Page 95 of Painting Celia

“Maybe we could have something to drink?” Kelsey asked.

Celia jumped up, grasping at delay. “Of course, I’m so sorry. I have wine in the fridge.”

“Just ginger ale, please.”

Celia’s head was deep in the fridge in a moment. The cool air soothed her raw cheeks. “Women drink wine when they talk about men, right? I think you brought this bottle, actually. Months ago.” She was chattering. Distraction. The mundane task helped.

She returned to the couch with bottle, soda, and glassware, proffering the wine as she approached. “You sure?”

“Ginger ale has like half the calories,” Kelsey said.

Celia poured, and Kelsey waited patiently.

Do you have to let every single thing scare you, Celia Rose?

Her chest began pounding again. Okay. She’d been putting off the confession. She took a huge swallow of wine, the glass trembling against her lower lip despite her concentration.

“So,” Kelsey said. “I may have heard you two arguing. What’s this change you’re going to make?”

Celia took a deep breath. Tranquila. She would try.

“Growing up was bad,” she said carefully. “Only Andrew knows. He was here a lot. He saw me sometimes get really…low about it. He helps when it happens.”

“He’s not judgy. I like that about him.” Kelsey leaned to bump her shoulder against Celia. “I’ll be cool too, I promise.”

Celia fingered her wine glass, watching the liquid lap gently at the sides. “None of you ever press me or ask questions. I think it’s why we’re friends.” She swallowed hard. “León asks. He presses. It’s hard for me.”

Kelsey sipped, patient.

“Growing up…” Celia looked down, pulling her hands into her lap. “My dad jumped off a bridge. I was eight.”

Kelsey’s sorrowful gasp hurt to hear. Her hands reached over, fingers chilled from her drink, and she squeezed Celia’s hands hard. “Oh, honey. How awful.”

“My mom, she was violent after. I think Dad protected me, but once he was gone….” Celia risked a glance up to see the reaction.

Revulsion curled Kelsey’s lip, her eyes narrowing. “She hit you?”

Celia nodded, feeling the familiar shame crawl up her back. “She tried to control it, but she would lose her temper. It was bad for her too when Dad died.”

“Oh, that’s bullshit,” Kelsey said. At Celia’s flinch, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean you. I mean, hitting your own child? It’s disgusting! And after your dad…. Oh, honey!”

Kelsey flung her arms around Celia’s shoulders.

Strangely, no tears threatened. Maybe it was the wine, but Celia felt a warm easing in her stomach. Was that relief? “I’m okay,” she murmured, surprised.

Kelsey released her but looked skeptical. “I know you don’t get along with your mom, but I get it now.”

“Her dad spanked her,” Celia explained. “She didn’t know any other way.”

“Oh, that’s crap. There’s spanking, but you said ‘violent.’”

Lips pressed tight, Celia fought to be honest. “She’d beat me. Only where bruises wouldn’t show. She broke wooden spoons on me. She felt bad after, but…she bought replacement spoons.”

Kelsey goggled. “How?! Going into a store and picking out—oh my god!”

Celia watched Kelsey’s face flush with righteous anger and all for her. How could talking feel bad and good at the same time?

“León brought it all back out in me,” she said.

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