by Roe, Amy
“Ivy…” She touches my arm, and I stop brushing my hair to look her in the eye. “Our friends back home have told me that ever since you left last year, he’s really changed. I know you don’t talk about what went down with you guys, but maybe you should consider hearing him out. Give him a chance.”
“Don’t you dare go defending him. And for the record, I’ve changed too. Like my tolerance for his bullshit? It’s nonexistent now. So what did you tell him?” I start brushing my hair again, each stroke getting increasingly more aggressive. I do not want to be discussing this with her right now. Talking about Matt will only sour my mood and spoil our reunion.
“You know I can’t lie.”
“Rachel!” I whine as I rip a knot out from my scalp, yelping in pain.
“He knows you got back in today. But don’t worry. Matt has a life of his own set up back home in Chicago, working for some big fancy ad agency downtown, so I don’t think he’ll be making the three hour trek up here just to surprise you, especially since we’re headed back to Chicago this weekend.”
“Good.”
I’m honestly not sure if I’d run away from him or run right into his bed, so it’s best for everyone if he keeps a safe distance from me.
I know why I started dating Matt, but I never really understood why I let it go on as long as it did. I was emotionally checked out after a month of dating and Matt seemed to like the idea of me far more than he actually liked being with me as an individual. I always had the sneaky suspicion that it was because of my parent’s money. Early on I’d learned not to complain and that it was good to keep him around for three reasons:
One, he was great in bed. And by great I mean he gave me the ability to completely disconnect from all of life’s bullshit and see stars for days.
Two, my parents adored him and as long as they believed that I was with him, they tended to stay off my back—a major plus for me, and if we’re being honest a necessity to my survival.
And three, he was insanely easy to cheat on.
By the time I’d finally ended it, I was repulsed by everything little he did, so I decided to cut my losses and fled to Italy. Don’t get me wrong, I miss the sex; I just don’t miss the person on the other end of the dick.
At all.
“So when do your folks roll into town for the main event?”
I can’t help but laugh. “They don’t.”
She looks at me slack-jawed. I fight the urge to reach out and close Rachel’s mouth. Really, this move shouldn’t surprise her.
“My mom emailed me earlier to let me know they aren’t coming up for graduation. Apparently Gen and her fiancé have some wedding crap they’ve roped the whole family into attending. Then she laid it on thick about me choosing to be here, at my graduation, and not back in Chicago with them. All of this in an email when I haven’t heard their voices in nearly nine months. She may as well have sent me a telegraph by way of pigeon.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“No … that’s my family,” I say with a sigh. It’s sad but true. I have always played second fiddle to Genevieve. I’m just ready to be done with it all and get myself as far away from them as possible. Italy was a welcomed taste of independence, and I’m dreading being back under their roof for even a short amount of time while I figure out the job situation.
It’s unfair that I’ve had to deal with this nonsense for so long. You would think they’d be proud to have a daughter who actually has a spine and a fuck it all attitude, but instead I get to spend the rest of my life being cast away as the black sheep for refusing to fall into line. I come from a family with serious control issues. My parents try to control everything in sight, and I refuse to be controlled. It’s a nightmare for everyone.
“You know what I say, girl? When all else fails, eat your feelings. I’ll be right back,” Rachel says with an infectious smile that touches her eyes.
Right. It’s all fun and games until your pants don’t fit anymore.
Rachel disappears down the hall and I quickly toss on a pair of cozy sweatpants and my favorite Chicago Cubs T-shirt. When I sit down on the bed, I realize just how tired I am. All this traveling is starting to catch up. Rachel returns moments later with two spoons and a pint of Ben and Jerry—my two favorite men. Her grin is electric and I realize just how much I’ve missed her since August.
“I suppose it’s not all bad news though.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, offering me a spoon.
“Well, for starters, my parents won’t be here to dictate how I curl my hair for graduation,” I smirk. “Anyway, I really don’t want to think about them right now. Besides, I have something to tell you.”
“Lay it on me.”
“There’s a job interview in—”
“An interview!”
I nod and fight my grin, trying not to come off as overeager. Rachel hasn’t had any luck finding an internship for after graduation. She smacks my arm with the back of her hand.
“Ivy! That’s incredible! Tell me about it,” she begs, eyes wide as she takes an unhealthy-sized scoop of ice cream. It baffles me that she can eat such crap and still look like she just stepped off the runway.
“Well, I don’t officially have the interview yet. But Professor Whitman is recommending me to a friend of his for an Associate Curator position. In New York City.” Rachel screams and tackles me in another bear hug, overcome with excitement.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Settle down, Rachel. I don’t even have the interview scheduled.”
“But you will, and you’ll absolutely get it. I mean, have you met you?”
I laugh at her energy. Some things never change with Rachel and me. I am the Daria to her Quinn. She is the Prozac to my Valium. We are the perfect balance of sweetness and cynicism.
“This calls for a celebration!” She jumps up and drags me into her bedroom. “Screw jetlag, we’re going out tonight,” she announces prolifically.
“Oh, we are? And where exactly are we going?”
If I’m being entirely honest, I really wouldn’t mind crashing early tonight, but it would be nice to party with folks who actually speak the same language. Plus it’s graduation weekend, so it will be the last chance I have to see a lot of my old classmates.
“There’s a party at some house down by Lake Mendota. No idea who’s throwing it, but Cassie told me the whole gang will be there. Should be a good time.”
“Really? A house party?” I whine. I can’t believe she thinks this is a good way to kick off graduation festivities. We haven’t stepped foot inside a house party since spring semester freshman year when we scored our fake IDs.
“It should be fun,” she reassured. “Let’s stop by for a little bit and if we aren’t having fun, I promise we can leave and hit up The Great Dane.”
She knows just how to placate me. I love that pub and had spent most of my free time there two years ago. “Fine. But I’m holding you to that.”
Rachel leaves me with Ben and Jerry, shooting me a flirtatious wink before sashaying into her bathroom to get ready.