The Evolution of Ivy: Antidote (The Evolution of Ivy, Volume 2)

by Lauren Campbell

  I don’t hear the words they exchange, but Jared tells me he’ll be on the porch if I need him.

  “Can I come in?” Brooks asks, his breath steaming in the cold air.

  “Yes.” I move toward him slowly, my feet weighted as I meet him halfway.

  “Can we sit?”

  “Of course.”

  He takes a seat on the couch, and I follow, opting for the spot farthest away. I bite my lip and fidget, twisting and adjusting my body one too many times, unable to find a comfortable position.

  “How are you?” he asks.

  “I’m okay. I’ve been writing to Sarah, and she writes back. Well … her nurse writes the letters for her, but it’s been nice.”

  “That’s great. How’s she doing?”

  “She’s good. I just wish I could do something—bring her to live with me or something—but I’ve looked into it, and there doesn’t seem to be a way to do that.”

  He frowns. “I am sure your letters make her happy.”

  I shrug.

  “Listen, I have been thinking about everything that’s happened over the last couple of months.”

  I say nothing, allowing him time to speak, my gaze fixed on his legs as I’m not quite ready to face my wrongdoing.

  “I’ve talked a lot with Jared. And I’ve been seeing a therapist myself.”

  My eyes cut to him. Search him. “You have?” Jesus, what have I done to him?

  “Yeah.” He holds up a hand. “Not only about us. I had issues before you became … anyway, it has really helped. It has cleared my head a lot, helped me sort out some pent-up anger or whatever that I have had.”

  I nod. “I’m glad it’s helping. I remember almost everything. I’m—I’m so sorry I did all those things.” My eyes fill with tears as I fight their burn.

  “I know. Look, I think any other man would hate you right now. And I’ve tried. Believe me, I have. But I know you were sick. You weren’t yourself. The good parts of Emily, those were you.”

  “No … Emily was nothing but bad,” I mutter.

  “I thought so, too, at first, but as time has gone by, I believe it less and less. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, I don’t know. But I felt something between us from the moment I met you … as Emily—a strong connection—and I know I didn’t imagine that. It was you, Ivy. You were shining through her.”

  My eyes move to my lap, Lucy’s nose nuzzling my foot. “Maybe.”

  “I mean, you know … you said have most of those memories. Were those moments in between the craziness fake? Was what I felt when we kissed, when we had sex, was that pretend?”

  I turn to him. Wipe tears from my cheeks. “It was real. Every minute of it.” I cover my face with my hands, hiding my shame, before I drop them again. “Still, I don’t know how you can be here, how you can look at me after all the surgery, and it not be out of disgust, knowing I’ve simply been molded to look like this?”

  His hand takes mine—not in a romantic way, but in a comforting way. “I loved you when we were kids. You were beautiful to me—before the pouty lips, before the big … anyway, you know that. And I was falling in love with the good parts of Emily, not just her looks, but you. I didn’t come here to say we can instantly wipe the slate clean and pick up where we left off at the beach, because that would be unrealistic and unhealthy for both of us.” My shoulders sag as he squeezes my hand harder. “But maybe we can start over as friends, and take things slow. Pick up from the day I came back from France.”

  Our eyes connect, my breath hitching. “You’d actually be open to that?”

  “If you are. I would love to be friends with you again,” he says. “With Ivy again.”

  Christmas Eve

  Ivy opens the door, a Santa hat on her head, red tights hugging her legs under a sweater dress. “You made it,” she smiles.

  “What’s up, man?” Jared calls, his new girlfriend, Madison, throwing me a wave.

  I smile at them, and scrub my feet across the rug on the porch before walking inside. Lucy gallops to me, and I stoop down to pet her as Ivy shuts the door. When I stand, she is staring at me, her eyes glittering like blue diamonds, stealing a beat from my heart. It hasn’t quite been two months since we reset our friendship, and I have found it impossible to stay away from her.

