by Brit Benson
Like, blow up in my face bad.
Who even was I just now? Definitely not in complete control. He played with me, toyed with me, and I let him. But what’s weirder is that I liked it, and I don’t know how I feel about that.
More importantly, I can’t lose him again. If this doesn’t work, I will most certainly lose him.
But we’ve crossed too many lines to ever be able to go back to what we were before. I’m conflicted. I’m unsure. My body and my mind are shouting two very different things with two very different outcomes.
I still have so much left to tell him, secrets he should know, but a small voice from somewhere deep down, the one that I’ve locked up, boxed away and ignored for years, is telling me that I’ll never know if I don’t try.
I sigh, and his eyes light up. He knows I’m giving in. He knows me too freaking well.
“Okay. I’ll be at the firm to sit in on a meeting, though. You can meet me after? Five-ish?”
“Yes. I’ll pick you up at five.” He kisses me again, deep and long, and when he pulls away, I want to pull him back. “I’ll text you later.”
And then he just walks out as if he didn’t steal my breath, turn my insides into mush, and flip my world upside down in a matter of days.
Seriously, who is this man?
And more importantly, should I want to keep him?
* * *
Wednesday afternoon, as I’m getting ready to head to the firm, I get a text from Kelley. I haven’t seen him since Sunday, but he’s been texting me pretty steadily, which isn’t out of the norm. But the flirty content of those texts?
That’s new.
Kelley: I hope you learn a lot from your meeting today. I’ll be there at 5 sharp to scoop you up. Tell the old battleax not to keep you late.
Me: Don’t talk about your mom that way! I love her.
Kelley: You love everyone.
Me: Not true. Just the important ones.
The little chat bubbles pop up and then disappear, pop up, then disappear again. What are you going to say, Kelley Pierce?
Kelley: I’ve been thinking about you.
Me: Yeah? What about me?
Kelley: Our date tonight.
Kelley: And Sunday in your kitchen.
Kelley: And Saturday on my couch.
Kelley: And Friday at Keggers.
I feel giddy just knowing I’ve been on his mind so much, because he’s been on mine, too. I had to actively force myself to stop reliving our Sunday encounter just so I could get some studying done. I should feel guilty about it, but I don’t. It’s not hurting anything. Yet.
I am still acing my classes and kicking butt at the firm. Thankfully, my law school applications are already near perfect, and I’m ahead in my study schedule, so I was able to indulge in a little bit of daydreaming...
Me: Those are some...provocative...thoughts.
Kelley: They are.
Kelley: I’ve been hard for days. *eggplant emoji*
Me: KELLEY!
Kelley: *winking emoji*
Kelley: I’ll see you at 5, Ivy Bean.
Me: See you at 5, Kelley Allen Pierce.
My smile is so big that my cheeks hurt. My stomach is aflutter with butterflies, and I can tell I’m blushing like a schoolgirl with a crush. It’s so not me.
This isn’t at all in any of my plans, and I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t been a point of anxiety in the recesses of my brain. I’m not good at living in the now, without considering how every move will affect the future, but I’m making a concerted effort to do as Kelley asked and take this a day at a time.
I know there are things I’m going to have to talk to him about soon—where I was for those fifteen months we didn’t speak, why I left, what I’ve dealt with since.
I need to tell him, and I’m terrified of his reaction.
What if he treats me differently? What if he’s angry for letting him think the fallout was his fault? I’m not too proud to admit that I would be heartbroken.
But I can’t think about that yet. There’s nothing I can do about it right now anyway.
So, like everything else that overwhelms me, I file it away in my mind under For Later Review and focus on the more immediate issues.
Like the meeting for the Harrison estate case.
I’m ahead in my classes and already squared today’s absence with my professor, and Amelia said the work I’ve done for the case has been perfect. Today, I get to sit in on a meeting that is sure to be heated, and as nervous as I am, I’m eager for the experience.
