Chapter 11

11

TATIANA

T he sky rolls out its baby blue fabric above, while Tatiana delights in the fresh strawberries she and Ellie brought to the park. Her fingers feel sticky, and she licks them thoroughly before sweetening them once more with the fruits. Children laugh, playing somewhere in the distance, setting up a pleasant, summer-appropriate mood. Tatiana, to celebrate having finished yet another painting in their series, decided to take Ellie out for a picnic in the nearby park, spread widely in the west part of the city.

"As I was saying," Ellie gets back to her point, "nature in this city is miserable."

Tatiana laughs, looking around. Above their heads trees spread out their rich branches in mazes of leaves, rustling gently with the breeze. The grass spreads out its vibrant green carpet, here and there decorated by blooming bushes. She rolls further away on the soft grass, giving Ellie a long, doubtful look.

"This?" She spreads her arms out, pointing to the abundant nature of the park. "This is miserable to you?"

Ellie shakes her head, apparently unable to convey to Tatiana the richness she experienced growing up close to deep woods. Tatiana looks at her, enchanted by the sensitivity towards her hometown. To a big city person who never really thought of moving away, such a drastic change seemed impressive.

"You'll need to take me sometime, you know," she suggests. "Maybe then I'll understand."

"I should," Ellie nods, in love with the idea of showing Tatiana her home. To roll with her in the untended wild grass, walk along the serpent-like roads slithering ahead in the familiar forests of her youth.

Their afternoon passes slowly, lazily rolling its hours ahead.

"I need to get going soon," Ellie finally announces, getting up from the blanket.

"Alright," Tatiana follows suit, collecting their things. "See you at the studio tomorrow?"

"Sure," Ellie kisses her forehead tenderly.

Tatiana laughs and pulls Ellie closer, laying kisses all over her soft cheeks. Having gathered everything in a particularly disorderly fashion, they head out of the park, holding hands and discussing the differences between the ambience of parks and forests. How something wild becomes tame, a wolf turned into a puppy.

–

Back home, Tatiana's phone rings ceaselessly while she's struggling to unpack her groceries picked up on the way. She bends and twists to reach the phone, dropping a bag of apples on the floor, watching them roll around and clash with each other.

"Yes?" she finally manages to shout.

"Would you like to grab some coffee in about two hours? I have a time slot in the city and nothing to do," Connie says in one breath.

"Pff, sure." Tatiana shrugs, also without any rigid plans. "Text me the address and I'll be there." She manages to unpack everything and stretch, practicing some of the relaxing techniques Ellie has been telling her about. She doesn't know whether she feels truly relaxed, or simply closer to Ellie, but either way they contribute to her good mood.

–

Once in the I, the two friends plunge right into the details of Tatiana's new collaborative exhibition. She talks excitedly about all the sketches she gave to Ellie to expand upon, and how well she felt painting the ones she got in turn. Then, she mentioned the unfortunate house.

"She did what??" Connie leans over the table in disbelief.

"What? She just asked me to change the colors, that's no big deal," Tatiana explains, surprised by such a harsh reaction.

"No, Tat, she's influencing your style a lot in this exhibition."

Tatiana sits back, perplexed. Ever since beginning the project, she has been more than willing to implement the insignificant changes upon Ellie's requests, but she blamed that exactly on their nature—insignificance. She knew that the project meant more to Ellie than to her, and out of kindness she chose to comply with Ellie's advice. That's what she has been telling herself, each time she would see her art evolve into something new to her. At the end of the day, art is a particularly fluid subject.

"I think maybe we're just inspiring each other," Tatiana says, "that was kind of the point of the project, too."

They both sip on their coffee, watching the sky darken. Tatiana doesn't like the feeling Connie awakened in her, an offense too stinging not to be at least partially true.

"Do you actually think I'm being too soft?" she asks, after a while passes in silence.

"I really do," Connie admits. "I love your bold vision and decisiveness, and also…"

She shifts on the chair, about to say something important.

"What the fuck, tampering with your part of the project? Just leave the house blue," she concludes. Tatiana nods, smiling.

"Just leave the house blue…"

–

On her way to Ellie's studio, Tatiana anxiously grips at the wheel. She knows they're about to have a tense conversation, but she's not shy about her boundaries. After talking to Connie, the house, in particular, began infuriating her. Besides the paintings, why was it always Ellie's studio? She keeps asking herself, rocking to the music coming from the speakers. The summer clouds roll ominously above, dimming the recently strong sun. She takes aggressive turns, disregarding the other cars. She has always been prone to exaggerating her own agitation, quickly spinning into swift conclusions and actions.

She barely manages to stop before a pedestrian crossing, a hair width away from running over an elderly lady. The lady in question shakes her head at Tatiana disapprovingly, then makes her way across the street. A few alleys away from the studio, Tatiana decides to get out of the car and walk the rest of the way.

