by Jessica Roe
“Mm hmm,” I reply, but I decide not to bother pointing out again that I just don't see that life for myself. It isn't for me. Because I know exactly how she'll respond. She'll tell me that one day I'll meet the right man, and suddenly the idea of starting a family won't seem as daunting. And then she'll look over at Bailey lovingly and they'll probably start rubbing their noses together all Eskimo style and I'll have to puke on their feet. Or something.
Dad twirls Mom right into the kitchen so they can check on dinner – he likes to let her pretend to help – and within minutes, Bailey is fast asleep and snoring on Heather's shoulder.
“Ivy,” she whispers a few moments later. I close my eyes and ignore her because she probably just wants to question me on my love life. But then a second later she hisses my name again, so I crank open an eye because she's even more stubborn than I am and she won't let up until I give her my attention.
“What?”
“I have to pee.”
“Okay. . .thanks for the update?”
“No, I mean. . . Hold on.” She slips out from under Bailey without waking him and stands. My eyes widen as she walks towards me, squirming baby in her arms. She's not going to. . . Oh, why is she holding that thing out to me? “Hold Daisy for me, would you? Just for a minute while I run to the bathroom.”
I shrink back into the cushions like she's trying to force a prickly cactus into my hands. Babies and I, we do not mix well. “Can't you just give her to Bailey?”
She rolls her eyes. “Stop being so dumb, she's just a baby, not a wild tiger. Besides, Bailey's sleeping and I don't want to wake him. He's been getting up just as much as I have to do the night feeds – he deserves all the sleep he can get.”
“But-”
Without giving me further time to protest, she places Daisy in my hands. “Jeez, Ivy. She won't bite.”
I hold the kid out in front of me stiffly, kind of like that freaky old monkey holding up the baby lion in The Lion King.
Okay, this is happening.
Heather shakes her head as she slowly backs out of the room, looking torn between being amused by my discomfort and slightly worried that she's left her baby in the hands of. . .well, me. “Just don't drop her, 'kay?”
Heather has wanted to be a momma forever. While I was busy spending my childhood cutting up fabric or racing around with Nash, getting skinned knees from falling out of trees and coming home covered in dirt, she was taking care of her dolls. Dressing them, pouring them make believe tea, pushing them around in prams and tucking them into bed.
That woman, she was made to be a mother. I, on the other hand. . .
“Hey,” I say to Daisy when we're alone. She's at that point where she's just learned to keep her head up but it still bobs around all over the place. She stares at me, blowing a bubble of spit out of the corner of her mouth and grinning like, yeah, I'm the shit. “So. . .this is awkward.”
She burps in response.
I tilt my head to one side and nod. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
+++
Christmas dinner is delicious, but then I'd expect no less with a chef for a father. My mom has decorated the table with so much fancy crap that the queen probably wouldn't look out of place here, but she insists that we all wear our paper cracker hats and the effect is ruined.
“Mine keeps splitting,” Dad complains.
“Aw, that's because you've got such a big head, honey,” Mom teases, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. And then to me, “Must you really drink bottled beer during dinner, dear? Wouldn't you much rather a nice glass of red?”
I pick up my bottle defensively before she can take it away, knowing there would be no point in reminding her that Dad and Bailey are drinking exactly the same thing I am. She can be so old fashioned in the oddest ways. Like, men drink beer and women drink wine. Men have their places in the world, and women have theirs. It's fine for her, but I've never really fit into that mold.
“Leave her alone, Deb,” my dad chides playfully, and I sent him a grateful smile. Dad always has my back.
“So how's the new job going?” Heather asks me across the table. She actually used to do the same job I'm doing now, working for Dr. Ormand. But when she married Bailey she left work to become a full time housewife and eventually mother, just like our mom. That kind of life has never appealed to me, but I respect her choices, just as she respects mine. We may be total opposites, but my sister and I love each other to bits.
