Chapter 10

TEN

ELLA

Tugging on red rubber boots, going makeup free, and not straightening her hair within an inch of its life was a bit of a ritual for Ella. It was like her body knew what to expect when she left the house like this, and the lumps in her shoulders started melting. She pushed up a headband to keep her newly acquired bangs out of her face, grabbed a rain jacket, and jumped in the back of the SUV for the hourlong drive to Snoqualmie.

“Quiet time today?” Thomas asked from the front as he pulled out of the winding driveway.

“Yes, please.” She leaned against the seat and stared out the window.

Hopefully today she could forget about her atrocious few weeks with Sophie. Yesterday would haunt her for months, and she couldn’t get over that she nearly broke down crying at their desks. What a childish move to make at work. She’d snapped again later that afternoon, crying in front of her longtime doctor. But Sophie shined a spotlight on her insecurities and illuminated every terrible thought she’d ever had about herself. Her eyes filled again, but she bit down on her cheek to stop them.

But Ella shouldn’t have said what she said—that Sophie didn’t make an impression. It was a bald-faced lie. Ella may not have remembered exactly what happened the day they first met. But she certainly remembered Sophie, and the way she felt after their first meeting. And, if memory served, it was Sophie who was awful, not her.

Sophie left an impression anywhere she went. With her soft-butch look, her edgy outfits, and eyes that caught the light, everyone knew who she was. And she was smart . So freaking smart. She whipped through concepts, statements, and timelines like she could recite them in her sleep. She pointed at bits of creative and why the leads rejected them. “See the lines that match up here to make a T? That’s the opposite of what we are going for when creating an ad of openness,” Sophie had said earlier in the week. “You may not have noticed it, but your subconscious did.”

Trees whipped by, evergreens and weeping willows, filling the foggy air. Snow-topped mountains surrounded her, and after a while, the traffic reduced. Her heart rate lowered with each mile closer to her sanctuary.

Thomas navigated the vehicle up the hill. The weeklong knots in her stomach released, and her softened belly pouched against the seatbelt. She cracked the window and inhaled. Seattle air was pretty decent, especially for city air. Salt and seaweed mingled with misted pavestone. But the air in Snoqualmie, with its gushing waterfalls and meadows, smelled crisp and clean.

The SUV bumped up the gravel drive. A white horse fence enclosed the property and greenery surrounded the space. They passed the massive red barn with its chipped-paint door and continued bumping up the road. Chickens, seemingly unimpressed by the vehicle, casually strutted out of the way.

Thomas pulled to a stop in front of the early 1900s brick home with sunken windows, a stained-glass front door, and wraparound cedar-fenced porch with scattered and mismatched rocking chairs. Ella glanced at the influx of potted plants lining the pathway. “Did she get more plants than last time?”

“How can one even tell?”

Ella stepped out of the car. “You heading to get a cinnamon roll the size of your head?”

Thomas patted his belly. “You know me. Don’t worry, I’ll save you some.”

“You said that the last three times and failed miserably on your promise.” She couldn’t blame him. The town had a local breakfast joint that had been there since the ’60s, boasting items like the Dungeness crab omelette, freshly squeezed juices, and the thickest, heartiest oatmeal with whole milk and brown sugar. But the cinnamon rolls were the unofficial star. The owner made them fresh every day, and Ella swore she could smell the buttered dough and cinnamon sugar for a mile.

She waved goodbye, knowing he’d actually sit and wait until she was inside the house. A cock-a-doodle-doo and horses neighing echoed across the valley as she trudged through the mud up to the house. She breathed in, hard, for the first time since she was here a month ago.

After kicking off her boots at the door, she rang the doorbell and cracked it open. A hearty, sweet sage fog pummeled her. “Jesus. I think all the demons are gone.” She fanned away the cloud and navigated to the kitchen, where her aunt stood in her signature peacock-colored muumuu, smudging like her life depended on it.

“Ella girl. I’m on my final room.” Colleen twirled the bundle of sticks, murmuring something under her breath that Ella couldn’t make out.

Tears sprung to Ella’s eyes to combat the smoke. She lifted her shirt to cover her mouth and nose. “Oof. Why so much sage?”