–

"Hi!" Ellie welcomes her warmly, still tender after their afternoon away at the park.

"Hi." Tatiana enters, upset to be the bringer of a heavy conversation.

"How are you doing?" Ellie closes the door, kissing Tatiana's cheek.

"Yeah… I have something to talk to you about." She sets her things on the table, taking out a colored sketch. It shows a little house somewhere among fields of grape vines, a scene taken out of a dream, a memory, a blend of both, it would seem.

"You see, I think I'll keep the house, the Italian house, remember? I'll keep it in cool tones, because in my opinion it creates an interesting juxtaposition to the surroundings. And we settled on my painting from the sketch that you gave me, and on the sketch there was no indication of color," she states, sure of her words and ready to hear the response.

Ellie nods, upset, apprehensive. She sits down opposite Tatiana, resting her chin on her hands, her eyes set on Tatiana's face.

"Alright, that upsets me, but I feel like you mean to tell me much more than just about the house." She looks at Tatiana, prompting, "You look all on the edge."

This infuriates Tatiana, who already has been feeling talked down to. The apprehensive tone of Ellie's voice doesn't seem to fit the situation, an aggravating attempt at being the bigger person, Tatiana's thoughts sizzle. She feels the burning temptation to make Ellie truly upset. "Well, I think you're influencing me with this project a lot—not your art, which would be fine, but you're giving me a lot of instructions, and it's meant to be a collaboration, not a learning experience for me," she says, ready to elaborate. Ready to throw out all the uncertainty planted by insecurity and watered by Connie's words.

"You also instructed me some, remember?" Ellie asks, innocently, shifting on her chair. "Those were only suggestions! I'd never tell you to recolor a fucking house!" Tatiana shouts.

"Okay, I don't think we have to get so heated about this," Ellie suggests, visibly uncomfortable and unwilling to escalate the situation. She begins playing with her rings, fingering and twisting them one by one, making them sparkle in gold.

Tatiana can see a crossroads ahead, she's driving towards it, full speed. Either to mitigate the situation or to give in to the impulse and pour out all the little ways Ellie has been making her feel inferior in the recent weeks. The perspective of a fight tingles her nose, it fills the air between them with sparks. She doesn't feel as independent around Ellie as she would like, and she's afraid for her art. She stands at the crossroads, aggravated, and takes a step.

"Why are we always painting in your studio, even?" she fires, spreading out her arms to illustrate the point.

"Tatiana, because you do not have a studio," Ellie responds, rising from her chair. She looks slightly agitated now, touched either by Tatiana's words or by Tatiana's intentions, which doesn't matter much to Tatiana herself. What matters is that she breaks through this condescending demeanor of Ellie's, that she gets out her true feelings. She craves nothing more at the moment but to shatter this pedestal Ellie is standing on and get her down to the ground with her, to get her to crawl with anger too.

"I have an apartment," Tatiana accuses.

"And would we just carry the supplies around from one place to another? Be serious now," Ellie spreads her arms wide, helpless as to the direction the conversation is going in.

"Don't tell me to be serious. Don't tell me to be serious," Tatiana repeats, feeling that the sentence encapsulates her problem exactly. "Who gave you the right to treat me like a child? Be serious, for real?" She shakes her head.

Tatiana looks around the studio, feeling her body intensely. Her heart is racing, and her chest is struggling with some tightness she hasn't felt for a long time. Ellie is standing in front of her, and Tatiana has no idea what to feel. She is torn between an impulse to embrace her, and an impulse to run away from the studio and from their relationship.

"I'm sorry." Ellie comes closer.

"Yeah. You're always acting like you know so much better, as if I don't know anything about art or even life, for that matter. Is that what you think? That you need to teach me everything, the way you teach me your little yoga poses?" Tatiana goes on. "It's tiring, Ellie."

She swallows loudly, trying hard not to regret her words, but the feeling leaves a nasty aftertaste in her mouth, sliding down her throat. Regret tastes bitter and stings her tongue.

"Are you tired of me?" Ellie asks, visibly hurt now. She hugs her own shoulders in a nervous gesture, a gesture bringing only more pain to Tatiana.

"Maybe, I don't know. Maybe I am," she utters. "Maybe this project really was a bad idea, and you can't seem to trust me with my own style. Which is just unfair," she concludes.

They stand next to each other for a while, agitated and upset. Tatiana feels a mixture of emotions she cannot untangle from around her throat, tightening her vocal cords and making breathing difficult. She can't be sure whether she meant all the things she said, and her anger seems to be evaporating much quicker than she expected.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Ellie says, backing further away.

"I think I'll go," Tatiana says under her breath, gathering her things clumsily.

