Third Excerpt from Fictional Novel: Ellory

Ellen Effy Su. August 5, 2025.

A Memory from June 2025

“What’s a pretty girl like you drinking alone for? Is something on your mind?” Elliot cautiously but boldly said to Ellory. 

It was a warm Wednesday night, and Elliot was also there on that rooftop bar, aiming to grab an after-work drink and hopefully flirt with a stranger. 

The Manhattan skyline was visible from their view. Ellory rarely made it out to Brooklyn. According to some, Ellory was a prissy Manhattanite. 

Nobody from Ellory’s inner circle would be caught dead here. Ellory preferred to drink among strangers whose opinions she did not worry about. 

A little birdie whispered, “People do find love when they step out of their comfort zones.”

“I drink to forget, and you drink to imagine. We are not the same,” Ellory’s praline-colored eyes shot a steel-like glance to the tall, lean brunette’s sapphire eyes. 

She softened her eyes when she saw her favorite color as a mirror reflection of her first crush, Dan. It was a permanent reminder of her former naivety and innocence, lost to corruption years ago.

“I’m sorry. That was harsh. It’s a harsh world, and I am not in the mood to socialize,” Ellory attempted to apologize for her self-sabotage to the gorgeous stranger. 

“He must be broken inside to want to know me,” Ellory thought to herself. She viewed herself as a shattered mosaic of seaglass– difficult to love, even more difficult to hold for a lifetime. 

“Hey, I know whatever you’re going through must be hard, but you can talk to me. You’re too young to be this cynical. My name is Elliot, and my parents have been happily married for 25 years. Why don’t you give me a chance to change your mind?”

Elliot flashed a bright smile, revealing his coconut white, perfectly aligned teeth. 

“So, you’re twenty-four? What do you do, besides chatting with miserable women?” Ellory forced a feeble smile as she shifted her attention from her problems to this man. 

“Yeah, I am twenty-four. My parents are strictly Catholic, and they waited until marriage before having a child. I’m in investment banking at Evercore. I’ve been there since my internship in my junior year of college. You look sad, not miserable. The real miserable women here are the fifty-year-old divorcées who drink to forget their unfaithful husbands whom they wasted their youth loving. They’re desperate to find a younger boyfriend to relive their glory years,” Elliot swayed into the trenches of discovering this girl. 

“Well, I’m not exactly miserable. I have running water, electricity, two parents who love me, my dog, and my professors say I have a lot of potential to reach my goals. My friend’s mother found a second love who treats her better than her first one did. That inspires me to believe in love stories. What do you like about banking?” Ellory asked a genuine question out of boredom. 

She usually didn’t speak to men by choice, so this was a big step for her. The only men Ellory communicated with were her professors, colleagues, clients, family, and a few childhood friends. Ellory did not recreationally socialize with men.  

“I like expanding my knowledge of annual reports, the bear market, and helping companies and high-profile clients choose which stocks to invest in. It’s incredibly fun,” Elliot replied while continuing to smile. 

“Are you being sarcastic or for real? Because that sounds like a bore to me. I graduate in a few months, and I work in fashion. I have a cute little internship and plan to go into marketing and advertising. One day, you’re going to see ads on billboards designed by me. Maybe you’ll remember my name then,” Ellory smiled as she peered into the stranger’s eyes, hoping to seek refuge in his calm state of mind. 

“I seriously love my job. I have always been fascinated by the world of finance. It’s important to bet on yourself and place your money where it can grow. You haven’t told me your name yet, but now, I want to know your name. You’re different from what you appear to be,” Elliot widened his eyes to look more trustworthy, a personable skill most adults learn. 

People talk to people who appear trustworthy. They open up about their secrets in safe spaces. 

“My name is Ellory. It’s spelled E-L-L-O-R-Y, one E, not two. What do you think I appear to be?” Ellory questioned. 

“You’re dressed impeccably for a college student. Zadig et Voltaire silk chiffon blouse, Maje pleated loose trousers, PINKO skinny leather belt, Ferragamo leather heels, and the bag is from The Row. You look like a million bucks, but your unhappiness floats from your glum face. Is it an inheritance situation?” Elliot pondered out loud. 

“My father and mother missed out on my childhood, so the merchandise is a restitution, and I live at home with them, despite being the ripe age of twenty-one. I know people my age are usually living at college or in a communal apartment, but I enjoy the stability of my life,” Ellory explained. 

“Lucky you, Ellory! I wish I could still live with my parents. I officially moved out of my parents’ home when I was seventeen. I went to a boarding school in London for what you Americans call high school, so I’ve been on my own for a few more years than most people. You’re not like most Americans I’ve met,” Elliot added. 

“Well, I wasn’t raised in an American family, nor am I particularly tied to my shallow first-generation American roots. I’ve been leaving this country as often as financially possible since I was born in Mt. Sinai. That’s a hospital in Manhattan,” Ellory switched to her British accent as she spoke. She reserved a flair for batting her eyelashes.