“Boring,” I reply around a mouthful of carrots. I see my mom open her mouth to scold me, but she must decide it's not worth it.
“It sucks about San Francisco,” Bailey tells me, and all I can do is nod in response.
“Yes,” Mom adds. “Such a shame that awful woman decided to fire you.” My stomach immediately fills with dread at the topic. I stuff my mouth full of mashed potato, but suddenly I've lost my appetite. “Though I am glad it finally brought you home to us again. Every cloud has a silver lining.”
Yeah, thanks for that little nugget of wisdom, Mom.
“The woman wasn't that awful,” says my sister in her whispery soft voice, fair as ever. She shoots me an apologetic glance. “I mean, after the. . .event. .you can't really blame her. Not that I'm saying Ivy got what she deserved,” she adds quickly. “but. . .you know what I mean.”
The event. That's what my family have taken to calling it, like they can't even bear to speak about what actually happened out loud. Like I'm tainted or something, and talking about it would only make it worse.
Mom reaches over to pat my hand, assuring me silently that even though she doesn't like what I did, she still loves me. “Our Ivy just lost her way a little, that's all. I'm sure she didn't mean to do something so. . .so. . .”
“Awful,” I finish for her, and she smiles weakly.
“Enough of this,” my dad booms, far too cheerfully. “No need to get into any of that nasty business over Christmas, eh? What's done is done. Now, who wants to help me pull another cracker?”
I'm grateful for the subject change, but it hurts that he can't even look at me right now, though I'm not sure I'd like what I'd see in his face if he did. The disappointment, it's much worse than anger. I've never been able to stand disappointing my dad. It's how they all look at me every time the event is mentioned, so I don't understand why they keep freaking bringing it up.
I think it's just hard for them to accept. Especially for my parents, who have been married for so long. It's hard for them to deal with the fact that their beloved daughter slept with her boss' husband. I didn't know who he was at the time, sure, but they're still having a difficult time with it.
Because obviously I'd had no idea who he was when I'd had sex with Lambert. I may be kind of a bitch sometimes, but I'm not a home wrecking bitch. Not on purpose anyway, I guess.
So no, I didn't know that Lambert was married, and I sure as hell didn't know he was married to my boss. Kaarina Heikki is well known for keeping her private life secret – it's what makes her so mysterious and unapproachable – and that she'd married a guy half her age was one of her biggest secrets yet. Unfortunately for me. And her.
But Lambert was married, to my boss, of all the people in the world. Up until that point she'd barely even known I existed, but once she'd found out, I'd become enemy number one on her radar. Not only had she fired me, but she'd somehow gotten me blacklisted from every reputable fashion empire worth knowing. No one wants to hire the girl who got on Kaarina Heikki's bad side.
No job meant no income, and no income meant no money for rent. I'd had no choice but to scurry on home at that point. And honestly, though I complain about the place, I'd wanted to come back here after everything that had happened. Fortune makes me feel safe.
My family know all that. Everyone here knows all that – there's no such thing as a secret in tiny little Fortune, not really.
Yeah, they know the basics.
Ivy slept with a married guy. Ivy did not mean to. Ivy got fired. Ivy came ho
me. Ivy is still a good girl really, deep down.
But what they don't know, not one single person, is how there was this coffee shop. It was an obscure little place, barely noticeable if you didn't already know it was there, a couple of blocks away from my apartment. I would stop there before work every single morning because this place did the best caramel latte I'd ever tasted and I was addicted.
They don't know that after a while of visiting I would begin to see the same dark haired, dark eyed, astoundingly beautiful man sat in the corner, reading the paper as he drank his coffee every day. I couldn't help but notice him – the way his hair curled around his ears, the relaxed air in which he sat, the paint that usually speckled his arms and t-shirt. Eventually I would notice the way that he was only pretending to read the paper, but really watching me over the top of it with a twinkle in his eye.