I walk into Pierce, Pierce & Associates at 1 p.m. on the nose. Our meeting is at two, but I want to help Amelia, Ms. Pierce, and Mr. Davis, the attorney who specializes in estate law, prepare.
When we’ve been briefed and the files are all in order, Mr. Davis calls Geoff at the front desk and tells him to show Mr. Harrison to the conference room.
Mr. Harrison introduces his son, Brandon, his daughter-in-law, Allison, and his grandson, Matthew. Then for the next three hours, I sit back and listen to the two men argue about the will. Mr. Harrison tries to maintain his composure, but Brandon is full of rage, and several times Mr. Davis has to remind him to lower his voice.
The whole time, when I should be listening to Ms. Pierce and Mr. Davis discuss the legal options, I can’t keep my eyes off the boy and his mom. His mother reminds me so much of my own. She’s weary. Disheveled. Overworked. Sad.
And the boy? His despair hits me so hard that I have to fight off tears. He’s not much older than Jacob. Does Jacob look like that when I’m not around? Lost and alone? Not for the first time, I’m overwhelmed with the guilt of leaving him.
This is exactly why I want to get into family law—to advocate for kids and mothers like them.
My life could have been very different if my family had someone advocating for us. Had my mother known about her options, maybe she would have left my father before he got drunk and wrecked his truck and left us destitute with credit card debt up to the ceiling. Or maybe, after Jacob’s dad abandoned him to go back to his big city banker job and rich family, my mother would have known she could legally hold him accountable for a portion of Jacob’s medical bills.
If someone was there to educate my mother and fight for us sooner, I wouldn’t have had to shoulder so much responsibility as a child. Instead, she thought her only choice was to take it all on herself, and I was left to pick up the things she couldn’t juggle.
I hope that after today, Allison and Matthew will have the advocates they need.
15
I have been waiting impatiently for this date all week. I have everything planned. I just hope I don’t come on too strong, because I pulled no fucking punches. Ivy’s giving us a chance, so I fully intend on proving to her that it’s worth it.
I have to hold myself back from jogging toward Ma and Pop’s firm. It’s fucking ridiculous how badly I’m jonesing to see Ivy.
Now that I’ve had a taste of her, I can’t get enough. It’s like she’s the last pint of craft beer on tap, and I just crossed the Boston Marathon finish line. I’d say glass of water after crossing the Sahara, but that’s too cliché, and Ivy is anything but cliché. Ivy is definitely craft beer. Unique, high-quality, fucking intoxicating.
Pulling open the mirrored glass doors to the firm, I’m about bowled over by a big guy sporting a furious expression.
“Fuck off,” he grumbles at me, and I step back and throw my hands up, but not before flashing him a look that says what the hell is your problem, asshole. When he stomps past me, I stride through the doors and up to the reception desk.
“Hey, Geoff,” I greet my parents’ front desk manager.
“Well, if it isn’t Prince Pierce. What brings you in to our fine establishment today? Ready to claim your birthright and cross over to the dark side?”
Geoff chuckles at his own joke; he knows I would sooner string myself up by my baby toes for all eternity than become an attorney.
“You wish you co
uld see my pretty face every day,” I quip back. “I’m actually here for Ivy. She said she’d be done at five.”
“They should be out soon.”
I shoot the shit with Geoff for a few more minutes when I hear, “Mr. Pierce!” shouted from the hallway. Unsure if the call is directed at me or my pops, I glance up to see my student, Matthew, scrambling toward me. He gets within inches from me before slamming to a halt. The grin he’s wearing takes up his entire face.
“Hey, Matthew. What’s up, man?”
“Nothing,” he shrugs, suddenly sullen, and gestures behind him. “Had to come to a meeting with my mom and grandpa.” His face falls. “Dad was here but he left.”
Just then Ivy, my mom, and a woman I assume is Matthew’s mom come walking up the hallway. The sight of Ivy brings an entirely different kind of smile to my face, and she winks at me. The little flirt.
“Mom!” Matthew shouts. “This is Mr. Pierce. He’s my teacher I told you about.”
