Chapter 10

10

ELLIE

T he doorbell rings so loudly and suddenly that Ellie drops her cup to the floor, shattering it into a sea of sharp glass specks.

"A moment!" she shouts, irritated.

She knows it's Fred, which means the door can wait. The remains of the cup now richly decorate the floor, hundreds of hazardous little tears. The late spring sun shines through them, here and there painting a rainbow on the bright floor. Ellie takes the broom and begins cleaning up, Fred still waiting outside.

"What the hell took you so long?" he explodes when she finally opens the door.

"It's your fault, you shattered my favorite cup," she points to the gathered glass, sitting on the dustpan.

They embrace and she sets the water to boil for some tea, impatient to show him the paintings stashed all around her room.

"Why there and not the studio?" Fred inquires.

"You know, I like to keep these ones close, I don't fully know why." Ellie smiles. "I think we're doing lots of good work, Tatiana and I."

"I'm sure," smiles Fred, "the whole thing still astonishes me."

"Me too," Ellie sighs, a thought or two passing through her mind before she pours the water.

They take their cups and walk towards the bedroom. The hallway is not very well lit, as opposed to the rest of the flat, giving it a rather tunnel-like feeling. Once they reach the bedroom, they're welcomed back by sweeping light.

"You know, I don't think I have ever even seen your bedroom," Fred wonders, looking for the paintings.

"Yeah, I don't usually have men in here," Ellie retorts while opening the door to her wardrobe.

"No! Don't tell me you stashed them in your wardrobe, Ellie."

She turns to him, surprised.

"Why not? It's a spacious room," she says, taking them out one by one. "And you know how much I hate cluttered space."

Fred shakes his head in disbelief, but soon his attention is caught on the spiky fence of Ellie's work. He gets closer to one painting, inspecting it with deep interest.

It portrays a swimming pool scene, women getting dressed before going out to swim. The background is yellow, something uncommon in Ellie's work, even though the piece preserves her somber touch. He can almost feel the chlorine fill up his nose, overcome by childhood memories.

"Wow," he says. "What the hell prompted you to choose this subject?"

"That's the whole point," Ellie explains. "Didn't I tell you? We took each other's sketches, so I'm painting Tatiana's ideas, and she's painting mine. The vision is simple, but I think it is effective, right? I like the challenge of respecting the sketch while preserving my own voice."

Fred looks to another painting, seemingly more abstract. Groups of entangled materials gallop through the canvas, endearingly lively.

"So you're working with no theme?"

"There is a theme, it's subversion of each other's abilities," Ellie sits down on her bed, sipping the tea. "We often work together in the studio, sometimes interfering, sometimes flowing with each other. It's exhilarating."

"Alright, I see."

Fred sits down next to her.

"And how is your relationship going? Last time we spoke you weren't that happy about it."

Ellie takes another sip, embarrassed that she forgot their recent phone call. She bites her lip, conflicted whether she wants to confide in Fred. He can be indelicate, to put it lightly, often preferring to plunge straight into giving advice instead of simply listening. Perhaps she could use some advice at the moment, Ellie thinks, turning to Fred.

"Okay, so we still haven't talked about it."

"What do you mean? Like at all? You didn't acknowledge that you're fucking?"

Ellie looks away, confronted by the harshness of the word fucking thrown at her.

"We did acknowledge that," she considers whether acknowledged is truly the right word for what they did, "but nothing…more? It's strange, it's like she's completely avoiding the subject of what we are."

"And what would that be?" Fred asks, straightforward.

Ellie feels something tighten around her chest. She's mad at Tatiana for being so elusive, but she feels that the lack of conversation also protects her own feelings, even though often craving clarity.

"I don't know. We sleep with each other, spend time together, kiss, and that's kind of it." "Well, sounds like you're a couple to me," Fred announces.

Ellie again feels her chest, but now her stomach joins in too. She has not allowed herself to think about them in these terms, fearing that for Tatiana all this was much less serious.

"I don't think she's that serious about it," she sighs.

"But you are?"

"Not if she isn't."

Fred erupts with laughter, spilling some of the tea on his shirt.

"Ellie, for Christ's sake, you're almost 40! This sounds like high school all over again. Just take her out, be upfront about your feelings, and ask about hers. It's that simple and that difficult."

Ellie nods, feeling slightly childish herself. There isn't much more to say, she only needs to face the reality of possible rejection.

"What if she's not serious about this, and we have to keep working together?"

"Well then," Fred says, getting up, "You'll just finish it off somehow. From what I can see you're kind of ahead. Look, I need to get going."

He lost his bag somewhere, now looking all over Ellie's room.

"Fred, the bag is in the kitchen," she reminds him. Her memory has always been the best.

Saying her goodbyes at the doorstep, Ellie feels somewhat confident in what steps she should take, grateful for allowing Fred to express his opinion.

"Talk to you soon," he says, turning to go. "Really—talk to her," he adds.

"Will do," she smiles and softly closes the door behind him. Once alone, she knows it's time to set up the dreaded date. I can't even call these dinners dates, she thinks as she shakes her head.

As if willed by fate, her phone rings.

