by J. Saman
“Stop fighting me, Ivy, and listen to what I’m telling you.”
“No. I don’t want to hear a word. I hate you. I wasn’t mad at you before, at least not really, but now?” She shakes her head, blinking back tears that say love and not hate. “I hate you.”
“I’ve been to Boston three times in the last twelve months to see you. I realize that’s not a whole lot, but I was there.”
“Then why did I never see you there?” Her tone is incredulous, and maybe a little hopeful, but it sounds more like she’s hoping I’m lying. Ivy does not want to love me. Ivy wants to hate me because this sort of hate is so much easier than love.
“Because I suck at life, Ivy.” For some odd reason this makes her stop squirming to look at me. “I went the first time a month after you left. I couldn’t stand it anymore, being apart from you, so I went. But nothing in my life had changed, so I didn’t even see you, because I knew I’d get on my knees and beg, and that wouldn’t be good for you. The second time was about six months after that, and that time I did see you, but you obviously didn’t see me. I camped out at the hospital and watched you walk in, but you were in a rush and looked anxious. I got a call and had to leave.”
“None of this is all that compelling.”
“Yeah, I know that. Neither is the last time I went. It was about a month ago.” This makes her eyes widen in bewilderment. “But by that time, some things had changed. Some big things. And I thought, maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t ruin your life if you took me back. But then I saw you standing in the lobby of the hospital with a tea in your hand in front of that crazy ball pinging thing they have there. You were smiling down at a kid who looked sick, and her parents were talking to you with big smiles on their faces like you were the answer to their prayers. So I watched you, and you seemed happy—so fucking happy. I knew if I approached you with my bullshit, you wouldn’t be so happy anymore, and I chickened out.”
“I was happy, Luke. I am happy. And I don’t want you messing with that.”
That hurts like hell to hear. Not that she’s happy, I rather enjoy that, but the me messing with her happiness part. That thought sucks, and I won’t do that. I won’t. But maybe there’s a middle ground here that I’m missing.
“Do you love him?”
She stiffens, and then realizes that she’s still in my arms and extricates herself from me quickly, pushing off of my chest like I have the plague or something. Ivy doesn’t even look at me when she responds, her eyes are focused on the yellow pool of light on the ground from the street lamps, her arms wrapped protectively around her waist.
“Craig is not what you think he is. He’s a wonderful man, and I care very deeply for him.” It sounds like a standard answer. Like she’s rehearsed this over and over again in front of a mirror.
“Do you still love me?” I wince as the words leave my mouth because I know what’s about to come next from hers.
Her eyes flash up to mine, and sure enough, she says, “No.” And it’s an emphatic no, definitely not rehearsed. But maybe it’s a little too emphatic? Maybe she’s trying to convince more than just me when she says that?
Here’s hoping, right?
“I really do need to leave.”
She runs off into the predawn darkness without another word, and I let her go, because even though I’m hoping she didn’t really mean it, it still kills me to hear it.
25
Ivy
* * *
“I can’t believe you told him you don’t love him,” Sophia says through her laughter. It’s a big laugh, so it takes her a little extra time to get the words out.
“Why not?” I ask just a little indignant. I was rather proud of myself for saying it so boldly without the slightest hint of a warble.
“Because, luv, you’re the biggest pussy I know when it comes to confrontation, and I just so happen to know a lot of pussies.”
“Ugh, Soph. I did not need that visual.”
“Maybe not, but it’s still all true.”
I sigh, as I switch lanes on I-90 heading toward Issaquah where my parents live.
“All that aside, none of it matters. I’m done with Luke Walker, and it would be nice if he got the memo.”
Sophia snorts. “Who the bloody hell says memo? No one uses memos anymore when there are email and text.”
“You really are missing the point today,” I huff, just a little exasperated. I was hoping for some good, old-fashioned sisterly support, and I’m getting none.
“No, I’m not. I’m proud of you for telling him that, but I’d be even more proud if you meant it.”