They don't know that when Lambert finally introduced himself to me in that coffee shop, my heart had pounded so fast in my chest that I'd been genuinely worried I would faint. It was the first time I'd ever been blown away by a guy like that, because usually I'm sort of a commitaphobe, a lot like Nathan and Nash. Long term has never appealed to me.
They don't know that I would start getting to that coffee shop earlier and earlier every day just so Lambert and I would have longer to talk, and that he would always be waiting for me with my caramel latte and a funny doodle on a napkin to make me laugh, because of course he was an artist. He just had that vibe. The doodles were always of me – me as a superhero or as the Statue of Liberty or even me dressed in sexy lingerie when he was feeling particularly bold and naughty. Like a pathetic sap, I kept every single one of those napkins. Even now they're tucked away in a shoe box underneath my bed back at Nash's place.
They don't know that Lambert would text me all day and all night, or that we would start to meet after I'd finished work just so we could walk for hours talking about anything that came into our heads.
They don't know that he waited a month before he even kissed me, or that when he did, I almost told him I loved him. Right then and there, like I was a hormonal teenage girl living out her sad little romcom fantasies.
They don't know that for the first time in my life I'd actually fallen for somebody, somebody I could easily imagine spending forever with. I'd been so head over heels that I refused to even think about why he would so rarely talk about himself, why he would never take me back to his place or why he wouldn't introduce me to his friends or family. Looking back now, it should have been obvious. The signs were all there, I'd just refused to see them. He was my mysterious, beautiful stranger and I guess that had been the appeal.
They don't know that when we had sex, for the first time in my life it had actually meant something to me. And then Kaarina had found out, the very next day. I still don't know how, even now. Perhaps Lambert had felt guilty and confessed, or maybe she'd seen a photo on his phone or a text or. . . It doesn't really matter now. What matters is that it happened, she did find out, and the next day when she came into work, she made sure everyone else found out too. She'd hunted me down, humiliated me right in the middle of the office. I hadn't understood at first, not until she'd mentioned Lambert's name, and then it had all come crashing down.
And as she was yelling at me, all I'd been able to think was -
Lambert. Married. To Kaarina. Lambert. Married. To Kaarina. Lambert. Married. To Kaarina. Lambert. Married. To Kaarina. Lambert. Married. To Kaarina. Lambert. Married. . .
They don't know that for the first time ever, my heart had broken, right there in front of everyone I worked with. Right there in front of Kaarina.
I'd only seen Lambert once after that, in that stupid, obscure little coffee shop, of all the damned places. I don't even know why I'd gone in there, but it was probably because I so clearly liked to torture myself. There he'd sat, in his corner seat, reading his paper like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't cheated on his wife and broken my heart and lied his butt off to both of us. I'd left immediately but he'd seen me and chased after me. He'd apologized, but not for anything that had happened. No, he'd apologized for not choosing me, like he thought I would actually want him to leave Kaarina for me after everything he'd done. He'd told me that he couldn't leave her, that she funded his lifestyle as an artist so that he didn't have to hold down a job while he created.
It hadn't been until that very moment that it had hit me what a complete and utter fuckbag he was.
I'd left San Francisco two days later.
But I haven't told anyone any of that, not a single thing beyond the basics.
Ivy slept with a married guy. Ivy did not mean to. Ivy got fired. Ivy came home. Ivy is still a good girl really, deep down.
I haven't told my family, or even my friends, because then I would have to admit out loud how much it still hurts. It's better to pretend that I don't have feelings at all. It's easier that way.
Mom shoves a cracker in my face for me to pull, a manically cheery smile pushing up her cheeks, making her look like a chipmunk. I realize I've been lost in my own thoughts for too long. “Anyway,” she trills as I pull. She always cheats, so she wins as usual. “Like I said, I'm glad my Ivy is home. I did miss her so. And this could be a good thing, don't you think? It could be fate!” Mom loves to talk about fate. “Maybe this is the push you needed to start thinking about settling down and beginning a family of your very own.”