“Student teacher,” I correct with a smile. “I’m interning in his Social Studies class this semester.”
“Oh, so you’re the man Matthew eats lunch with. I’m Allison.” She assesses me with kind eyes. “Thank you. Truly.” I’m taken aback by her sincerity. “Come on, Matty. We have to go.” She thanks my mom and Ivy, saying she’ll be in touch, and then exits with Matthew.
I say a quick hey to my mom, give her a kiss on the cheek and tell her to say hey to Pop, and then I lead Ivy out.
“So that’s the kid you talk about? The one you always share your lunch with?”
“That’s him. One of my favorite students.”
Ivy hums in response. “I’m not really allowed to talk about it, but whatever you’re doing to make him light up like that around you, keep doing it, okay?”
Her cryptic message fills me with worry for Matthew, but as we round the corner into the parking lot, my attention is pulled right back to Ivy.
She jumps once and claps her hands. “Does this mean I get to drive?” she asks excitedly, and I feel a little zing of triumph that I called this one correctly.
“Sure does, Speed Racer. I borrowed the truck just for you.” I toss her the keys and open the driver’s side door for her. “Hop in. I’ll be your navigator.”
One hour later, Ivy pulls into the parking lot of our old school and turns off the engine. She does a quick survey of the area, and then turns to me.
“The high school?” She scrunches her nose and furrows her brow quizzically. “Why the high school?”
“Patience, Grasshopper,” I tease. “C’mon.”
On the outside, I’m all confidence and swagger, but on the inside, I’m shaking and sweating just like I did at my first ever soccer tryout. I take Ivy’s hand and lead her to the back of our old high school building where there’s a flower garden maintained by the agriculture class.
“Remember the first day we met?”
“Of course,” she beams. “How could I forget? You were my first friend and table buddy. You were the only thing that made being forced to move schools tolerable. Enjoyable, even.”
The sparkle in her eyes when she looks up at me fuels my confidence and my chest puffs out like a damn strutting rooster. A cocky cock, if you will.
“Well, what if I told you that you knocked me on my ass that first day? I had the biggest crush.”
“What? I had no idea.”
I give a wry chuckle and nudge her with my elbow, turning her toward the flower garden. “You were totally oblivious.”
“How was I supposed to know?” she protests. “You never said anything. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“Well, funny you should ask.” I pause our stroll and survey the raised beds. The agriculture classes have added new landscaping projects over the years, so it takes me a minute to find what I’m looking for. But when I see it, I lead Ivy into the garden.
“So, after the first few weeks of school, I actually decided I was going to shoot my shot. Tell you I liked you.” I glance down at her, and she’s watching me with rapt attention.
“I even asked my mom for advice,” I admit with an embarrassed grin.
“What did she say?”
“She said to make it special and be honest. So, with all my fourteen-year-old wisdom, I decided that make it special meant give you flowers. But I also had already spent my allowance on a new video game and way too much soda from the vending machine, so I had to improvise.”
“Wait,” she blurts out, then her eyes grow wide, and she looks around at the flower garden. “You didn’t.”
“I definitely did.”
I stop her at a concrete bench and gesture for her to sit, then I head to the crop of blue flowers.
“So, Sunday night, I rode my bike here and picked a bunch of these blue flowers. I didn’t know what they were at the time, but they reminded me of your eyes.” I hear a small gasp escape her, and I snap one of the flowers low on the stem. “Then I rode my bike back to my house, put the flowers in a Mountain Dew bottle filled with water, and had every intention of giving them to you Monday at school.”
I sit down next to her and hand her the single stem. She brings it to her nose and takes a deep inhale of the tiny bloom.
“What happened? Why didn’t you?” Ivy is twirling the flower in her fingers, staring like she finds it fascinating.
“What happened was I was an idiot.” I shrug and sigh. “Monday morning, I was all set to bring the flowers to school, but when Preston showed up to ride with me, he started giving me shit about them.”