"Hey Ellie," Tatiana says seemingly out of breath.

"Hey, are you alright?"

"Yes! I've been swimming. I have a question. Do you have teal paint?"

"Yes… What do you need it for?"

"I want to make the house you sketched—you know the one?"

"The Italian one?" Ellie shifts uncomfortably. This was the most difficult sketch to let go of, but Tatiana insisted she could make it beautiful. The house used to belong to Ellie's grandparents, originally coming from Italy. She visited it last summer.

"Yeah, I want to make the palette colder, more blue."

Ellie holds her breath in. She always imagined painting the house in a warm, nostalgic palette. Ideally making its shadows soft, enveloping, sweet.

"But why blue?" she asks, carefully.

"Well… I can tell you about it later, just drop me off the paint sometime?"

Ellie holds onto the phone, nervous.

"Listen, Tatiana, actually—I meant to ask you…"

"Ask me what?" Tatiana's voice conveys a smile, a smile very familiar to Ellie.

"Ask you out to dinner. When are you available?"

"Probably tomorrow evening, if you want?" Tatiana offers.

–

Tomorrow evening came much too soon in Ellie's opinion, leaving her with no time to consider clothes, much less the words she'd like to say. This whole affair muddled her thoughts of herself, always thinking herself very open and clear with relationships. She recognizes that she's a mature woman, reasonably expecting a serious relationship instead of some fling, she keeps reasoning in front of her mirror. Nothing comes together well, so she follows an old piece of advice she once read in some magazine or other: Difficult conversation? Wear something tried already! Difficult dinners are no time to experiment.

She settles on her elegant black dress and earrings in the shape of golden drops. She wants to look respectable and decisive but not intimidating. As if Tatiana would be intimidated. She laughs. The restaurant they chose, a beautiful place resembling one straight out of Paris, is located conveniently close to her house, only some ten minutes by car.

She sprays on her favorite perfume, citrus and bold, perhaps only slightly too richly, and leaves the apartment. Then needs to go back for her car keys and leave again.

The whole way to the restaurant she's chewing on the words she will have to say, one way or another. She's certain she could get fed on these words alone, their weight fills up her throat and stomach. The traffic jam only worsens her mood; she's now worried about being late as well. Tatiana messages about her own delay, asking whether Ellie will be on time to receive their reserved table.

Of course Ellie will be on time.

–

Finally sitting, Ellie feels like a fool. The elegant restaurant guests sit coupled by dimly lit tables, swift waiters pour expensive wine, glancing at her now and then questioningly. She rolls her eyes apologetically, not knowing what else to do. The delay has spun into fifteen minutes already, and Ellie begins to feel angry.

Tatiana is always late. Always messy. Does Ellie want to be with someone so disorganised?

Finally, the door opens and Tatiana rushes to the table. Her dress catches the delicate sparkling of candles, making her silhouette acquire an almost magical quality. The material wraps her body in elaborate ways, making Ellie's gaze slide around Tatiana's waist, tightly embraced by the fabric. Her necklace sits atop her collarbones with a dignified grace, and looking at Tatiana like this with her shimmering red hair pinned up off her face, Ellie doesn't even remember she was mad.

Tatiana is so beautiful, it is all Ellie can see.

"I'm so sorry, really, I drove through some horrible traffic," Tatiana recites in one breath, "But I'm here, I'm here. I'm really sorry."

Ellie shakes her head. "How is it that you always find a way to be late?" She smiles with forgiveness.

The waiter arrives, seeing that the pair is ready, and gives them the menu cards. Their beige paper discloses everything succinctly. Neither of them being particularly passionate about wine, they choose a recommended white, and take their time to consider the dishes. Ellie feels good being able to practice her calming ritual, a smaller choice made with certainty, leading the bigger choice to seem less overwhelming.

"Alright, I'm considering the asparagus puff pastry," Ellie's eyes jump around the embellished letters, "or the lobster tagliolini."

Tatiana raises her eyebrows, always surprised how much attention Ellie pays these choices.

"I'll take the veal chop," she announces, putting the card to the side.

Ellie looks up from hers, disapprovingly.

"That's awful," she shakes her head.

"What?" Tatiana looks surprised. "What, the meat? The calf?"

Ellie nods.

"Oh, come on, we've talked about this a million times. What about the lobster then?" She laughs, entertained by the sensitive subject.

"I'll take the asparagus then," Ellie says, more as a joke than an actual point.

When the waiter takes their orders, Ellie quiets down. She knows now is the time to begin the conversation. The people around them seem entirely involved in their own problems, loves, or others. Ellie and Tatiana begin looking around, both postponing something.

"Look," Tatiana discreetly points to another couple, "they're about to break up."

The woman is indeed tearing up slightly, having abandoned her Caesar salad completely. The man's head rests in his hands.

"Stop it, give them some privacy," Ellie admonishes her.

"This is a public space, though," Tatiana responds. Then silence follows anew.

Ellie shifts on her seat, knowing that she could easily allow Tatiana to simply carry their conversation away somewhere, far from themselves. Tonight, this can't happen , she reminds herself.

