Chapter 5
Ellyn
“Did you ice today?” Meghan asks she exits the kitchen to stand over me while I waste away here on the couch.
“You just took the melted ice pack from me ten minutes ago,” I remind her.
She nods sharply. “That’s right. My mind was on the chili.”
I sniff the air. “It smells great. You didn’t forget to add the salsa, did you?”
Meghan gives me a look. “I know how to make your famous chili, Mom.” She rolls her eyes playfully, reminding me of the sweet little girl with pigtails.
“It needs to simmer for a while in the crockpot.” She moves to the edge of the couch to take a seat. “How are you feeling?”
“Bored.” I gesture to the stack of fashion magazines on the coffee table. “I’ve looked through all of those this morning. If you could just help me up so I can make it to my office.”
“Your office?” She shakes her head adamantly. “You are not filming a video today.”
“Why not? My audience is used to my twice-weekly upload schedule.”
A few months before my fiftieth birthday, I started a YouTube channel. In the five years since my separation and eventual divorce, I’ve grown my channel that focuses on lifestyle and fashion content for women over fifty to slightly over one million followers.
When I started the channel, it was just as a hobby. As a new empty-nester with a husband who still worked eighty-hour weeks, I had a lot of free time on my hands.
In the years since my divorce it became a lifeline, garnering me financial support when my ex wanted to use his status of being the breadwinner throughout our marriage in an attempt to leave me financially destitute.
“Mom, you can afford to take a few weeks off.”
“Weeks?” I squeal. “Absolutely not. This hip should be good in a week. Tops.”
“And your wrist?” Meghan gestures at my injured arm. “How are you going to film makeup tutorials like that?”
“It can be done,” I say, sounding strangely like the daughter in this scenario.
Meghan laughs. “Dad says my stubborn streak is from you.”
I roll my eyes. “I bet he does. How is your father?”
Rick and I haven’t spoken in over a year. That was at my request. Even after our divorce was finalized and he’d tried to put me through the wringer, I tried to play cordial.
But, when I found myself coming close to organizing the menu and holiday celebrations for his parents, even after our divorce, for the third year in a row, I had to tap out.
“He’s okay,” Shanice answers. “Still seeing that woman.” She rolls her eyes, making me smile.
“Don’t be like that. Maybe she makes him happy.”
According to Meghan, Rick has been dating a woman about ten years younger than him, off and on for the past year. This relationship occurred after he permanently broke up with his assistant, Lauren, whom he got together with not even weeks after I told him I wanted a divorce.
Let my ex tell it, he only slept with Lauren out of heartbreak from the breakdown of our marriage. While he was still trying to reconcile things with me, he was sleeping with his secretary.
“Trust me, he’s miserable,” Meghan continues.
“He was just asking me the other day how you were doing. ‘Is your mother finished decorating her house?’ ‘What’s it look like inside?’ ‘Did she use the furniture from our old house?’ ‘Is she still dating that twenty-five-year-old kid?’”
“How did he even know I was dating someone that young?” I eye my daughter.
“Because I told him,” she says with her chin lifted. “The same way I talk to you about who he’s dating—”
“Without me asking,” I remind her.
Laughing, she shrugs. “Anyway, the truth is, he’s still hung up on you. He asked me a couple of weeks ago if I would ask if he could come over for Thanksgiving.”
“All the way from Atlanta?” I roll my eyes.
I moved to Texas six months ago after searching the area since Wanda, still my best friend, encouraged me to move once I’d gotten the money from my mother’s life insurance policy.
Now Wanda and her husband only live fifteen minutes away.
If they weren’t away this week, visiting Wanda’s in-laws, I would’ve had Joel contact her.
“He tried to lie and say that Aunt Wanda had asked him to come for the holiday.”
I push out a harsh breath, knowing she would never do such a thing without talking to me first. That might be her brother, but she is my sister by choice.