“Oh no. He embarrassed you?”
“Hell no, I told him to fuck right off. But then he goaded me into racing him, and I was a dumb kid and felt like I needed to prove myself just a little to make up for carrying a froufrou bouquet of flowers to school, and I ended up crashing. Crushed the bouquet to pieces and scraped my elbow to shit, too.”
“I remember that morning. I made you go to the nurse.”
“That’s the one. I was gonna pick you some more after school, but then Preston wouldn’t shut the fuck up about the flowers all day, and by last bell, I was doubting myself and feeling stupid, so I just forgot about it.”
“Dang.” Ivy’s voice is quiet and contemplative, and we sit in silence for a moment. She’s still sniffing and twirling the flower, when she asks, “so what is it?”
I take the flower from her and smell it.
“I learned in my 10th grade Intro to Agriculture class that this is a blue cornflower, also known as the Bachelor’s Button.”
“Bachelor’s Button?”
“Mmhmm. Apparently, in folklore, the blue cornflower was worn by bachelors who had fallen in love, and if the flower wilted quickly, it meant the one he’d fallen for did not return his feelings.” I hold her gaze for a moment, letting her search my eyes for whatever emotion or secret she’s trying to find. When she bites her lip, I lower my attention back to the flower and continue.
“It also has a lot of different symbolic meanings, but in some cultures, the cornflower is believed to symbolize hope and resilience.” I flick my eyes back to her and add playfully, “and in ancient Egypt, they were used as décor for mummies. So basically, I tried woo you with ancient grave flowers.”
Ivy rolls her eyes and laughs with me, but then she places her hand on my thigh, her penetrating blue eyes laying me completely bare—seeking my secrets and inner most desires—and I hold eye contact, because I want her to know everything. When she leans over to press a soft kiss on my lips, I accept it gratefully.
I stand and pull her up with me, then we make our way back to the truck. “Where to next?” she questions, and I get another zing at how dreamy she sounds.
“Now, we eat.”
Walking into Maria’s Pizza, the smell of garlic and tomato sauce makes my mouth water and fills my mind with yet more memories, all of which star the amazing woman beside me.
“I haven’t been here in years!” I watch as Ivy looks around the place, letting her g
orgeous blue eyes flit from the red-checkered tablecloths to the canvas paintings of Italy on the walls. “It hasn’t changed at all.”
“I know. It’s nuts. Like walking into a time warp. I should be wearing my letterman jacket and skinny jeans.” I flash her a grin, and she groans comically.
“Not the skinny jeans. Remember when you frosted your tips?” She scrunches up her nose and raises her eyebrows. “That was not a good look.”
“It wasn’t,” I admit with a laugh. “But at the time I thought I was fucking cool as shit. Almost as cool as you thought you were with those jeans with all the little patches on them.”
“Hey, I loved those jeans.” She sighs wistfully. “I’d still wear them if I could.”
“The Dr. Who patch.”
“That one was my second favorite. The patch with Rainbow Bright was my first favorite.”
“Those jeans were basically rags by 12th grade. More patches than actual denim,” I say on a laugh. Those jeans were a mess.
“Such a shame.” She raises her water glass. “To my favorite jeans. May they rest in pieces.”
After we order, we fill the time chatting about school and her internship. I tell her about student teaching and where I’m at with marathon training. We argue about the TV series we started watching a few weeks ago, and I laugh at how passionately Ivy defends the actions of one of the characters. I recall my latest book talk phone call with Jacob, and the smile on her face is pure happiness.
Conversation, like always, flows comfortably between us. She gets me, and I get her, and that’s why we’ve been best friends for so long. Thank god it hasn’t become awkward now that I know how her lips feel on mine. How she looks when she comes.
The only difference now is that when I want to touch her, I can. When I want to take my time appreciating the captivating features of her face, her striking blue eyes and that sexy as fuck dimple, I can. I don’t have to look away. I don’t have to stifle my impulses or hide the desire in my gaze. And it feels fucking amazing.