Page 32 of The Artist's Rival

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.