Ellie is Cool Now

Chapter 9

I have a ritual for days like this. Days with something dreaded looming on the evening horizon like a dangerous weather warning. It begins with a full-fat, extra sweet, triple shot latte with whipped cream and chocolate shavings on top, served up beside a vanilla cake doughnut.

The first layer of fortification is dessert.

I crunch the cup in my hand and shove it in the doughnut bag wrapper, dropping it in the trash can beside the kitchen cabinet. I can feel my mom actively not watching me from the table as she does her crossword puzzle – in the newspaper, with a pencil. Some things never change, and suddenly I feel so relieved by that thought I could burst.

My feet move fast without warning and my arms close around her shoulders. I feel her cheek lift against mine, just as her hand closes and opens light around my arm.

"You will do fine," she says, her other hand tapping the pencil on the paper. I lean back.

"Have you gone to any of your high school reunions?" I ask, pulling out the dining chair. Her sharp blue eyes meet mine.

"My ten year, yes, but I still lived nearby. It wasn't an inconvenience," she says. She doesn't say, I was an active and viable member of the student body. I had friends.

Like me not wanting to go is about inconvenient travel.

"Was it...fun? Or at least, not totally awful?" I ask.

Mom lays her pencil down. "It was nice to see how everyone's life turned out in those ten years. People change a lot when they get outside the high school bubble."

"They do?" My nose wrinkles.

She has always been much more optimistic than me. "They do, and they don't. Give it a chance."

She looks back to the crossword. I sit there a little longer, just because I can.

The second layer of fortification is an obvious one.

"Turn the camera around so I can see the options in the mirror," Tina says through the phone. She's at her apartment in LA, which is drenched in sunlight and decorated in shades of white and pink. Her hair is a bun of brown on top of her head, and she's gorgeous without a stitch of makeup. She lifts her own (black) coffee to her lips and takes a tiny sip.

I flip the camera phone to show her my three options. Clothes are everything at a reunion. You may still live in your mom's basement, but a designer dress has the power to create a diversion. Being a TV writer in LA doesn't make me rich – yet. It does give me a budget for cute clothes, a few designer bags, and sure, sometimes I eat ramen out of a Styrofoam bowl between seasons, but that's a price I'm willing to pay for Jimmy Choos.

She's silent as she scrutinizes my choices. High School Ellie would not have selected any of these ensembles that hang before me. She didn't show cleavage (because she didn't have any), she didn't wear stilettos (because she couldn't walk in them). About the only thing hanging here that would have been on High School Ellie's radar is the tiny, pink, sparkly purse, and only because I've always had a thing for bling.

"Turn me around," Tina says. When we're face-to-face through the camera, her dark brown eyes lock on mine. "The pink dress with the sweetheart neck. Put your hair up so you can show off your amazing décolletage—" I snort, interrupting her nineties rom-com style makeover pep talk.

"Stop fucking laughing every time I tell you you're hot." Tina talks over my guffaw. I flatten my hand against my lips to force my laugh back into captivity. She grins. "Now, let's talk accessories."