"I would like to actually talk to you about something important, and for you to stay on the subject," she begins.

"You sound very condescending," Tatiana informs her, partially correct.

"You're right," Ellie doubles down. "I'm sorry. I do really need to talk, though. Is that okay?"

Tatiana nods.

"I would like…" Ellie clears her throat, "I would like for us to clarify our relationship."

"What does that mean?" Tatiana interrupts. "We do what feels good and stop doing it when it doesn't. That's all I need to know," she concludes, taking a sip of her wine. Her cheeks begin to slowly blush—from wine, candle-warmth, and agitation. Ellie always thought it very endearing, how easily Tatiana can blush.

"Well, I'm glad you're so self-assured," she responds, carefully, "but that's not enough for me. I feel like we're escaping an important conversation. About our feelings."

Their food arrives, steamy and mouth-watering. Ellie can feel her stomach rumble, having eaten only a light breakfast. She's annoyed at the timing but cannot help diving straight into the pastry. Tatiana seems equally hungry, cutting the veal. The conversation endures a break, filled by cutlery and chewing sounds. Ellie from time to time looks up from her plate to Tatiana, feeling more confident already in the middle of the conversation.

They take a break from eating, swirling the surprisingly well-fitted wine around their mouths, heated by the conversation.

"So. What are these feelings?" Tatiana finally lets out, having been holding the question down while eating. The chair suddenly seems much less comfortable.

"Well. That's a question."

They look back down at their plates, at a bit of a loss for words. Ellie decides to be brave and not let herself be intimidated by the situation.

"Look, we're both adults. I like you—" she looks at Tatiana, nervous, her thoughts melting into a little puddle. "I like you a lot, even though we argue often. And I think—" she inhales deeply, "I think I would like us to be together."

Tatiana looks up at her for the first time since Ellie started speaking, her expression quite indiscernible.

"If you don't feel the same way," Ellie continues, "then I suggest we stop seeing each other in this… manner and continue only as friends."

She finishes the sentence and awaits Tatiana's response, her chest tightening and breathing shallow. Regardless of the outcome of the conversation, she's incredibly proud of herself for getting it all out and not allowing herself to drift away from the subject.

Tatiana nods and takes another sip of wine.

"Thank you for saying that," she smiles, "I would like to be with you, too."

She looks down at her hands, visibly thinking of what to say next.

"I think I was afraid that for you it was all just too casual, so I preferred to pretend it was the same for me." She puts her hand across the table, touching Ellie's tenderly.

"I'm glad it was not that," she concludes.

The now-official couple finish their meals, talking at length about the paintings they still need to work on. Ellie remembers about the Italian house, growing slightly less talkative. She doesn't want to damage Tatiana's vision, especially because she gave the sketch away freely, but she also doesn't feel right about letting it go entirely.

"Listen, about the house," she finally begins. "Are you sure you want to make it in a cool palette? It's such a sunny view," she sighs.

"Ellie." Tatiana knits her brows together. "We decided that I can paint it. That means I can do it whatever way I want. There was no indication of a color scheme in the sketch," she softens her statement slightly.

"I know; it's just so personal," Ellie looks away.

"But that's why it's so good," Tatiana says. "You really captured that building. And I know what I'm doing, painting it this way and not another."

Ellie bites her lip. "Can't you keep the tones warm? It's not such a big alteration," she asks, softly. "Just a warm, fuzzy touch of the sun."

Tatiana shakes her head, seemingly feeling uncomfortable.

"Alright, Ellie. I'll make it warm and sunny, your Italian house." She puts on a smile, stroking Ellie's hand.

They split the bill and finish their wine, giddy about their budding relationship. Ellie feels the stones that built up in relation to Tatiana chipped away and crumbled, leaving only the familiar path of falling in love ahead. She feels indescribable warmth, imagining everything they get to do together now, how much simpler their relations will become.

They begin getting up, picking up their coats and purses. Ellie confidently takes Tatiana's hand, and swiftly kisses her lips, beaming with joy.

"Should we go back to my place?" she suggests, realizing that Tatiana has never actually seen her house. They slept with each other so many times in her studio, that she conflated the two in her mind.

"Sure… it's just that I have my own car." Tatiana points to it, waiting obediently in the parking lot. "But I can follow you!" She kisses Ellie's cheek sweetly.

They get inside the cars, each on her own, quite entertained by the situation. Ellie drives out of the parking lot, seeing Tatiana driving in the rear-view mirror. She's glad to be driving first and observing, glad to be leading the way, the same way she often finds herself leading the way within her relationships. She thinks back to her last relationship, the way Margaret accused her of wanting to dominate everything in their lives. Those words hurt Ellie deeply at the time, and like a little scar she's been carrying them around ever since, careful to watch herself for any signs that would prove Margaret right. Their relationship died screaming and crying, with many arguments during which both of them said regretful things, but she felt that one sting particularly because she knows a part of it is true. There is a darker side to caring about the other deeply and wanting to arrange everything the best way. She shrugs the unpleasant thoughts away, looking once more to Tatiana, glad to know that she worked on herself and knows better.