Colleen circled the wand, the sleeves of the muumuu fanning the air with each movement. “Spring is in the air, my love. Time to cleanse, rejuvenate, and make space for the body and mind to heal.”

Ella was not much for naturopathy, spiritual healing, or eating live sprouts to keep the doctor away. By the time she’d leave today, she’d probably have some combination of frankincense, lavender, and bergamot oil mixed in a bottle for her with a reminder to do chakra breathing and pay attention to which moon they were in. But maybe her aunt was on to something. Colleen’s soft smile lines in her cheeks and around her eyes showed happiness, not fatigue.

Colleen snuffed out the burning embers. “Come here, sweet girl.”

Ella melted into the hug and absorbed the multiple kisses against her forehead. This place was the only spot where Ella was both loved like a child and given the respect she deserved as a woman.

Colleen pulled back. Her gaze scanned Ella’s face and her brows knitted in concern. “Want some tea? Or are you just here to brush the horses?”

“How did you know?” Brush horses, run away, bury herself under a stack of hay, did it really matter? Maybe Ella didn’t need a job, maybe she could just live in Colleen’s guesthouse next to the goats. She could earn her keep by feeding the chickens and scooping poop. Oh, wait… that’s right. When Ella begged her aunt last year to move in, that was part of the deal. As much as Ella loved the animals, she drew the line at poop duty.

Colleen guided her into the kitchen. She pulled down two mason jars from the cabinet and filled them with water from the tap. “When you texted last night to see if I was around, I knew it wasn’t a social call. You were just here a few weeks ago.” Colleen sliced two hefty chunks of lemon and tossed one in each jar. “Want to talk about it?”

Ella shook her head and remained silent. Colleen gave her a quick squeeze on the shoulder, then grabbed her work gloves and straw hat and headed to the front door.

The earth crunched beneath Ella’s feet, massaging her toes through her boots as she walked to the barn. At home, everything was pristine. Perfectly manicured hedges surrounded the circular driveway. Rose bushes, cherry blossoms, and a mixture of annuals and perennials the primary gardener maintained lined the border. The lawn was mowed in an intricate diamond-design. One would be hard-pressed to find a blade of grass out of place. But here, Colleen didn’t even have a paved driveway. Sticks and debris littered the gravel path, and overgrown plants and trees filled the yard.

Several goats scattered the area and filled the space with their happy chomping sounds. “Goats are the most natural landscaper. My blackberry bushes would’ve taken over by now without them,” Colleen said at least once a year.

That Colleen and her mother were raised by the same parents blew Ella’s mind.

“Grab the apples.” Colleen pointed at the bucket in the stall’s corner.

Ella went to the stall to retrieve them, running her fingers across the wooden sign with the burned inscription Who Rescued Who hanging from the barn wall.

The sound of galloping horses grew louder, and Ella’s heart swelled. It was like the animals knew she was here, knew she needed love, and ran to give it to her.

Mocha-Tina, one of three rescue horses, and the one that Ella designated as “hers” when she was around ten, trotted towards her.

“Hey, girl,” Ella whispered. She rubbed the side of the rich, chocolate brown mare, who dipped her head. The horse was an anxiety med that, with every pat and glide, made Ella’s tension evaporate. She held the apple in her palm and swore Mocha-Tina flashed a gummy, toothy grin before consuming it in one bite.

They worked in silence as the sun broke through the clouds. Colleen grabbed the pitchfork and separated the hay. Ella doused Mocha-Tina with detangling spray and began methodical brushes. Strand by strand and with long strokes, Mocha-Tina stood proudly as Ella worked the tangles and groomed the coat until it turned nearly reflective.

“Not a great week,” Ella said, shaking out her forearm muscle.

Colleen tossed a chunk of hay to the side. “Work?”

“Work. My mom. My dad. My life.” She spritzed the mane and continued brushing. Her mother’s overbearingness catapulted to the Space Needle-level this week. Text messages at work, harping on her about appointments, making sure she took her meds—which she absolutely never forgot to do. “People treat me different because of my dad and it really sucks.”

Colleen kicked away a rock. “Is that true? Or is that your perception?”

