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“Good for you, Meagan is really not trustworthy,” I reply as the elevator door opens. Meagan is in her short shorts and T-shirt, holding up my phone and charger. I take it from her grasp because I do not trust her.
“Bitch,” she snickers.
“Good luck with that one,” I say to Annie, as I work to get my luggage out of the door of the building.
“Let me help you,” Annie offers, and she holds the door and helps me roll one of my suitcases.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Good luck,” Annie chimes.
I’m going to need more than luck at this point. I wish her luck too; she’ll need it dealing with Meagan.
When I get outside, I don’t know if I should call an Uber or my friend, Patty. I decide on Patty because I don’t think all these suitcases will fit in an Uber. Not that Patty has a big car, but I need more than a ride. I need a place to stay until I get myself figured out.
The phone rings once and Patty picks up. “Ellie, what’s going on?” Her voice is groggy.
I realize it’s only half past five.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” I begin. I go on to tell her how I was evicted from the room I was renting.
After muttering a string of expletives, she offers to come get me. Luckily it isn’t too cold outside, and I have my coat. Although I feel kind of awkward just hanging out on the street in pajamas and a row of luggage beside me.
Patty pulls up to the curb twenty minutes later. She is in her pajamas with her blond hair in a bun on her head and a large puffy coat.
“Ellie,” Patty says. “Why didn’t you say you moved out of your apartment?”
“I didn’t want to worry you.” I shrug and that’s when the tears finally come.
“Aw, sweetie.” Patty gathers me in her arms and hugs me.
“I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. How is it possible for one person to screw up so many times?” I cry.
“You aren’t screwing up. You’re finding your way, and sometimes it’s hard to do that when you don’t let the people in your life who care about you help you. Now you’re coming back to my place. There are no ifs, ands, or buts about it,” Patty insists and then she goes to pick up one of my suitcases.
“Don’t touch that,” I warn. She’s pregnant and things were a little rocky for her. I don’t want her to put any strain on the baby.
She pulls her hand back.
“I will find a way to fit all this in your car. Now you get back in and sit tight,” I order. She does as I say, and I get to work. Only one of my suitcases fits in her trunk, which leaves one for her back seat along with my two art bags.
“Thanks for coming to get me,” I say before I get in the front seat and close the door. This day has been a clusterfuck and the sun has barely risen.
“Always,” she replies, giving me a meaningful smile. “Do you want to stop for some coffee or breakfast?”
“Patty, it’s not even six in the morning,” I remind her.
“Now that I’m awake, I need to eat or I’ll puke,” she admits, scrunching her face.
“In that case, we’re stopping for breakfast,” I insist.
She drives us over to a cute little organic restaurant. Patty orders a breakfast sandwich that has everything but the kitchen sink in it. She also orders herbal tea, saying she doesn’t want to drink coffee while pregnant. I get a latte and a mixed berry muffin, which is delicious, with fresh berries and a whole grain dough.
While we eat, Patty urges me to tell her what happened. I finally breakdown and confess to my friend how I just couldn’t make enough money to support myself.
“I’m a failure,” I sigh.
“You’re definitely not a failure,” she replies. “You’re badass. Not many people would have the courage to walk away and stand up for yourself.” She’s the only person who knows the truth about what happened with my family. I usually give the sugarcoated version, which is that they didn’t want to support my art career. They wanted me in the family business and didn’t care that art was my passion. All that was true, but the problems bled deeper.