“That’s not happening. I plan on having a quiet Thanksgiving dinner at home with my baby girl.” I smile at Meghan. “That was the plan even before this injury.” I sigh as I glance down at my hip.
“You may be better by next week. According to the internet, a bruised hip like yours only takes about a week or two to heal up, or at least allow you to walk on it.”
I don’t have time to respond before there’s a knock on the door.
“Were you expecting someone?” Meghan asks.
I shake my head while watching her move go to the front door.
“Mr. Townsend,” I hear her say.
My eyes widen at the mention of his name. Immediately, smooth away any fly aways from my ponytail that Meghan styled my relaxed, just below shoulder length, greying hair. For a moment, I curse myself for choosing not to put on one of my signature wigs this morning.
Then I pull myself together and remember that I’m in my house, injured no less, and recovering from yesterday’s fall.
“Afternoon, Meghan.”
Joel’s deep, rumbling voice causes a quiver in my stomach. I shake my head and realize that it must be hunger. It’s getting late in the afternoon, and I haven’t had lunch yet.
Hunger. That has to be it.
“It’s later than I meant, but a few issues at the ranch held my attention.” His voice grows nearer.
I look over my shoulder to find my next-door neighbor looming in the entryway of the living room dressed in another pair of worn blue jeans, black leather boots, and a dark V-neck tee.
It takes me another few seconds to notice the tools he holds in both hands.
“Is that a paint can?”
He lifts the hand holding a paint can a few inches and eyes it.
“Gonna need a fresh paint job on that frame once I fix it up.” He motions toward the door.
“Did you really come over to fix my door? I told you that wasn’t necessary.”
He narrows his eyes, making the lines around them more visible. “And I told you whether it’s necessary or not, I’m doing it.”
“I can easily hire a contractor to fix the door.”
“Who’ll charge you a damn arm and a leg. Especially with it being the week before Thanksgiving. You’re lucky if you can get one out here within the next week.
“Do you plan on living in this house for over a week without a locking door?”
“I—”
“Didn’t think so,” he cuts me off. “This’ll only take a couple of hours.” He pauses and eyes the length of my body before his eyes meet mine again. “I’d apologize for the noise, but it can’t be helped. You might want to grab a pair of earplugs or something.”
He does an about face and heads toward the door before I can respond.
I try to twist my body around to overhear what he and Meghan are talking about, but the movement puts pressure on my hip, reigniting the pain that had reduced to only a low throb.
“Mom, are you alright?” Alarm fills her voice as she stoops beside the couch.
“I’m fine, baby. Just put a little too much pressure on my hip.”
She frowns. “Are you getting restless? I know you’re used to being up and about. Sitting still is hard for you.”
“Now you have sympathy for me, huh?” I say, lightly. “But you won’t help me get up to film another video.”
It’s her turn to narrow her eyes at me. “You’re trying to guilt trip me.”
“Damn, did I overplay my hand?”
She holds up her hand, pinching her forefinger and thumb together. “Tiny bit.”
We both laugh.
“Hmm, well, the …” She pauses and looks toward the front door when loud banging sounds come from that direction. I don’t miss the whisper of a smile that crosses her face.
“The chili is simmering, and I’ve already made the cornbread. It’s in the oven warming up. How about I go to the store to pick you up some more magazines?”
“And a few books,” I add.
“I have the list of the books you want on my phone. I’ll get some at the bookstore. Oh, and you said you were going to see if the new wig you ordered arrived at the store, right? I can get that, too.”
“You don’t have to.”
Waving me off, she stands. “Keys?”
“On the holder by the door.” I point toward the coffee table. “Grab my wallet so you can use my card.”
“Don’t need it. These are all on me.”
“What money do you have? Didn’t you just say yesterday you’re a broke law student.”
“Who clerked at one of the top firms in New York City over the summer and saved my income. I can cover a couple of books and magazines for my mom.”
She lowers to kiss my cheek before she’s out of the room.
Now I’m left with the loud banging and drilling coming from the doorway by my grumpy next-door neighbor as he fixes my door.