  We run Chastain Park every morning together after we meet for coffee. Occasionally, we hang out with Jared and Madison, but we haven’t been alone yet. I know myself well enough to know I wouldn’t be able to resist her, so I haven’t invited myself, and she hasn’t asked, either.

  But I’m tired of resisting. I want her. I need her. I spent the months away from her feeling lost, smoking two packs per day, missing deadlines. I was grieving the loss of what we could have been, but being platonic with her has shown me how much I desire more. There are some things that have happened that will always be spoken about in a hushed tone. My parents are bound to have their reservations, Eliza is likely to come after us with glowing red eyes and a pitchfork, but … I want to try.

  Of course, she has to want me, too. She has to be willing to let go of her guilt.

  Madison steps toward me, a plate of cookies in hand. “Cookie?”

  I take one, then step around Ivy to get to the tree in the corner of the room, tucking my present for her at the bottom. It’s nothing big, but I pray it will be valuable to her. We had a five-dollar limit for gift giving—a rule she suggested after requesting we instead donate the money we would have spent to a children’s Christmas charity, and I used it all on materials.

  Ivy glides to the kitchen, my eyes on her as she swings her hips. She looks at me before she rounds the corner, goosebumps cropping up on my skin.

  “Dammit!” she yells.

  Jared and I stand, asking Ivy what’s wrong in unison, Madison’s head jerking her way. Ivy comes into view again, her lip pouted, arms folding across her chest, before she shrugs and mumbles something inaudibly.

  “What?” I ask.

  She mumbles again, staring down at her cherry red heels.

  “Speak up,” Jared says.

  “I burned the turkey! I can’t even make a turkey with a pop-up timer!”

  Jared and I bust out laughing, as Madison gets up to move to her side. “It’s okay,” she tells her. “Jared and I can go get some Chinese. They’re always open.”

  “Are you sure?” Ivy asks. “We can all go.”

  Jared shakes his head, shooting me a look before pulling his keys from the table. “Nah, we got it. You just relax.”

  They smile and file out the door, the gust of cold wind causing me to shiver. I look at Ivy, broad smiles appearing on our faces before she laughs.

  “I feel like such a klutz. I don’t remember being this bad of a cook.”

  “I’m not the greatest myself. I’m only good at grilling. Everything else is from a box or a drive-thru.”

  She shakes her head, moves to the framed picture on her mantle next to a small gold box. “Merry Christmas, guys.”

  I’m silent for a minute, allowing her time to talk to them or whatever people do when someone they love dies. I busy myself with Lucy, dangling a dog toy I found on the floor, letting her bite it from my hand before I throw it and repeat again.

  When Ivy finally steps away from the fireplace, new energy in her gaze, she takes my breath away. This woman—this beautiful, amazing woman who fell to ruins has picked herself up, gluing each shattered piece together again until she stands before me as someone who hasn’t forgotten or given up, but someone who has forgiven and moved on.

  Her stunning appearance is a bonus, a culmination of all the beauty that has always shone through her, but was dimmed with insurmountable sadness.

  I break our gaze and walk to the tree, picking up the wrapped package. “Mind if we break this new tradition so you can open this before they get back?”

  She smiles. “Okay.”

  I pass it to her. “Open it.”

  Her eyes move between me and the package as she rips the pa
per, pulling two envelopes from inside, taking particular interest in one of them. Her hand claps over her lips, brow furrowing before she carefully opens it, her eyes scanning the words inside. “How?” She lifts her eyes to mine.

  “Deacon helped.”

  “When do we go get her?”

  “In a few weeks. I can go with you.”

  “This is … I don’t even know what to say. Thank you, Brooks.”

  I smile at her. “Congratulations. You’re a granddaughter.”

  She laughs, and I reach over to take the letter and envelope from her hands, revealing another one underneath.

  “What’s this?”

  I drop Sarah’s letter on the table and step closer to her. “How about we take a walk, see the Christmas lights, and you can open it then.”

  “What about Jared and Madison?”

  “I’ll text them. I’m sure they won’t mind having some alone time.”

