Page 41 of The Art of Loving Ellie
“Hey.” A handsome man looks down at the child. He has warm, light brown hair, and an easy smile that touches his beautiful blue eyes. She looks up at him with tear-stained lashes, and eyes that are an identical shade. “Do you want to go play a game?” he asks.
Her auburn hair is in a loose braid, and her clothes are falling off her tiny frame. “Mmhmm.” She pouts, and reaches up to grab his outstretched hand.
She feels the strength in his hold, smiling at the soft warm touch. This is someone she can trust, someone who helps her when her mommy is upset with her, and she calls this man her daddy.
The man lays out a colorful board game for him and the little girl to play. She immediately begins to smile, feeling better by the distraction, and her daddy makes silly faces after each time she jumps ahead of him in the game, causing her to laugh uncontrollably.
“Ah! You beat me again, you smart girl.” He shakes his head in defeat and tickles her tiny bare feet.
She giggles, but abruptly, her smile turns to a frown. “Why doesn’t Mommy like me?”
This causes him to pause, and he releases a big, heavy sigh as he pulls her over to his lap. “Mommy is… sick. She doesn’t always know what she's saying.”
The little girl ponders this a moment. “So one day she will get better, and then she will love me?”
Her daddy stares into her eyes for a long time, appearing tormented. He doesn’t answer right away, but eventually, he pats her on her head and says, “Why don’t we go find you some snacks? I know where Mommy hides the cookies.” She squeals as they both jump up and run out of the room, racing to find their secret treats.
I blink my eyes open to see the ceiling in my bathroom. Even in the warm water, I’m cold, and I sit straight up, bringing my knees to my chest as my suppressed childhood memory assaults me.
Reflecting on my conversation with Tyler, I think about the anger I’ve held toward Robert all these years. At this moment, the anger feels… misguided. I wonder to myself why I haven’t held my mother accountable for all of the pain and hurt she has inflicted on me. Instead, I throw all of my hatred for her into him, and I ponder this for a moment. Is that because he's an easy target, or is it because it’s well-deserved?
He didn’t intentionally neglect me, but as I watched him deteriorate through my younger adolescent years right before my eyes, it became apparent that I wasn’t going to get the comfort or strength that I desperately needed from him.
What I needed was for him to have the gall to stand up to her. To look her dead in the eyes and tell her it’s not okay to tell your only daughter that you hate her. I needed him to figure out a way to support us without her, but it couldn’t ever be that way becauseIwas the one being strong forme. Come to think of it, I can’t comprehend why he stayed with her as long as he did, or why he even bothered to care when she finally left.
“I hate you.”I shut my eyes tightly at the memory of one of her many verbal assaults.
I guess in a way, I always excused her behavior because she was abused herself; it just doesn’t feel like a strong enough justification anymore. The past can’t continue to define who a person becomes, it’s that simple. My breath catches as I realize that I’m echoing the same words Aunt Jane said to me when I visited her. She told me to stop letting the past mold the person that I am now, and I see now that she’s right.
Even after she told me of my mother’s intentions to end my life in her womb, I still turned my anger toward Robert. If what she said was true, and he fought for me in those wee moments of life, when I barely had a heartbeat—then the disdain I’ve been holding toward him for all of these years has been sorely misplaced.
Standing up, I watch rivulets of water pour down my body as I contemplate the epiphany I’ve just had. I grab a towel to dry myself off and wrap myself in the thickest robe I own. When I exit the bathroom, I plop down in the middle of my bed and take a deep breath. I can smell the lingering scent of Tyler’s cologne, and I feel his encouragement surround me as I unlock my phone.
My body trembles from how terrified I am. I’m so scared to be disappointed by this version of him I have yet to allow any space in my current life. I had pretty much put any hope of a relationship with him in the grave next to the memories of my mother in my mind. Shutting them out is how I was able to get as far as I have now, and I don’t know what’s going to happen to me when I open the crypt.
I feel that underlying sense of doom as I listen to the phone ringing through the receiver. It takes exactly three rings before he picks up.
“Ellie?” He sounds a little sleepy, and I hear him cough and clear his throat on the other end of the line.
“Hey.” I take a deep breath, feeling like I’m diving headfirst into a new version of my life. “I’m sorry it’s getting late, I just needed to think about some things before I called you.” I nervously pick at the edges of the comforter that I’m sitting on as I wait for him to respond.
“That’s okay, it’s no problem,” he says, but the conversation feels a little awkward. I hear a faint beeping sound along with the sound of female voices in the background, and I’m curious as to where he could be right now.
Determined to stick this out, I move the conversation along. “Aunt Jane told me that you’re living back in Texas.”
“Yes, I’m in San Antonio right now.” More beeps sound. “She told me you visited her recently—I’m glad you still see her.” My heart is sad hearing the longing in his voice, and I wonder how long it's been since he's seen his sister.
I’m reluctant to turn the conversation in a more serious direction. But if I’m going to accept a new relationship between us, I’m going to do it with all my cards out on the table. I’m not going to hold anything back, and I certainly don’t want to leave anything unsaid. “I want to know why you didn’t come to my graduation,” I say quickly, getting to the point as fast as I can before I chicken out.
The only response I get is silence on the other end of the phone.Damn him. I squeeze my phone tightly, feeling blood rush to my face in anger. There’s been enough silence between us all of these years; it’s time for some answers.
“If you don’t want to tell me the truth, then I want you to listen to what I have to say.” Taking a deep breath, I continue, “I’ve been angry with you.Reallyangry, Robert. You’ve been calling me, texting me, and telling me you’ve changed, and I want to believe that more than anything in this world, but you should know that when I walked outside that day, and you weren’t there—I hated you.” One single tear falls from my right eye, just like it did the day I’m recounting for him.
“I held out hope that you would show up and be there for me. I wanted you to be someone who could smile for pictures with their daughter, and tell her how happy you were of her that she’d made it. I just wanted to hear you tell me that I didn’t let life get me down, and how proud you were that I kept trucking despite what we came from.” My throat starts to strain with tightness, and I’m begging myself not to cry.
“I needed you,” my voice breaks, “and you weren’t there. You weren’t there to tell me you were happy for me, or that you loved me, or that you knew I could do it. Instead, I looked around at every single student happily kissing their parents' cheeks, and all of their family members surrounding them with love and support—and you weren’t there.
A painful realization hits me suddenly. One that I’ve been hiding from him, and myself. “And you know what? Forget the stupid graduation. You leftme. You left me to fend for myself before I was even capable of it. You left me to struggle and scrap, and beg, and I’ve worked damn hard to get where I am today.” I blink rapidly when I start to see black spots popping up around my vision but I press myself to continue.
