Chapter 6 #2
After an hour of talking to the guests they didn’t know, Ellie took Drake’s hand and led him upstairs for a moment of calm.
Her bedroom had been untouched for years.
Styles clashed in every corner. The base layer was feminine and frilly, but little touches of Ellie’s taste shined through.
Sandra had never understood her poster for a band with Death in its title or the collection of vintage paper moon portraits that hung across from the canopy bed.
Ellie sat down on the thick white rug as Drake surveyed the room.
On this floor, Ben had cracked open a root beer, used the can to cool down her ears, and pierced them.
On the mattress behind Ellie, her first boyfriend, Charlie, had furrowed his forehead while trying to do the homework she had finished in minutes.
On her tall ceiling was the floral glass pendant that her dad had affixed.
Ellie recalled a rare, good conversation between them as he moved up a tall ladder.
She read him a story she wrote, and he laughed at all the right places.
When William climbed back down, he looked at her with new eyes, signaling she’d graduated from a child to a peer.
“Nice space,” Drake said. “It’s very you. And also somehow … not at all you.”
Ellie agreed. Being there brought back so many memories. But the memories were vague outlines, nothing like the real and vivid scenes she’d encountered at the cinema. They fell away quickly.
“Do you think we should get back downstairs?” Drake asked, thumbing through a stack of her old DVDs. “People are here for us, you know.”
Ellie made no move to get up from the floor. “They’re here for my mom,” she said. “This is basically a big show-off for her. And what’s with the Negronis, anyway?”
Drake shot Ellie a look of warning. He was so polite that it pained him when she began to tread into rude territory, especially when it involved her family. “Ellie—”
“It was nice of her to try,” Ellie told him. “But this day is more proof she doesn’t get us at all. What we like. Who we like. Everything Sandra Marshall does is about looking good to other people.”
Someone cleared their throat in the doorway.
Ellie turned to find the subject of their conversation staring at her.
“Mom.”
“I wanted to see if you two would join us for dessert,” Sandra said, without acknowledging what she’d overheard.
“Sure.” Ellie nodded. Then, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean—”
Sandra had already turned to go back downstairs.
For the rest of her party, her mom seemed unfazed.
Kind, even. She bragged about Ellie’s achievements.
She recounted stories Ellie had told her about Drake.
The evening was more enjoyable than she’d anticipated. It felt good to be in her mom’s warmth.
“Thanks for all this, Mom,” Ellie said when things were wrapping up. “I liked the party. You’ve been really generous.”
Drake went to gather their things, leaving the two of them alone. “Well, you know that I’m not one to make a scene,” Sandra said.
There it was. Ellie was the scene . She was the one who stirred up the drama.
It was Sandra’s job to make the family more presentable.
The giant photo hanging above them on the wall was proof of this.
In it, her dad sported a rare smile, and Ben had a carefree arm tossed around Sandra.
Ellie was in front, all her teenage whims set aside in lieu of temporary good behavior.
She wore a pink—a carnation-pink — dress.
No one who entered the house Sandra now lived in alone would’ve guessed that the seemingly happy group had fallen apart. The photo gutted Ellie with a small knife. “Hard to believe that’s us,” she said. “Sometimes, I don’t remember who I was back then.”
“I remember, Ellie,” her mom said. “You think you’re so different. But you’re just the same.”
The tone had an accusation to it. For once, Ellie wished they could air things out and talk about everything her mom blamed her for. Everything that kept them apart. But before she could tread into those treacherous waters, Drake returned to her side.
“Ready to go?”
“Yeah.” She gave her mom’s shoulder a gentle touch. “I’ll see you in a few weeks for our holiday dinner, Mom?” Ellie asked, even though she suspected that after today, they would push their next encounter out as far as possible. Sometimes, it was easier to pretend.
“Of course,” Sandra told her. She didn’t seem mad, exactly. She was more removed. Maybe that was worse. “I’ll be in touch.”
The door clicked shut. Drake walked Ellie through the leaves and back to the car.
As they were driving away, Ellie got lost in her private world.
Today had proven yet again that she excelled at making a mess of things.
She feared this would become a repeat of the night with the waitress exchange and that Drake would try to peel back more layers and family secrets that she didn’t know how to answer.
“Important thought,” Drake started, and Ellie waited for his prying question.
“Maybe we should do a canopy bed in our room? Frilly. Fringe?”
Ellie cracked a smile. “Yeah. Of course, Nielson,” she said. “I’m a hundred percent on board with you.”