At the door she looks back at Ellie, unsure whether this is the outcome she wanted, but knowing that the little traces of tears around Ellie's eyes would soon burst her heart.

"Bye," she throws into the room, shutting the door behind herself.

On her way home, she begins to feel the avalanche of regret finally overcome her thoughts. As usual, she notices that she started the conversation on the right track, after which she let herself go completely. She rarely takes the right turn on the crossroads, a thing unchanged since childhood.

Her phone rings. She knows it's Ellie so she picks it up.

"Hey, Tatiana." She hears Ellie's voice is slightly raspy, perhaps from crying.

"Hey," Tatiana says carefully, not sure what it is about.

"I thought over some of the things you said, and I think that if you feel this way about me, we shouldn't really be together anymore."

Ellie's voice, hung heavy in the air of Tatiana's small car, rings around her ears ceaselessly. Tatiana focuses her eyes on the road, unsure what she wants to say. Her mind turns into a blank wall, with no wishes and no expectations, only perceiving whatever is about to unravel.

The prolonged silence prompts Ellie to speak again.

"Do you agree? Tatiana?" she asks, her voice shaky and unlike herself.

"I guess so." Tatiana nods to herself. "Yeah, I guess we shouldn't be together then," she adds, unwilling to come off as weak.

"Okay," Ellie says in a quiet voice. "Goodbye, then." She hangs up.

Tatiana's chest tightens, and she stops along the road. The tears come flowing, obscuring her view, blending together colors and lights from the street. She sobs and curses herself for not having tissues, then remembers Ellie always carries tissues around, which prompts her to cry more. She cries half because she's mad at herself for letting the situation be led so far astray, for breaking up in the most ridiculous way she has ever heard, I guess we shouldn't be together, then, the word then bouncing around her skull like a stubborn balloon. She wipes her eyes with her sleeves, determined to get home. On her way, she calls Connie—the two have rekindled their frequent conversations—and Tatiana turns into an incorrigible talker when unhappy with herself.

"Yes darling?" Connie responds, infallible, "Are you driving?"

"I am," Tatiana says in the same shrill voice she heard Ellie use only a minute ago. "I just broke my own heart," she cries.

"What do you mean, what happened? Did you break up?"

Tatiana bites her lip, unhappy with how harsh the word sounds.

"I think we just did," she confesses.

–

Back home, she realizes how unfortunately timed her breakup with Ellie is. Their project is still ongoing, with the vernissage of the exhibition set for a date three weeks ahead. She realizes, also, that one of her canvases was left at Ellie's studio. She collapses onto a chair, exhausted and dreading the organizational difficulties. Maybe love is just finely clothed desire, she reflects back on Connie's words, unsure how to even begin processing the situation. She gets her laptop out, thinking that maybe she should disclose her ideas as to organizing the last bits of preparation before the exhibition to Ellie by email, retaining a formal tone and keeping it brief. She figures Ellie is probably not in the mood to hear from her, so she decides to write it and schedule it to be sent one day from now. Ridiculous, she keeps repeating in her thoughts, cursing herself for not thinking things through.

In the middle of writing the email, she realizes these details keep her from fully feeling the weight of the breakup on her shoulders. There is no I miss how soft her lips felt against mine, nothing of the when she kissed my forehead that one time I thought I would never know more tenderness sort. There's only:

Hi Ellie, related to our upcoming exhibition;

Things I would like to get back from the studio:

My canvas (unfinished painting)

My set of brushes

My paint

Keep me updated about your progress by mail.

Kind regards,

Tatiana

And the message is safely deposited in the mysterious category of "to be delivered," out of sight, out of mind. Tatiana shuts her laptop close, but soon opens it once more, deciding to go on a spending spree. Rather, she doesn't decide to go on a spending spree, she submits to the river current of her usual response towards heartbreak; she doesn't resist the appeal of the rush of happiness. She decides she's in need of jewelry, in need of antique decor, and in desperate, pulsing need of summer dresses. Now that she's single, she needs to look her best—that was the common wisdom shared in her college dorm, wisdom she carried well into her adult years.

Looking through vintage silhouettes and pre-loved shining bracelets, she suddenly gets very tired. Sighing, she postpones the purchases, deciding to go to bed early. Her mother used to say that most of people's troubles are connected solely to their minds. Just go to sleep, dear, she would say. The morning thoughts flow clearer.

With this advice in mind, Tatiana takes a long, excruciatingly hot shower. She lets the weight of the day go from her shoulders, massaged by the water. She tries letting her thoughts flow freely, though quietly and gently. The dim bathroom light envelopes her figure, and for a moment, she feels comforted to be alone.

Laying down to sleep, her eyes water. To the beat of memories of Ellie's laughter, she weeps herself to sleep.