  She smiles at me. Picks up the letter from Sarah and places it on the mantle, my envelope clutched in her fingers as she pulls her coat from the closet.

  The air is frigid as we walk the few blocks to a nearby festive display. She stays tucked in my arm, her hands over her mouth, blowing heat into them, the twinkling lights coming into view. We round a corner, our shoes gritting against the pavement as we cross the street.

  “I hope they aren’t mad at us,” she says.

  I shrug as we approach the oversize Christmas tree in the center of the square, eyes scanning until I find what I am looking for. I tug on her arm, coaxing her along with me, the occasional person or couple strolling past, pumpkin spice wafting by.

  “Do you think they’re mad? You texted them, right?”

  Her eyes are worried, and I begin to lose my nerve. “They are fine. I may or may not have planned this days ago.”

  Her head juts back, the bridge of her nose pink as she blows into her hands again. “What do you mean?”

  “Open the envelope.”

  Eagerly, she pulls it from her coat, her fingers ripping through the paper, retrieving the handmade card from inside—old polaroid photos of us cut and pasted onto the front. She grins, but then hesitates before opening it. I nudge her, and when she unfolds it, I read it along with her.

  Will you be my girlfriend?

  Her reaction isn’t what I’m expecting. She stares at it, not saying anything, not looking at me or moving.

  “Well?”

  Her eyes are wide. “Is this real?”

  “As real as you are.”

  She drops the card and snakes her arms around my neck. “Best Christmas present ever,” she whispers.

  “I’m not done. Look up.”

  Her eyes trail to the mistletoe before she smiles at me, and I smile, too. Backing her against the pillar beside us, I stare into her eyes before I kiss Ivy for the second time.

  “Are you sure?” she asks as we step into my house. “I mean, this is so fast. It hasn’t even been two months.” Her eyes move to the floor.

  “Shh.” I press my finger against her lips. “Friends isn’t good enough for me. I know who you are. I know the real Ivy. And you are mine.”

  She blinks, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth before she jumps into my arms. I kick the front door shut, and then carry her to the bedroom and set her down. She shrugs off her coat, and I pull off my shirt. We stare at each other before I take her face into my hands and kiss her again, our tongues frantic and desperate. She pulls at my jeans, and I quickly pull off the rest of my clothes before helping her out of her dress. Slowly, I work her tights down her legs, kissing her belly as I do, our eyes connecting as I work off her thong.

  We are naked now, both of us breathing hard as I pull her into my arms, kissing her deeply and laying her on the bed.

  My lips meet the soft skin of her neck, trailing kisses down her skin until I move between her legs. My tongue glides over the heat of her as she moans, her knees clamping around my head, fists grabbing the sheets. Neither of us has had sex since she was committed, and as her thighs begin to shake, I sense she is close. I suck her one last time before moving my body on top of hers, feeling as if I am right where I am supposed to be—as if this was both of our destinies from the beginning.

  Ivy looks at me in a way Kate never did, and in a way Eliza was never capable of—with love in her eyes and passion in her heart. Her fingers run through my hair as we kiss, her legs parting for me as I pause, ready to enter her.

  “Make love to me, Brooks,” she whispers in my ear.

  I shudder at her words, and push into her, her pussy clenching around me. We rock together, her breasts moving beneath me as she groans with pleasure. This is better than the beach, better than anything I could have imagined, because it is real. She is mine, and I am hers. Nothing is in our way, and we have overcome the unthinkable.

  Her fingernails dig into my back as I buck harder into her, reveling in her warmth and how slick she is. She arches her back, thoughts of baseball on my mind as I try to step away from the ledge she is pushing me toward. I retreat a bit, trying my best to block out her moans, but when she tightens around me again, I move deep inside her, and suddenly, she tenses.

  “I’m gonna come,” she says.

  Her arms wind around my back as she cries out. I can’t take it any longer. In an instant, I am out of her, coming on her breasts while she reaches down to massage her way through the last of her orgasm.

