Page 44 of The Art of Loving Ellie
For a moment, I’m completely speechless, and when I find my voice again the tone of it is gravelly, and not pleasant. “I’m upset because he’s myfatheryou… you heartless prick!”
He gasps dramatically and points a finger at me. “How dare you. I’ve put up with your antics long enough, sweetheart! I bet you haven’t even picked up a paintbrush since our last conversation about it, have you?” The way he says ‘sweetheart’ sounds like he’s mocking me, and his voice is getting louder as he speaks.
I raise mine even higher. “As a matter of fact I have. I used all kinds of paintbrushes to paint my boyfriend’s naked body, and then I had amazing, crazy-animal sex with him!” My voice is shrill, echoing around the courtyard, and an elderly woman gets up quickly from the bench she was perched on to run off.
“Well, that’swonderful. I’m impressed that someone can hold your attention long enough for you to actually do something of worth. Maybe I should call him for pointers since I can’t seem to get you to do anything lately!”
Ouch.It’s frigid outside, but the chill of the air has nothing on the way this conversation is freezing the beating organ in the center of my chest.
“I’m going back to Texas.” He visibly blanches at my admission. “I’m going, and there is nothing you can do to stop me.” I can’t bring myself to explain to him the realization I’ve had in regards to Robert. How I’ve been blindsided by the desire to have my father back in my life so desperately, that I can forgive his many mishaps and be with him in his final days. Besides, if this conversation is any indication, he wouldn’t understand anyway.
Alex spins around in a circle, throwing his arms up to the sky in exasperation. “He’s treated you like shit your entire life, Ellie. Why would you ruin your one shot of making your dreams come true to go see a dying man who couldn’t give one shit about you?”
I turn to him, meeting his angry gaze, but not understanding what he means by ruining my shot. “Oh yeah, honey. If you get on that airplane, you can kiss your art career—goodbye.” Dusting his hands down his ridiculously expensive shirt, he primps himself to get ready to go back inside, dismissing our conversation.
I faintly hear the sound of something shattering. “Y—you're going to fire me?” I can barely speak the words.
His eyebrows are drawn, and he looks to be in pain when he eventually answers me. “Yes.” The shattering I heard must have been my frozen over heart.
“Fine.” I cross my arms defensively. If that’s how he wants this to be, then that’s how it will be. He can plan his events and manage his schedule all on his own. Hell, he can kiss my ass for all I care.
“Fine,” he parrots back to me as we stare each other down, sharing the same look of heartache at what we are doing to each other, but we’re just too stubborn to stop. It’s beginning to sprinkle, and I take that as my cue to get moving.
I shoulder my way around him and mentally file away the smell of his cologne, and all of the fun we have had working together the last seven months. Like our late afternoon gossips about the cute guys in the building, our easy conversations and giggles, and his truly unmatched talent that I will most likely never come close to again.
The mani-pedis, the events we’ve successfully run together, and my cherished photo of our shared moment at the Twilight Gallery where he dedicated his newest creation to me. All of it gets shoved deep down in the darkest depths of my mind as I make my way to leave.
Finding my way down the hallway to the front exit, I hear him call after me, “You can get your things from the office tomorrow!”
I don’t waste my time turning back when I answer him, but I make sure that he can hear me loud and clear. “Forget it.” With that, my sloth slippers and I make our way to the liquor store to do the one thing I promised myself my entire life I would never do.
∞∞∞
“Beep, beep, beep,” I slur aloud as I scroll through my contacts, trying to call Tyler’s cell phone. I’m embarrassed by how much I desperately hope he picks up.
I glance over at my almost empty bottle of wine, smiling big and wide. A warmth like I’ve never experienced before encompasses every inch of body, and there’s a soft vibration just under my skin, like gentle ocean waves. I would be the biggest, fattest liar if I said I wasn’t enjoying this just a little.
I’ve broken my one and only rule about alcohol, but today drove me straight to the bottleneck of a beautiful mistress, and her name is Pinot Grigio.
“Hey, Princess, thinking about me?” His smooth voice teases me, and I’m suddenly uncontrollably horny. I press my legs together in confusion as heat abruptly rushes through the center of my body—although I admit, the strange sensationispleasant.
“Hello—o.” I draw the word out a little, hoping that I’ve achieved the phone sex operator voice I was going for. It’s silent over the line for a moment.
“Is everything okay?” His concern puts a damper on my sex drive.
“Yeah, I was just wondering if maybe you could come over for a bit?” I feel like I did a pretty decent job of not slurring my words together, but nothing gets past him.
“Ellie, are you drunk?” The bite in his last word almost makes me hang up, and I realize I may have made a huge mistake calling him. I should have just crawled in bed, had a good cry, and called it a day.
“Nooope!” I say cheerfully, trying for another approach.
“I’m on my way right now—don’t leave, or do anything crazy before I get there.” I frown, not liking the authoritative tone in his voice.
“You’re not the boss of me,” I say as I pick at a spot on the couch and contemplate running outside just to spite him.
“I’m serious, Ellie. Stay put until I get there, okay?” He’s shuffling around, and I hear the sound of a zipper.
“Fine,” I surrender, and get up to grab the rest of my wine.
