would that serve, only to be disappointed?” I switch positions so that I can look at the black emptiness behind the bench opposite of us, and not her pleading eyes. “Do you have any idea how hard it is as a child, to hear your mother say that you were an accident?”
She looks heartbroken as I add, “And he never stopped her, you know? He never once told her to quit saying that she wished I had never been born. He would take me in another room and distract me with toys or the TV—but I didn’t want distractions, Aunt Jane. I wanted a guardian and a protector.” Angry tears gather behind my eyes, but I shake my head, not allowing them the satisfaction of escaping. “More than anything, I just wanted a father.”
She stares out into the night thinking over the words I’ve said, and we sit in silence for a long while before she responds. “Back on the farm, when we were young kids—your dad was always catching critters, or trapping animals and bringing them home. It used to drive Momma absolutely batty. But he didn’t care—he was determined to rescue them and keep them for himself.” She smiles a little to herself at the memory of a man I never knew.
“Unfortunately, Robert didn’t always know how to care for them. Sometimes, he would just plain forget about them, and Momma or I would find them dead somewhere in the house, or under his bed.” She leans her head back against the bench, closing her eyes as if recounting the memory takes more energy than she has. “He had such a big heart for those animals, and he couldn’t stand seeing them sick or starving. So he continued to bring all kinds of different creatures to the house, even against Momma’s complaints. It was as if he just couldn’t help himself.” She touches my shoulder, offering comfort.
“Your dad is not a bad man, Ellie. I know that he has made many, many mistakes, but I also know in my heart that he loves you. He fought for your life when your momma wanted to have an abortion, and trust me, I know Robert may not have always known how to be there for you, but he's the only daddy you will ever have. People can change, Ellie.” I’m already shaking my head in refusal.
It stings knowing my mother wanted to abort me. My memories of her are so suppressed that I’m surprised I remember her at all. “Why on Earth would he try to convince someone so callus to not only have a baby, but also marry her?”
She bites the inside of her lip, contemplating how to respond to me. “It seems to me that his love for trying to save the sick was a phase that he never grew out of...”
I scoff at her. “Well, I refuse to be an animal that dies as a result of his carelessness.”
We sit quietly for a bit, and I’m feeling defensive and pent up as both of us ponder our heavy conversation. She breaks through my dark thoughts asking curiously. “Why do you feel like you’ve lost your motivation for painting?”
Needing the warmth, I grab my blanket, wrapping it tighter around myself, and get up off the swing. “I’m honestly not sure,” I mutter as I step over to the edge of the balcony, staring out into the darkness. I turn to her and give a voice to the words I’ve been so terrified to say out loud to myself. “I think I’m afraid.”
She gives me some space by staying seated on the swing, and asks quietly, “Afraid of what?”
“Afraid that I won’t be good enough. I mean, have you seen Alex’s work?” I laugh under my breath. “You know what, maybe that isn’t even it—maybe I’ve just lost faith in myself, and I’m scared that I was good before and that was all I had. That maybe it was a coincidence that my work turned out the way it did and that there’s no way I can live up to the potential that I could ever one day have my own gallery.” I rub a hand down my face in frustration and take a deep breath. The smell of cut grass and hay calms me enough that I can turn and face her.
“Do you want to know what I think?” she says, sitting perfectly still with stubbornness gracing her pretty face.
No.“Yes.” I wince, knowing I’m about to get some tough love.
“I think you’re a chicken.”
I blink at her in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You’re chicken shit, baby girl!” She barks out a laugh at me, snorting at my reaction as I stare at her—irritated by her taunting.
“You have more talent in your big toe than half of those big city wannabes have in their whole bodies! Now come over here and let me tell you somethin’.” Moving her blanket, she makes space for me to sit next to her.
I sulk back over to the bench swing, curling up into her shoulder as she swings us back and forth and pets my hair.
“Ellie, you are not a little girl anymore. You can’t continue to let your past define who you are.” She playfully swats my head. “I didn’t get where I am today by letting my insecurities limit me, and let me tell you—when Daddy gave me that money, I was petrified. How was a little farm girl with no real-world experience going to become anybody?”
Her voice rises as she shares the memories of her youth. “Instead of being overjoyed at the opportunity, I cried! I wasn’t prepared to go out into the real world without someone holding my hand and telling me what to do—not to mention I was an unmarried woman.
“That time in my life was especially painful. I was scared, lonely, and I had no idea how to do half of the things that most young people leaving their homes for the first time know how to do. For example, I couldn’t balance a checkbook, I didn’t know how to rent a place to live, or even wash my clothes at the laundromat,” she laughs at her younger, more innocent self. “I’m saying these things because you, my beautiful, clever, and gifted niece—are capable ofmanythings.” I glance up at her and she puts her hand on my cheek, making me feel childlike.
“You are more than an artist, you are more than your father’s daughter, and you are so much greater than you could possibly fathom, Ellie.” Her voice wavers a little, and my heart tightens with emotion as this woman who is the only mother figure I have ever known, lifts me up with true conviction.
“I see in you what I saw in myself that day I cried all alone, feeling terrified. But when I was done sobbing and feeling sorry for myself, I stood up to look in the mirror, and what I saw wasn’t a weak and innocent little girl. I saw a young woman with resolve—I saw a fighter. And you, my love, are just that.”
A few tears escape, flowing freely down my cheeks as we hug each other tightly. My anxiety screams at me that I don’t deserve this love or affection, but I mentally flip it the bird, soaking up every bit of tenderness she's willing to give me.
Sniffling, I gently elbow her. “So, Richard, huh?” I make kissy noises at her teasingly, and she shakes her head laughing as we both blot tears away from our eyes.
“Stop it!” She giggles. “Yes, he's living here, and yes, we have been seeing each other—on a regular basis.” I gape at her. This is coming from the woman who has always told me she is a wildflower with no roots.
Amused by her blushing cheeks, I ask, “So what are you saying? Are you thinking this might mean…?” I throw my quilt over my head, imitating a veil, and hum the tune to ‘Here Comes the Bride’.
She rolls her eyes at me, pulling my makeshift veil down. “Never.” She’s teasing, but I see in the way she blushes and smiles shyly that she feels more strongly about this man than she may be letting on.
We carry on through the night, talking about our different wants for our future selves and she tells me of some stories she’s recently read. She loves tacky romance novels, and I quite enjoy listening to her retell them. It feels cathartic sitting out here with her, giggling like two best friends at a sleepover without a care in the world. It’s good for the soul.
