Page 54 of The Art of Loving Ellie
“What is this?” I ask her, confused.
“Open it up and see,” is the only answer she gives me, so I do as she asks and gasp at the pages before me.
Inside are pages and pages of sketches. I flip through lead pencil portraits of people that I don’t recognize, awed by the detail captured in each one. When I reach a sketch of a small infant, I almost drop the book to the ground. “Looks like we were both keeping secrets,” I whisper, overwhelmed with emotion.
In all of my years at home, I never knew that I was living with a fellow artist. I wonder when he drew these, or why he hid them from me. Painting was my escape from a reality I didn’t want to be in, and sharing that with someone else took the specialness away from what made itmine. Maybe he wanted to keep his special escape to himself, too.
I nod my head. “Thank you for this.”
She reaches out, placing a hand on my shoulder, and we let our sadness wrap itself around us. “I think I’m going to stick around for a little while longer if that’s okay with you?”
Bringing me in for a tight hug, she kisses my pulled back hair. “Of course, sweetheart.”
She leaves me to go downstairs, and I find a place in front of one of the built-in, floor-to-ceiling bookcases that make up the large library residing up here.
Flipping through the pages again, I’m blown away by his veiled talent. I trace my fingers over the chubby cheeks of the infant that I know is me. Again, I’m overcome with the urge to cry, but the tears just won’t come no matter how hard I try to force them.
I get up from the floor, and head to my bedroom. Walking over to my phone, I check the time and see that I have a couple of missed calls from Tyler; one from yesterday, and one from today. He also sent a text asking me if everything is okay since I haven’t responded to him in a couple of days.
I sigh, loudly, and throw my phone onto the bed, ignoring him. My mind is spent, and I don’t have the energy to have a conversation with him right now. At this point, I’m honestly not sure when I’m going to be able to speak with him—but I know for damn sure it’s not going to be today.
∞∞∞
Avoidance becomes my anchor over the next week. I avoid Alex and my job situation, I avoid thoughts of my shaky future in New York, and I avoid the fact that I haven’t given Tyler an explanation for ghosting him, but he eventually quit texting and calling me altogether.
I now stand in the cold with Aunt Jane and her horses out in the pasture. Rusty wags his tail excitedly beside us, barking at the ball he’s brought me, and droplets of water collect on his snout as it starts to drizzle.
I crinkle my nose at him playfully, and he barks again. “What do you think?” Aunt Jane asks. A halo of dewdrops glisten in her pinned back hair, giving her a fairy-like appearance and I turn my attention to the tree we stand in front of, finally feeling a piece of acceptance settling in my bones.
We decided to spread some of my dad’s ashes under a large oak tree in the pasture, and we had a small stone made with his name and birthdate to place in front of it.
The warmth of her hand finds mine and I give it a gentle squeeze. “I think it’s perfect.”
“Are you sure you’re ready to head back to New York?” She doesn’t meet my eyes when she asks, seeming uncharacteristically uncomfortable. I’ve been dodging her question of when I am returning for a while now because to be honest, I wasn’t sure what I was even going back to.
I don’t have a job anymore, and although cutting ties with Tyler was painful—it was necessary. Shaking thoughts of him away, I force a smile. “I suppose I need to at least get my things, and say goodbye to the city.”
A couple of days ago, Aunt Jane offered for me to come and live with her permanently. She said I was the only family she had left and she has a friend in town that may let me rent a space to teach art classes until I can find my groove again. It’s a generous offer, and for a girl who doesn’t have much else to lose, there wasn’t anything left for me to say except yes.
I hug Richard and my aunt goodbye at the airport, and make my way through the terminals toward my flight. The rest of my journey becomes a complete blur, and without even remembering how I got here, I’m standing in front of the door to my apartment. I pull my keys out of my coat pocket to unlock the dark and lonely space.
I hesitate with my key sitting in the lock, thinking that Tyler may somehow be on the other side standing there, handsome as sin, waiting for an explanation from me. I can smell his cologne and I close my eyes in remembrance of the last time I saw him, and how warm and strong his body was fitted against mine. Blood starts to pound in my ears, and I don’t know if I’m excited, scared, or both.
Taking a deep breath, I push open my apartment door and gingerly take a step inside. I feel the weight of my keys slip out of my hand, and the sound they make as they hit the floor sounds like a shotgun going off inside the small space.
It’s dark inside, stale from lack of movement, and as I let my eyes adjust to the darkness, I realize that Tyler isn't here. He's not here to hold me, or let me cry the tears I desperately need to cry. His handsome smile is burned into the forefront of my mind as I’m overcome with the sense of mourning all over again. A pain I didn’t know I was choking back bubbles up in my throat, and I close my apartment door as a sob escapes my lips.
I’m completely and utterly alone.
Chapter Eighteen
Ithink it’s been a few days since I’ve had a good shower. I sniff myself and wince, “Whew, Ellie.” I scold myself and roll out of bed for the first time in what feels like a month. I turn off the episode of Friends that I was watching, and touch my feet to the floor.
I am a bum. My hair is a total mess, I haven’t looked at my phone in days, and I reach down to feel my right butt cheek to check myself for a bedsore I know must be forming. Walking into the bathroom, I turn on the hot water and stare at the unrecognizable woman looking back at me. I’ve lost weight, and the circles under my piercing blue eyes drag my face down into an unsightly frown.
My aunt is expecting me back in Texas in the next week before Christmas, but for the life of me, I cannot pack a single box. I put one together yesterday and attempted to stuff some kitchen supplies into it but somehow, instead of packing, I found myself in line at the liquor store buying another bottle of wine.
I didn’t drink it and I have no intention to, but for some reason, having it here with me is strangely comforting. It’s an ode to my realization that my mom can’t control me, my thoughts, or my memories anymore. It’s a gentle reminder that I’ve closed that particular chapter of my life, and I’m moving on.
