Page 38 of The Art of Loving Ellie
He’s staring at me longingly over his coffee mug as I quietly play with a lock of my hair. “What?” I ask him curiously.
“I just wish I would have brought my camera because in this lighting you look—” Setting his mug down, he frames a square around me with his fingers, and closes one eye as if to focus the lens, “hideous.”
He has a big goofy grin on his face as he shoves a bite of pancake into his mouth. I roll my eyes at him, laughing, and realize that for the first time since moving here, I feel…comfortable.
“Well, I certainly do my best.” Picking at the pancakes on my plate, I begin to feel a little piece of myself deflating. The memory of Tyler turning into the broken heart swans in my dream haunts me. Can this bliss truly last?
“Is everything okay? Do you want the burnt ones?” He turns slightly, gesturing to the sink where a charred pile of burnt pancakes resides.
I shake my head at his silliness. “I just had a weird dream and I’m having a hard time shaking it, that’s all.”
His handsome face becomes etched with concern. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I do want to talk about it, but right now, I don’t feel right ruining the moment with my intrusive thoughts. “Let’s save it for later.” I take a bite of the delicious fluffy pancake and roll my eyes back, moaning. Who knew he was handsomeanda good cook? Swallowing, I ask, “What did you want to do today?”
The corner of his mouth begins to curl into a mischievous smile and the heated look he gives me from across the table tells me exactly what he has planned for us. Standing, he walks over to me and turns the chair so that he's perfectly fit between my legs.
I roll my eyes in disbelief, “We just sat down to eat!” I exclaim, playfully hitting him in the stomach. He grabs both of my wrists in his hands and bends down to kiss me deeply. He tastes like coffee and sweet, sticky syrup.Insatiable man.
“I believe my appetite has shifted to someone else.” The center of my body grows hot at his indication and forcing me to stand, he throws me over his shoulder making a beeline for the bedroom. Looks like we are going to be busy for a while.
∞∞∞
My hair blows sideways lightly as we make our way across the sidewalk to a small hot chocolate stand. The air is cold and crisp, and it burns my lungs when I inhale. Tyler pays for our drinks, and a strange sense of wholeness overtakes me. Being with him feels second nature—like we’re old friends who just enjoy being close to one another, no matter what we are doing.
“So, let’s hear it.” We are holding gloved hands as we walk our way through Central Park. After reluctantly leaving for a bit to get a change of clothes, Tyler came back demanding we get out for some fresh air.
“Hear what?” I ask, but I know he’s referring to my dream.
He cups his hands around his mouth, raising his voice. “That I’m the best pancake chef in all of New York City!”
I giggle when people stare at him, but he doesn’t care. He looks breathtaking, smiling at the ground as we walk, and I notice a shadow of a beard lightly dusting his chin and cheeks. His hair carelessly blows around with the wind, and this easiness about him is slowly starting to rub off on me.
“Well, you did burn the first batch.” I elbow him, and he doubles over, pretending to be hurt. Throwing his arm across my shoulders, he pulls me in closer to the warmth of his side. The earthy aroma of his cologne calms me and I grow more serious recounting my dream from last night. I purposely leave out the part about him and the paper swans, not wanting to admit that it spooked me.
“I don’t know; it was all so strange and ominous. I’m not even sure what it’s supposed to mean.” I take a sip of my cocoa and savor the velvety liquid as it warms its way down my throat.
“Sometimes, it’s not about what it means—just that it happened. Your subconscious must be trying to tell you something.” He kisses my temple and little butterflies take flight in my stomach.
“Like what, that I need to speak to Robert?” I guide us over to a bench, where we sit to reflect on my troubles. It’s one of the coldest days we’ve had here, and I shiver as the icy air makes its way into my bones.
Tilting my head back toward the sky, I close my eyes briefly as I speak. “I know it sounds crazy, but forgiving Robert means letting go of the only emotion I feel for him. My anger towards him has been the driving force behind my independence for so long that I’m afraid if I let go of it, I’m not sure what I’ll be left with.
“Besides, what am I supposed to say? ‘Thanks for being a shitty dad my whole life, but it’s okay, I forgive you’?” Brooding, I let out a deep breath, and stare off at the people walking around. I notice a couple playing with their children and their chocolate lab. A little girl in a thick pink coat raises her arms up to her dad, requesting uppies. The man takes off running with her, leaving a trail of laughter and a barking dog behind them.
Tyler puts his hand on my leg in a show of comfort. “I think that’s exactly what you say to him.” I blink a few times, thinking of how impossible that would be. “Forgiveness isn’t for the person being forgiven, Ellie.” I’m silent a moment, letting that sink in.
Last night, it felt good to release some of the years of pressure that have been building in my chest. I told Tyler a little bit about my childhood and my mother’s abuse—both mentally to me, and physically to herself. I retold Robert’s pathetic attempts at holding our dysfunctional family together, and how at the time I just wished I had anywhere to escape.
Ultimately, that’s how I ended up turning to painting. I didn’t have to be an unwanted child when I was losing myself in my craft. The feeling of pride that took over me each time I finished my works gave me the drive I needed to pursue my passion—even if it meant hiding it from them.
So, when I look at him like he’s lost his mind, he puts his hands up in submission, understanding my frustration with such a ridiculous sentiment. “Hear me out. As humans, we like to categorize items inside little boxes in our minds; things that are easy for us to comprehend. For example, most people believe we only have one life to live, and that’s it. But I disagree. I think that we live many lives in our time here.
“Who you were as a little girl and that portion of your life, probably feels like a completely different lifetime, right? Almost as if it’s hard to believe that it ever happened. The same goes for your early adult years, and where you are now.
“Has it occurred to you that maybe your dad is sick and tired of living in the life that he’s created for himself? Maybe he’s ready to not be the bad guy. He’s ready for a life where he can experience a real, meaningful relationship.” No, it hasn’t occurred to me—but mostly because I don’t give his feelings much thought.
“He married a woman who only wanted him for his money, and when that flopped, she left—completely emasculating him. Then he’s left to take care of his only daughter, who he failed to protect or care for, and who has long since decided she doesn’t need him anymore. I’m not making excuses for him, but what I am telling you is that he’s human.”