“You’re not helping. I’m almost at Mum and Dad’s. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Aces. Tell them I love them and all that good rubbish. Ring me later.”
“Right. Bye.” I press the button on my steering wheel to end the call, and then a few minutes later, I’m pulling into their driveway.
My parents moved to the States after dad lost his job back home while I was a teenager. Sophia had just moved here to attend university, and I think my parents took that as an omen to follow. We originally moved to northern California, but after I moved to Seattle for medical school, they came as well. They’ve been happy since, but considering the house is clad in Australian flags, AFL team Carlton jerseys, and old cricket paraphernalia, I’d say they miss home more than they let on.
I don’t knock or ring the bell, I just turn the knob and enter. Mum yells at me if I don’t consider this my home as well. I missed them while I was away. They did come out to Boston to see me once, but it wasn’t nearly enough.
I’m glad to be back in Seattle.
I loved Boston, but this place is home for me. So now I’m a board-certified emergency medicine attending physician in the Emergency Department.
“Mum? Dad?” I call out, but I hear the telly on in the back room, blasting what can only be football, so I head in that direction.
“Oh. Good, you’re here,” Mum says as she rounds the corner before I reach the kitchen.
I give her a big hug and kiss her cheek. “I’m here.” I smile.
I look a lot like her. Her eyes are bluer than mine, but we have the same light-brown hair. She looks tired. My dad’s illness has been rough on her, mainly because she doesn’t like to leave him all that often but needs to work too. She teaches at a local elementary school.
“How’s Dad today?”
Mum waves me off, “He’s fine. You know him.”
I nod, but hate that answer.
My dad had surgery for a hernia repair about three months ago, and for some unexplained reason, the whole insult to his body threw him into stage four renal failure. They’ve tried medications and the like, but nothing seemed to help. Now he’s on dialysis as well as the transplant list.
I offered him one of mine since I’m a match, but he refused. I told him if he didn’t receive a new kidney in the next six months, I wouldn’t give him a choice.
My dad is bloody stubborn, so it’s been an ongoing battle between us.
“Did he go for his dialysis today?”
“He did, but don’t pester him anymore about the transplant. He’ll spit the dummy, and I don’t want to hear the two of you go on about it.”
“I won’t upset him. Promise.”
She smiles, patting my cheek tenderly. “Oh, that bloke is here. That one you tossed all that while back?”
“Bloke? What bloke?”
Please tell me it’s not him. Please tell him it’s not him.
My mum narrows her eyes at me like I should already know, and I hate that, because of course I do.
“Luke. He’s watching the football match with your father.”
“Bloody hell, Mum,” I whisper-shout, though the telly is so loud I doubt they can hear me. “Why didn’t you make him leave?”
“Because he called to see how your father was doing, and since he likes Luke, Dad invited him over to watch the match. It was a nice thing, even if he is a wanker.”<
br />
Have I mentioned how much I love my mum?
“Go on back now. They’re waiting on you.” She’s smirking at me like this amuses the hell out of her.
“Oh I just bet they are.”
I roll my eyes and weave my way through the kitchen into the wood-paneled living room that has seen better days. My dad is sitting in his old beat-up recliner with his feet up, wearing a Carlton Football team sweatshirt, a glass of ice water in his hand that he no doubt wishes was a VB beer.
Luke is sitting on the couch in all his GQ model glory with a faded green t-shirt and dark wash jeans. Both men are engrossed in the screen and haven’t noticed my entrance, but when Luke turns his head to say something to my dad, he catches my eye, and his face lights up in a way I wish I didn’t feel all the way down in my toes.
“Hi, Dad,” I say, ignoring Luke altogether.
My dad’s silver head whips in my direction, and he too smiles at me. “Ah, there’s my girl now. What the bloody fuck took you so damn long?”
I roll my eyes at him. “Knock it off, Dad.” I kiss his cheek before sitting on the other chair on the opposite side from where Luke is. “How are you feeling?”
“Bloody perfect.” He gives me a pointed look that says don’t mention it. “You didn’t say hi to your mate here.”