“Har har, where are your parents from? I miss interacting with my fellow international kids, children who have no singular home because they call too many places home,” Elliot followed up. 

“My mother is Malaysian Chinese, ethnically Chinese, and raised in Kuala Lumpur until she was fourteen. She also went to high school in London. Her parents are from Xi’an and Jiangsu, in China. She studied Art History in Edinburgh and moved around until she met my father by chance. My dad is German and French. I used to joke that he was part Nazi, part Résistance if he took away my privileges. I was a bit mouthy as a child. I think I inherited that brazen attitude from him. My father was born in London and moved to New York to study law at Columbia, where he adopted that haughty Machiavellian way of thinking: I’m smarter than everyone, so everyone should listen to me. I got over my mischievous side when I was seventeen. I wonder why he can’t grow up. Oh, that was an overload of information. I apologize,” Ellory realized her social faux pas as she listened to the sound of her posh voice for three minutes. 

Elliot stifled a tiny laugh before responding. 

“No, don’t apologize on my account. I like hearing you talk. Your voice is smooth, effortlessly gliding across accents. I wish I could do that. I cannot downplay my British accent into an American one. I can’t alternate the way you do. That tongue of yours is a skill. A money-making skill! You should utilize it at work. You have a natural flow with words. You’re funny without trying. I feel like I’ve known you in another lifetime.”

“So, where are your parents from? You sound like your parents are in love. That is sweet and something special in our world of many heartaches,” Ellory redirected the focus onto Elliot. 

“My parents are a good example of a healthy marriage, in my opinion. They never shout at each other. They’re always demonstrating peaceful, calm, effective communication. They kiss goodnight and say they love each other often. My mom grew up in New York. She was raised in Brooklyn, then moved to the Upper East Side in middle school. She went to public school until high school at the Lycée. She studied Philosophy at Trinity College, and she became a psychologist for troubled adolescents. Her mother is from Belarus, and her dad is from Wales. My dad is a banker from Stockholm. They dated for eight months in New York before relocating to London. My mother said I was born to be someone great, but I suppose I am quite ordinary,” Elliot concurred. 

“Your mother and I share a similar childhood. It’s almost like we were destined to cross paths. A string tied you to me, maybe it’s fate. I grew up on the Upper West Side, and I walked across the park to Dalton each morning for 10 years of school. I wanted to live on the East Side to be next to my school friends, but my parents thought our condo had sentimental value and were set on staying. I struggled with my identity crisis. I am half Chinese, and I look mixed. My Eurocentric features did not protect me from racism, despite what my mother thought. I was never white enough, nor Chinese enough. I was always in between worlds, but knowledge bridged my gap of feeling misunderstood. My parents said I had friends on the West Side, too, so what would be the point of moving?” Ellory shared more about herself. She felt close to Elliot, although they had just met. 

“I understand how you feel. I felt it too. My mom probably understands you on a deeper wavelength because she lived through similar events. I am a quarter East Asian. My ocean eyes may conceal it to outsiders, but I grew up in both worlds. I was not immune to discriminatory remarks when I saw it happen to others. I hid my insecurities. I swallowed my pride each time I ignored my white friends who said a racist joke. Growing up mixed in London is not for the faint-hearted. I cared about not being alienated. I was a coward and scared of retaliation.” 

Elliot had not opened up to someone in this way, in a very long time. He never sought psychological help. He never sat around and mulled over the past. He didn’t keep a diary to remember his school days. He chose to live life in the present. A skill Ellory struggled with was the skill that helped Elliot move on from pain. 

“I picked up a pencil when I was two years old, and I started writing about my life in diaries ever since. It’s why I remember my early childhood vividly. Sometimes, I reread my diaries, but the sadness lingers on the worn pages. I was too young to understand grief and forced to process it as a toddler. Do you write about your emotions?” Ellory felt intrigued by this miracle boy who shared her experiences. 

“No, I choose to forget in time. I don’t write about my life, so I don’t remember exact details of what happened two years ago. When you say grief, do you mean you lost someone to death or life?” Elliot requested. 

“My older half-sister hung herself in our formal sitting room when I was four years old. She was fifteen. I was the first one to see her lifeless, limp body. Nanny Manda was in the kitchen, fixing me an after-school snack of almonds, blueberries, and low-fat yogurt. We walked into the apartment through the main door, but I was the one who entered the living room to sneakily watch Qubo on TV. Her blue floral Pucci silk scarf was tied in a noose. She used three of our dad’s silk ties to form a noose on the hook of the chair that was hung to the ceiling. She layered her scarf over the ties to soften the feel on her neck. Her long raven hair was frazzled, unlike the sleek, shiny locks I used to braid. Her purple winged eyeliner was smudged, her makeup oxidized, and her clothing smelled like her rose perfume. She was wearing her preppy uniform: plaid navy skirt and light blue polo shirt with a skinny gray tie. Her knee-high cerulean socks matched her outfit perfectly. Her skin looked the same, only it wasn’t the same at all,” Ellory began. 