Maybe it was perception? Besides the dipshit in the conference room, who called out that she was George’s daughter, only one person brought her lineage to her attention. “There’s this woman, Sophie.” She tugged out a strand of horsehair from the brush and flicked it into the breeze. “And she makes comments all the time.”

“All the time, huh?”

Okay, maybe that was a stretch. She’d only brought it up twice, maybe three times. But Ella saw the thoughts and judgements behind those green eyes. “And she thinks she’s super cool, you know, and can get away with everything because of… like who she is.”

Colleen lifted her gaze from the hay. “Who is she?”

“She’s like this, ugh, I don’t know.” Ella waved the brush in the air. “Like this shaved-head rocker chick. And beautiful. But I don’t think she knows she’s beautiful, which is somehow more annoying than just owning it. And she thinks she’s really smart and everyone else is an idiot.”

Colleen shoved the prongs and twisted, concentrating on moving the straw. “Beautiful, huh?”

Of course Sophie was beautiful. The sweetest face, a full mouth, and eyes that were green, but not just any old green. A green with speckles, that, when the sun hit, adjusted into the type of jade that belonged on a canvas. Ella returned to brushing. “I mean, if you’re into her type.”

Colleen stuck the prongs into the ground and rested her flattened forearm on the wooden handle. “Tell me about your mom and dad.”

Ella set the brush down and took a sip from the mason jar. “They’re up my ass constantly. I need my own space.”

“I remember a similar conversation when you wanted to go to college in person instead of online.”

Being homeschooled for most of her life, when Ella strolled into her mother’s den six years ago and demanded to go to college on the University of Washington campus—not online—her mother nearly fell into the ten-foot-high bookshelf. Two hundred million conversations about “danger” and “unsupervised” and “how special” she was followed, until Ella screamed like a toddler, threatened to run away (she wouldn’t have actually run away), and sobbed until her parents let up. She hated that this was still the only successful way she was able to retain some control of her life. “This feels different. I mean, yes, I wanted to go to school, but I didn’t actually want to leave home. But now… I’m an adult and I want my own place.”

Colleen tipped a bucket upside down and sat. “A lot of people live with their parents.”

True. But that didn’t mean Ella wanted to.

She knew what it looked like from the outside. She had everything . At the same time, she felt like she had nothing—at least nothing that truly mattered. Mocha-Tina nickered at Ella’s side, and she scratched just beside the horse’s ears. She finally took a seat on the ground next to Colleen, and rested her head against her aunt’s hip.

Colleen didn’t push or pry. After a bit, she used the pitchfork to help her stand up and walked to the barn. She returned with a bucket of chicken feed and handed it to Ella. “Come on. One more hour of chores, then we can move to the studio.”

Swiping a fresh canvas with creamy acrylic paint was akin to heaven. Ella dipped the round brush into magenta, citrus orange, and a touch of white, and swiped. She tilted her head… Pretty. At home, she painted with a full sketch outline, exclusively in watercolor, and an end date in mind. Devices were always turned off, and her parents had strict instructions not to interrupt. At Colleen’s, the only rule was no rules. She used this time to experiment with the abstract technique and mixing hues.

Colleen returned with two PB&Js, cookies, and homemade lemonade, and set it all on the rickety TV tray between them. Ella eyed the distance from the canvas in case the tray collapsed and a lemonade-spray disaster occurred.

“Thanks.” Ella wiped her hands and dug for a cookie when she got a text from her mom.

Mom:

Just checking in. Colleen keeping an eye on you?

LOL.

There was no lol about it. Ella huffed and closed the screen.

Colleen lifted a brow and brought the sandwich to her lips. “Your mom?”

Ella nodded. “It’s too much.” She bit into the bread, the chunky peanut butter sticking to her mouth’s roof. She chewed slowly and swallowed. Her mom’s overbearingness was all she’d ever known. And when she was younger, it felt incredible. She was always the most important person in the room. But when she pulled away, her mother gripped harder. “Why is she such a control freak?”

As soon as the words slipped from her mouth, she wanted to take it back. She absolutely knew why her mom was the way she was. Deep in her core, she wanted to hug her mom and tell her that she was okay, that she would be fine, and that she needed to stop worrying.