“You’re right, I didn’t.”
My dad laughs a hearty rumble before throwing Luke a shrug. “I told you she wouldn’t be happy.”
“Dad?” I grin innocently at Luke before looking back to my dad. “Didn’t you once mention something about cutting off his member if he messed me about?”
“Yeah, and I already told him that if he were a clever chap he’d leave before your mum fires up the barbie because I plan on roasting his balls on the open flame.”
I look to Luke, who just shrugs like he’s not all that concerned.
I grin, leaning over to kiss my dad’s cheek before sitting back and pretending to be interested in the match on the telly. “I knew I could count on you. Soph says hi by the way.”
“She still coming up next month?”
“Don’t know, she said—”
“Fucking wanker, kick the blooming ball,” my dad yells at the television, cutting me off.
“Ease up, Dad, you’ll give yourself a stroke.”
“Ivy, my girl, unless I’m under the age of twenty, you are not to give me medical advice. Either you sit here and watch, or you leave,” he says in that loving fatherly tone of his.
“She just cares about you,” Luke offers with a broad grin that says he knows he’s baiting the lion.
“And you’d do well to stuff it, because I no longer like you.”
“You’re becoming a bit of an old codger in your advanced years, aren’t you?”
“Did you just stand up for me?” Luke asks all smiles, his brown eyes gleaming as he points a finger to his chest. “I told you I’m still her favorite person.” He pokes my dad in the arm like they had a bet going.
“Go home, Luke, you’ve paid your visit.”
“Nah, your dad invited me over and said I could stay, so I will.”
“I did that,” my father confirms. “But at the potential risk to his bollocks.” I can only smile at that. “Hey, Ivy,” my dad says absentmindedly, his eyes still on the television. “Did your mate and his girl go back to Boston yet, or are they still hanging about?”
Crap. I can feel the heat creeping up my skin, and Luke’s eyes are boring holes into my skin. “Uh, no. Not yet. They go back tomorrow.”
“He’s a nice bloke . . .,” my dad trails off, but whether he knows what he’s doing or not remains to be seen. “His girl too. What was her name again?”
“Darcy,” I supply, hoping that this is where it ends.
“Right, Darcy. Craig and Darcy, sweet couple. Too bad they’re not locals anymore. She was a—dive for it, you blooming fuckwits!” he screams at the telly, nearly spilling his water and making me jump because I’m far too on edge not to. My dad’s eyes have not wavered from the television once, and now mine are firmly affixed to it as well, like it will save me from this moment.
“I’m going to go see how Mum is getting on.”
I stand up quickly, nearly falling over as my feet tangle with each other. Who trips over their own feet?
“Sure, ask her if she’s going to make me some snags,” Dad says without looking up. “I’m bloody starved here.”
I nod, though he doesn’t see me, and rush out of the room, scanning the halls in search of my mum. It’s not exactly a large house, but I hear her humming from her bedroom. Just as I’m about to barge in on her, a hand grabs my arm, pulling me to a stop.
“Let go,” I hiss.
“Yeah, not gonna happen,” Luke says, ruining my escape as he holds me firmly in place. “What was that in there?” His expression is impossible to read as he walks me backward until my bum and back bump into the wall of the hallway. He’s imposingly tall over me, infuriating me with his proximity and smell and heat.
“That’s my dad watching Australian football as he always does. You saw him, Luke, which was nice and all, but now you really should go.”
Luke’s warm brown eyes narrow as his full lips set into a hard line. “Craig and some chick named Darcy? Explain that to me.”
“I don’t have to explain anything to you about anyone.”
Luke slams a frustrated hand on the wall above my head before leaning into me, but not daring to touch me.
I have nowhere to go; he’s completely bracketed me in. But I can’t breathe or think with him like this, and I’m so very desperate to be able to do both. He’s overwhelming me, the way he used to so effortlessly. My heart is pounding its way out of my chest, something I’m sure he can hear—if not feel. His enticing familiarity makes me want to lean in just as much as push him away. I hate him. I hate him so damn much.