My sister makes encouraging noises, and my dad looks away once again, but this time because he's doing his best to conceal his silent laughter at the expression on my face.
Chapter 5
Nash
Family dinner at Mom and Dad's house is always noisy as shit – there's just so many of us, and despite Mom's best efforts, none us of ended up with the best manners – but Christmas dinner is especially crazy today. It probably has something to do with all the extra guests, now that three of my siblings have gone and got themselves into committed relationships.
Dad heads the table, as always, and Mom sits next to him. Down at the other end, my youngest brother, Lance, is shoveling food into his mouth like he's been starved for a month. I remember being the same when I was ten. At the rate he's growing, he'll probably end up a big guy like me and Dad. Ila, now thirteen and starting to develop an interest in boys which is killing me, is just at that age where she doesn't feel like a kid anymore but doesn't quite feel grown up either. She's awkward in her own skin and making up for it by being sullen and bitchy, and this year has been so unimpressed by all things Christmas. Jemma didn't grow out of this phase until she left for college, so the next few years are going to be fun.
Speaking of Jemma, she's happy once more now that Reid has made it down from the city. The poor guy is whipped – he's staring at my sister with googly eyes and is hanging onto her every word like everything that comes out of her mouth is pure magic. Obviously I love Jem to bits, but even I can't pretend to give a crap when she starts talking about a new pair of shoes or her latest haircut or what that bitchy girl at college has said now. If she wants to talk some more about her hot lesbian room mate, on the other hand. . .
Blair and Silver are laughing at something Dad is saying. Blair officially changed her surname to Peeters this year, as kind of a Christmas gift to herself and our dad. When she showed him the forms earlier he got all misty eyed and emotional. Awkward.
My other brother, Zac, is sitting next to his girlfriend in near silence, which is unusual because normally he doesn't know when to shut his ass up. But then, he's been acting odd for weeks now. He and Hailee came home from their travels for Thanksgiving and they were supposed to leave again right after but they never did. He's been quiet and withdrawn and rarely sarcastic, which raises suspicions because the only other person I know as sarcastic as him is Blair. And Blair, despite being two years younger than Zac, has shared a bond with him since the minute she moved here – one that I've almost envied at times. They've always joked that they could have been twins, so it's only natural that s
he seems to have noticed his missing personality too. Every now and then she shoots him a worried glance out of the corner of her eye, then looks at me and shrugs helplessly.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, distracting me from my brother, and I reach down to fish it out without thinking.
“Don't you dare answer that at the dinner table,” Mom warns. I'm twenty six, but the sound of her stern mom voice is still the scariest mother fucking sound on earth. “Honestly! Who on earth is even calling you on Christmas Day anyway?”
“It's not a call,” I reply distractedly, glancing down at the screen under the table like I'm in high school again, as if that's going to fool her.
“Is that Ivy with one of those video messages?” Dad asks, and I can practically hear him shaking his head. “The two of you drive me nuts with those things. Nash, you heard your mother, don't-”
“Oh, leave him be,” Mom interrupts. I look up to see her waving her hand at my dad, suddenly the most easygoing person on the planet. Her whole attitude, right down to her voice, changed the moment Dad said Ivy's name.
“I'll be right back,” I tell them, jumping up.
If the message had been from anyone else, Mom would have yelled at me to sit my ass back down and given me a good twenty minute lecture. Instead, she just smiles sweetly and calls, “Take your time!”
I roll my eyes, because she is not letting the idea of me and Ivy go, and move into the kitchen. Leaning back against the counter, I press play on the video message.
The camera is aimed right at Ivy's mom and dad as they. . .canoodle across the dinner table, a forgotten Christmas cracker held limply in their hands, like they got distracted by one another mid pull. Then it swivels around to face Ivy, who pretends to wrap an invisible noose around her neck and yank. In the background I can just make out one side of Heather's face as she shakes her head, bemused, and tells her sister not to be so unromantic.