Page 7 of Ella Gets the D
“Sounds like you’re having a day, sweetie.”
I nod.
“What do you say we go sit in that bedroom display”—she points behind her—“and talk? I roped it off, and it has a partition, so no one will see us.”
I’d camp out at IKEA all night if my kids weren’t with me. There are beds, food, and snacks. Add wine, and it’s a treatment center for scorned women. One that doesn’t require assembly.
I do need a new bed set.
And furniture.
A new place to live.
A job.
Adivorce.
Ms. Thelma stands and stretches out her hand. When I don’t budge, she says, “No one is around, sweetie. It’s just you and me.”
Morgan and her fifty-two questions rattle through the other end of the phone I forgot I was holding. “I’ll call you back,” I say without breaking eye contact with the woman who has me on the verge of tears again.
One quick call later, we’re on top of a plush bed with our shoes off and a tray of tasty food samples. Ms. Thelma got Jackson andHaile’s time in childcare extended, which has me wondering if the seventy-four-year-old next to me is the fairy godmother of this IKEA or the boss of an underground crime syndicate in blue and yellow shirts.
The cinnamon bun scent now makes sense.
I lean into a cloud of bed pillows and sigh. My life is circling the drain, but this vanilla soft-serve cone makes the journey delicious. Every day should end with dessert.
My divorce sounds sweeter with each lick. The logistics of it do not. Leaving Charles doesn’t require a second thought. Uprooting my kids is a different story.
“Here you go, dear.” Ms. Thelma hands me a napkin from the pine nightstand beside her.
Potted plants hang from beams above us through a curtain of string lights. The showroom casts an enchanting glow absent of the usual fluorescent lighting. There’s peace here among the neutral paradise of blush and sage. I could sleep for two days straight in this stillness.
My soul is tired and has been for some time.
“Thank you.” I smile at Ms. Thelma. It’s weak and reflects the exhaustion etched into my features. “I feel horrible for taking so much of your time. I’m sure you have other things to do.”
Ms. Thelma waves off my concern. “Nonsense. This place will do fine without me.” She touches my knee. “Do you feel a little better? I’ll order up some hot tea.”
My tears well back up at her kindness. In the short time since she found me hollering in the tent, Ms. Thelma picked me up, dusted me off, and filled me with ice cream. This woman is a loving grandmother in every way possible.
“I’m good right now, but thank you. I really should get out of your hair and take care of my kids.” My voice cracks as I turn to the woman who gave me sympathy in a time of chaos. “I don’t know how—”
“Shh.” She pulls me into a hug. “I’m thankful our paths crossed. You have my number now. Take care of yourself and your family.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re strong, Ella. You got a stubborn streak in ya, like my granddaughter. The child is heading to college but acts like she’s on the Supreme Court.” She snickers. “Serves her mother right after what she put me through. You’ll call Grier Monday?”
“I sure will.”
Grier is Ms. Thelma’s youngest child, with a whip for a tongue, as she says. She also happens to be a family law attorney. Turns out losing my shit inside of an IKEA comes with perks.
Ms. Thelma isn’t just a fairy godmother; she’s a guardian angel.
“Wonderful!” She claps her hands and stands. “Grier is every bit of her namesake. Like Pam Grier, she’s a whole lotta woman! You two are close in age and should have a good time.”
My brows narrow. “I don’t think divorce will be fun, Ms. Thelma.” Charles is bull-headed and won’t go down without a fight.