Why can’t he just leave me alone? He managed it for a year, and in the span of not even a full day, I’ve had to endure him three times. I was so much steadier without seeing him. “Get away from me!” I push out. I’m so close to tears, and I hate myself for it. “I don’t want you here.”
Anger is good. Anger is something substantial to cling to.
“Stop dodging this,” he growls, inching his face closer before pulling it back. “Are you with Craig, or is he with some girl named Darcy?”
There really is only so long this lie can continue, and honestly, what’s the point in maintaining it? It’s not like Craig lives here anymore anyway. He still has two more years left on his fellowship in Boston.
“Craig is with my very close friend, Darcy.”
Luke’s eyes slam shut as a stuttered breath escapes his lips.
“Why did you lie to me?”
“Oh, come off it,” I snap. “You know exactly why Craig and I did that, though in all honesty, it wasn’t my idea.”
“So you and Craig are just friends?” he pushes, unconvinced.
“Luke, it really doesn’t matter what Craig and I are. None of that matters. Craig and I are close friends, and he didn’t want you messing me about the way he thought you would. So we lied. But the simple truth is that I’m not interested in playing this game with you. I mean, did you honestly believe I’d let you into my life a third time, only to have you walk away again without a backward glance? I am many things, Luke, but stupid really isn’t one of them.”
Luke sighs out long and heavy, an internal struggle warring within the brown depths of his eyes. “I don’t know what to say to you, Ivy. I know I messed everything up. I know that seems to be my go-to. But things are different with me now. So different and . . . I would never walk away from you again.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Jesus, Ivy,” he groans, sagging forward like my words knocked his breath out. “Please, just give me a chance to explain. Please.” Luke leans into his arm that is still raised over my head, burying his eyes into his bicep. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. You ha
ve no idea. I will be sorry forever, and that’s not a lie or a ploy, or anything other than the truth. I know I don’t deserve another shot. But the flip side of that truth is that I’m totally and utterly lost without you. I know it’s been twelve months, and I know you don’t believe me, and that I have a million miles of ground to make up, but please, Ivy, please just let me talk this out with you. If you want to walk away after that, then I guess I deserve it, but not before you know all that there is to know.”
I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t know what to think or how to react.
What do you do when you love someone who is bad for you?
What do you do when you love someone who you know will hurt you again given the chance?
“The definition of insanity, Luke, is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different outcome. And you are definitely making me insane, but it’s a cycle I’m tired of repeating.”
“I’ll never hurt you again. I swear on everything that I won’t. I know it’s been a long time and that we need to start over and all that, but give us that chance.”
Hope is a ticking time bomb.
Hope may be the most dangerous of emotions known to womankind.
Hope can go fuck itself.
“I can’t. I need you to let me go.”
He laughs out, but it’s devoid of humor as he finally drops his forehead to mine. And that’s my total undoing. That one small point of contact completely obliterates any remaining self-control and determination I had, and without warning, the tears I had been holding back, begin to freefall.
His hand comes up to cup my cheek, wiping away my scalding tears with his thumb. A small sob escapes as my lower lip trembles with restraint.
His eyes are bleeding, wounded, and raw as they search my face, agonizing over my tears. “I can’t let you go, Ivy,” he says softly, his breath brushing across my cheek. “I don’t know how. You’re inside me and all around me, and the thought of giving you up is the worst sort of pain. It’s anguish, and believe me when I tell you that I know pain.”
“Please,” I plead.
His eyes close slowly as he takes in a deep breath, reopening them on the slow exhale, allowing me to feast on his torment. “Okay, honey,” he says in the saddest voice I’ve ever heard in my life. “I’ll leave. I’ll let you go, if that’s what you really want. If that’s what will make you happy. Because in all honesty, that’s all I really want for you. But you need to know how much I still love you. How much I’ll love you forever. You need to know because I never want you to doubt that. I won’t hurt you again, baby. I’d rather die.”