“Wait, I need to finish my whiskey before you say more.”

Elliot hurriedly downed his drink. 

“She must have been hanging there for forty minutes at the most. If I cut school by saying I had a stomachache, I could have been home in time to tell her I love her. I used to scream in my sleep, begging the world for answers. Why did she leave me all alone? Why did she feel so alone? Why didn’t she feel loved? She was the most beautiful girl to me. Incredibly smart and quick to help me without me needing to ask. She knew me in ways no one else will ever know me. She cut my sandwiches into stars because I was her star. She played my favorite songs on her piano. She taught me the beauty of classical music and hip-hop dance moves. She moved gracefully without trying. She had so much to live for. I have a lot of regrets for not telling my dad or mom that she was depressed. I found her suicide note she wrote in seventh grade. She promised me it was a joke, and she would never leave me alone. She lied, but I lied for her sake by hiding her diaries from the police and my parents. I wanted to protect her secrets, as my last act of love. My parents thought it was stress that killed my sister.”

Ellory revealed. 

“I can’t imagine losing my brother, so I do understand the pain of losing a sibling you loved. We do dumb things we can’t take back. Suicide is impossible to come back from, so you should forgive yourself. You were a baby back then,” Elliot tried to sound comforting. 

“I do forgive myself, but I miss not being an only child. I have to say I’m an only child because I lost my guiding light in my youth. It’s torturous to pretend like she never existed. I don’t feel up to saying my sister killed herself because she felt lonely and scared, and I grew up an only child because she exited life by choice. Most of my friends don’t know about Sfera. They met me through school, dance, or tennis when we were eight. It was my fresh start at Dalton. Nobody there knew my sister. I recreated my childhood by covering it up. There is a circular box where I keep my sister’s liquid foundation, lipstick, and her perfume. I left public school in the first half of third grade. Nothing was attaching me to my primary school. I felt joy walking into Dalton. It would be my ticket to happiness,” Ellory answered Elliot’s unasked queries. 

“You look like you adjusted well. Your sense of style, fashion taste, and your vast knowledge of varying topics tell me you are much wiser than people would expect from an average twenty-one-year-old. The pain transforms into wisdom. You don’t have to feel drained by it. It’s okay to be happy. You don’t have to feel guilty. Sfera would want you to be happy. It’s a pretty name. Maybe you could name your daughter Sfera to honor your sister’s memory,” Elliot brought up fashion again. 

“I think that is a marvelous idea. I’m not going to be a mother anytime soon, but I will name my daughter Sfera. I have a plan for how my life will go. I’m sticking to the plan. Thanks for turning this depressing night around. I appreciate you,” Ellory’s pink lips upturned into a smile people reserve for those who truly know them. 
It feels good to be seen as more than a piece of meat or a sexualized Marionette doll. 

Elliot pulled out his iPhone 16 from his interior pocket within his tailored suit jacket for the first time that evening. He navigated to the Contacts section, and he passed the phone to Ellory. He saw part of himself in her dry humor, useful in combating agony.  

“Add your number. I want to know you. I miss having a real friend around. I’m quite new to living in New York. I moved here two weeks ago. You said it yourself. Our paths were meant to intersect,” Elliot gingerly held his phone as Ellory’s slender fingers reached out to type her information. 

The only people who texted Ellory were her family, her five close friends, and her professional contacts for work purposes. Elliot bypassed Ellory’s strategic walls, a superpower most people were unsuccessful in unlocking. 

Ellory’s three lychee martinis rested in the pit of her hollow stomach. She had forgotten to eat dinner before drinking, a fatal flaw she assumed from her teenage sister in the sky. 

“Hey, can I take you home? I know it’s late, and I don’t want you to go home alone. Your eyes look a bit hazy, unfocused, and I’d like to see you again soon, sober,” Elliot diverted. 

“Oh, I’m being driven home. I’m not walking from Brooklyn. You want to sit with me on the ride to West 78th Street? Where are you staying?” Ellory implored. 

“I rent a place on East 57th Street. Do you think your driver would do a detour to drop me off?” Elliot asked.

“My driver goes home after he drops me off, so I have to say no. I enjoyed meeting you. I hope we can explore my favorite museums together. I’ll text you, bye,” Ellory ended their hour-long interaction. 

“Bye, Ellory. I’ll see you again. You are unforgettable,” Elliot hugged her for a brief two seconds before letting go. 

It’s how Ellory and Elliot met. Two high-functioning, depressed twenty-something-year-olds, marking their territory on Manhattan, conversed by chance at a rooftop bar, and lit a fuse. Pouring gasoline on the floor is an accurate depiction of these two falling in love. Hard, fast, unequivocally, and eternally irreplaceable. Irrevocable bonds of trust collaborated that ordinary Wednesday night. A sign from above is what some call it. A mystical force to be reckoned with.