Colleen stuffed the chocolate chip cookie in between the sandwich. “Hmm. That’s the stuff right there, Ella girl. Try on your next bite.” She nudged the plate toward Ella. Several moments passed and she sighed. “After your first seizure, your mom changed.”

Of course she did. Ella wasn’t so dense that she couldn’t understand that when a parent discovers their kid has a major medical issue, it rewires their brain. But at some point… shouldn’t they get over it? Learn to cope?

“When you had your first seizure, I thought your mom was going to lose it.” Colleen clapped the crumbs from her hands and dipped a brush into emerald green. “Until you have kids, you’ll never understand. I’ll probably never fully understand. Your mom handles you… this… the situation, the best way she knows how.”

Ella knew this, but she still hated it.

“You know, it’s not like your mother and I were raised in an empathetic family and taught how to nurture strong daughters. Our consistent message was to be seen and not heard. And when seen, your hair better be done, your clothes wrinkle free, and your smile wide.”

Growing up, Ella remembered monthly visits to her grandparents’ mansion in Bellevue. Her grandpa had passed when she was very young and she barely remembered him, but she remembered her grandma. She had been nice enough. But Ella remembered a playmate talking about her grandma who wore an apron and made homemade brownies and sticky slime in the kitchen, and Ella couldn’t reconcile that image with her own. Visits with Grandma were about wearing dresses, drinking tea, and never, ever doing anything to embarrass her mom.

Ella squeezed a dollop more of crimson and gold, and swiped the canvas. The picture—whatever it was—came alive. “You didn’t change when Dottie got sick.”

Colleen held her brush in midair. “Part of me did.”

Her words were soft, and Ella immediately regretted bringing up Colleen’s wife. When Dottie died almost ten years ago, Ella didn’t remember Colleen stopping her sage-waving, or hiding all her crystals, or becoming an overbearing aunt who monitored everything Ella did when she visited.

“I remember having terrible thoughts. Terrible.” Colleen’s brush clanked against the side of the glass water jar, and she wiped it with a towel. “I kept thinking your mom and dad were lucky that the only thing they had to worry about with you was epilepsy. And that it was unfair that your dad was healthy, and my sister wouldn’t understand what I was going through.” She huffed through her nose. “Who thinks that way? I’m embarrassed even to say it. But watching the cancer eat Dottie’s bones for more than a year… I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

A sadness filled the air. What would it be like to lose your wife, your soulmate, your person, in your forties? Ella couldn’t even imagine having a person. She’d thought a while ago Jasmine might be it. She was so in love. Or so she thought. She dreamed about her at night, thought about her during the day, the flutters shook her for the first months. At first, Jasmine represented everything Ella craved—fresh air, a confidante, laughter. God, she could make Ella laugh. That was one of the hardest things to let go of post-breakup. When she discovered Jasmine cheated, that she held such little regard for her, Ella thought she’d never laugh again.

But a small part of Ella always knew they weren’t going to last. A few weeks before Jasmine broke Ella’s heart, Ella brought her here to meet Colleen. Jasmine spent half the time complaining about the smells, how her shoes got dirty, and how scary the horses were.

“How are you and my mom so different? You were raised by the same people.”

Colleen leaned back and eyed her canvas. “It was probably easier for me. Being the older sister, she had way more pressure than I did. And I was lucky. The earth soothed me. I’m not sure your mother ever found something that provided her the same comfort.” The brush swiped back and forth until she smiled. “Your mom’s not a bad person. You know that, right?”

Ella knew that, but sometimes it was easier to think she was terrible. Her mom was quick with the guilt trip and slow with the sympathy. And even though Ella thought leaving home was no big deal, it would be hard for her mom to become an empty-nester.

“You need to give her some grace, okay?” Colleen tapped Ella on the knee. “And maybe apply some of that grace to your new co-worker. My guess is she’s working through something, too.”

Ella’s stomach fell. It never really occurred to her that Sophie might have her own issues. She always seemed so self-assured, so confident, so totally in charge. Maybe tomorrow, Ella would make some changes.