  Once we are both done, she reaches for my neck, and tugs me to her lips. We breathe against each other in satisfaction, her lazy smile sending a chill through me. Hovering over her, I realize, without a doubt, that I love this woman, but I vow not to say it. I won’t utter those words until I am sure I want to spend my life with her.

  I won’t do anything to hurt her again.

  August

  “Where are we going?” I ask Brooks.

  He squeezes my knee. “You’ll see.”

  I’m blindfolded once again—him and his damn obsession with surprises. I try to gauge which direction we’re headed with the twists and turns I feel, but it’s incredibly disorienting, being unable to see like this, so I give up and embrace the surprise as we glide along what I think is a stretch of highway.

  The summer sun burns my legs through the windows, so I feel around for my purse on the floorboard and place it in my lap. Brooks and I have been dating almost eight months now. Overall, I consider myself lucky. He didn’t have to sacrifice his friendship with Deacon to have me, because Deacon has accepted us. I can’t say the same for Deacon’s mother, however. She gets this spooked look on her face when I’m around. I guess she worries about my sanity, maybe thinks I’ll chase her down with a kitchen knife. I hope one day she’ll come around as Brooks’s parents have. They were extremely hesitant of Brooks’s forgiveness at first, but I grew on them, (a pun, ha!), and they’re actually really fond of me now. And even though they’re formal and wealthy and a little tense, they fill a bit of the space my parents left behind. So, I no longer have to worry about things like Thanksgiving dinners, Christmas, weekend cookouts, etc., because I have a place to go—a place I’m welcome, no matter what the future holds for Brooks and me.

  I try to push my imagination aside, try not to think about what we could be and focus on what we are, but sometimes I crave more, and I suffer silently. I want him in my bed every night, want to feel him on top of my body every day. But we haven’t lived together yet. When he said slow, he meant it, and has verbally expressed not wanting to do anything that could possibly hurt me in the end.

  And, of course, Sarah is my roommate now, so we would need a bigger place together to accommodate her. I tried to explain to her I’m not her actual, biological granddaughter, but frankly, she forgets things so easily that it became a wasted effort. So, I’m her granddaughter, and she’s Granny, and that’s that. She has gotten stronger since she has lived with me. She can’t move around quickly, but she enjoys doing some light things in the garden, and we watch Golden Girls marath
ons in our downtime—sometimes throwing in some Jersey Shore per her request. I don’t think she can see everything that’s going on, but she can hear it—mostly. I wonder what my parents think up there in heaven. They’d be in love with her. I know they would.

  “All right, we’re here.”

  “Where?” Grandma Sarah asks. “I can’t see a dadgum thing.”

  “And you’re not even the one blindfolded!” I laugh.

  She laughs, too, before Brooks gets out of the car. A silent pause before he opens both of our doors.

  He helps Sarah first, her grumbling comical, and then his hands grip me. I trust him, steadying myself on my heels as I stand, my feet slightly unsteady as he guides me along uneven terrain with one hand on my arm and the other presumably on Sarah. After approximately fifty feet and a slight trek downhill, we stop.

  “Okay, you can open your eyes. Take it off.”

  I pull the blindfold from my face, allowing it to fall to the ground as I gasp, marveling at the rushing, clear water and the white sand of the bank.

  The creek where Brooks and I spent our summer days together.

  My hand rises to my chest. I feel as if I’m about to have a panic attack or pass out in his arms, crack my head against a rock. “Brooks, wh—why are we here?”

  His tongue slips over his lips, and then he smiles at me. My stomach rolls, my hands tenting over my mouth at the sight of him lowering to the ground—getting on one knee. Oh my God, I think, my heart fraying as he takes my shaking hand.

  “Ivy...” His voice doesn’t crack, but his eyes shine as he speaks. He pulls a folded, string-wrapped note from his pocket, holding it out. “Open it.”

  I pull my hand from his, trembling as I tug on the jute and unfold it. I read the words, those words I’ve waited almost two decades for, and fall into his arms, almost knocking him over.

  I think I love you, Ivy.