Ellie is Cool Now

Chapter 19

No me getting in our way.

I back away, my eyes darting around the room for another exit. There has to be more than one door. That's like a fire code violation or something. From my vantage point, I can see that the dining room connects to the kitchen and I don't know, but I hope against hope that there is a back door.

I try to noiselessly scoot past the side table with all their framed photos on it. My eyes catch on one of those frames you get at Michael's with little ceramic hearts attached to the wood. The kind of completely kitschy shit girls in love usually adore. In the picture, Mark is holding Liz from behind, the side of his face pressed lightly against her hair. She looks so damn happy — laughing, the wind whipping her strawberry strands around her head. Then there's Mark, and he's much more subdued than she is, sunglasses hiding his eyes, but he's smiling that small smile of his.

A smile I know is totally real.

I'm so focused on the picture that I don't notice my foot slide too far to the left and hit the table leg.

Everything begins to topple like glass dominoes of their life together.

I jut forward, trying to stop them from breaking but making it so much worse. My purse hits the ceramic heart frame and it crashes to the ground, shattering.

Not the smooth getaway I was hoping for.

I squint up at both of them, who have stopped talking to glare at me. Liz's face is now stained with tears, the hair in her side braid coming out in wavy tendrils. Mark's eyes lock with mine.

"Apparently, I'm not very good at sneaking out."

"I drove Ellie here," Mark says.

Liz's tear-stained face turns to stone. "You're sure as hell not taking her home," she spits. She rips off her Keds and throws them across the room, slipping her feet into a pair of sandals by the door.

Sadness mixes with rebellion in Mark's eyes, the tiny ring of gold standing out in the brown. He knows he's done something wrong, and there's no telling how long it'll to take for them to resolve everything, but he doesn't want to let me walk out, either.

The conflict is clearly written on his face.

Liz grabs the car keys. "I'm taking her."

Hell NO.

I turn to Mark, panicked. Taking a car ride with the girl whose almost-husband I just made out with is a hard. Fucking. Pass.

"That's a horrible—" Mark starts.

"My dad can totally come get me," I interrupt, fumbling in my purse for my phone.

"I have things to say," Liz says, stepping around the mess of destroyed groceries on the floor and opening the front door. Her eyes lock on mine as she waves me forward. "Let's go."

I don't know why, but for a split second I think: This is a Liz I can get behind.

I still don't want to get in a car with her behind the wheel, but I feel like my hands are tied. I'm not a fast runner and I don't think I can get away without her following me, mowing me down. With one more sideways glance at Mark, who looks like he's just had his stomach kicked in, I gingerly step away from their broken picture-framed life, and speed walk through the door toward their car.

I climb into the passenger seat and slam the door, buckling and tightening my seatbelt, sucking in a panicked breath. I can see Liz's lips moving, Mark tucking his hands in his jean pockets, and then she's walking, face all screwed up, across the tiny front lawn.