Reclaiming the Sand(59)

My temper spiked. This was her entire motivation for keeping the baby? So she could get extra money from the government. Was she serious?

“Wow, that’s very selfless of you,” I deadpanned, trying to rein in my anger.

“Shut up, Ellie. You’ll be thanking me when I’m getting that money every month to pay for our rent. So don’t give me any of your holier than thou bullshit!”

I didn’t want her money. I didn’t want her goddamned drama. I didn’t want to sit by and watch her screw up her baby’s life the way my mother and her mother had screwed up ours.

“I’ve got to go,” I said, needing to end our conversation before I said something I couldn’t take back.

“I miss you, Ells. I never see you anymore. How about I bring you a sundae during your shift at JAC’s tonight? With hot fudge and sprinkles, just how you like it,” Dania said sweetly, her mood doing a 180.

“You don’t need to bribe me with ice cream, Dania,” I told her tiredly.

I heard her sigh on the other end. “You’re my best friend, Ellie. We’ve always had each other’s backs. In high school, you were the one who slashed Stu’s tires when I caught him cheating on me. And I was the one who came and visited you every weekend when you were in juvie. We do things for each other. That’s what friends do,” she reminded me.

What she had just described sounded more like an episode of a bad talk show than a healthy friendship. When she put it like that, it made me realize how shitty our relationship had always been. We fed off the worst of each other.

But she did say one thing that was true.

We had always been there for each other.

Though I’m not sure that had done either of us any good.

“Okay, bring me a sundae,” I gave in.

“I will! Maybe even a milkshake too,” she enthused and I could only shake my head, though she couldn’t see me.

“See ya,” I said and hung up the phone. I felt drained. Talking to Dania was hard at the best of times. But now, with my life changing in slow, incremental ways, I was finding it even more difficult to be around her.

Because now when I looked at my friend, I only saw a person I never wanted to be.

I looked at the time and realized I only had forty-five minutes until I was supposed to meet Flynn at the community college. He had been after me to sit in on his workshop. I had agreed, knowing how much it meant to him.

He was nervous. He spent most of last evening writing notes down on paper and saying them over and over again until he memorized them. He asked me to walk him through a mock workshop. I told him I didn’t know anything about art.

He had gotten upset and I had to calm him down and promise him I’d help him. He wasn’t expecting to talk much. The students were going to watch him as he made a series of simple sculptures. The art teacher was planning to explain the concepts while he worked.

I didn’t see what the big deal was, but this was Flynn we were talking about and his nerves were through the roof.

“Mom and Kevin used to help me with this stuff. They’d walk me through things that made me nervous until I felt comfortable. Mom would write things down. But they’re not here,” he had said as he rubbed his hands together.

“I can do that, Flynn. I can make sure you feel comfortable. Can you trust me to do that?” I had asked him.

Flynn had stopped rubbing his hands and nodded. “I always trust you, Ellie,” he had said and I felt the enormity of that statement again. His trust was a gift and there were moments when I felt ill equipped to handle the significance of it.

I headed back to my bedroom to grab a clean pair of clothes to change into for my shift at JAC’s. I planned to go back to Flynn’s house after the workshop, so I could get ready there.

The sight of my sculpture collection caught my eye as I opened the drawers. I picked up the miniature pyramid and held it in my palm. It had been a while since I had ordered a new one.

At one time, these tiny pieces of art had been my one source of joy. I enjoyed looking at them and imagining all the places I’d love to go if I could. When I was a little girl, before the system had jaded me, I’d pour over travel books, fantasizing about all the places I would visit when I was older. Julie bought me a world travel guide when I was seven and I had looked at it so much that the pages had become dog-eared and faded.

I lost the book at some point during my numerous moves. But by the time it was gone, those dreams, those fantasies, had disappeared.

I wasn’t sure why I had bought the first sculpture. I had been looking online at Shane’s house one evening. Everyone was hanging out and I wasn’t in the mood to watch the cheesy porno with the rest of the group.

I was surfing through random links when I found my way to eBay. The artist’s collection was featured on the home page and on a whim I had clicked on it. I saw the small Taj Mahal and the little Parthenon and I impulsively bought one.

Maybe it was the reminder of a time when I had dared to dream of something outside of Wellsburg. Maybe it was just the fact that I was drunk and thought they looked pretty. Who the hell knows? But I ordered the miniature Parthenon and then promptly forgot about it.

Until it showed up in my post office box.

I hadn’t been prepared for how happy I’d feel holding the little thing in my hands. It was sort of ridiculous. It was a painted piece of clay for crying out loud.