“Yeah, well. He did.” I place another giant spoonful of chocolate chip cookie dough in my mouth and close my eyes. If only I could float away on this calorie-inducing wave.
“I think you’re going to need something a hell of a lot stronger than ice cream to get your mind off of this.” She jumps up and starts rummaging through her closet. “That’s it. No more moping around, drowning your sorrows in fatty, sugary goodness. We’re going out.”
“Out where?” I groan, sinking back into her beanbag chair, which feels even more comfortable at the moment. Why would I ever want to get up?
“We’ll head over to Gilligan’s since we can walk there and back. I don’t feel like being the designated driver tonight. I want to have some fun too.” Without any warning, she whips off her top and begins changing right in front of me.
“Jeez, Sophie,” I exclaim, trying to block my eyes.
“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” she retorts, sticking her tongue out at me over her shoulder.
“What am I going to wear?” I moan, not feeling the least bit into it.
“Wear what you have on. You’re going to drink your sorrows away, not pick up hot guys, right?” She hustles over to the mirror and starts applying a bright shade of gloss. She presses her lips together with a resounding smack.
I’m still wearing Cassidy’s clothes. I haven’t had the heart to take them off yet. It’s a dumb move and it’s not going to do anything to improve my mood every time I happen to catch a glimpse of my reflection. I’m about as messed up as Eric with my fascination with this dead woman’s wardrobe.
“Let’s skedaddle! We might hit the end of happy hour if we hurry.” Sophie ushers me out the door and I follow like a zombie without even bothering to check if I look halfway decent. I already know I don’t.
After a long, sweaty walk under the remaining rays of the late day sun, we trudge into Gilligan’s and claim the last two stools at the bar. Sophie buys the first round, and I down my bottle of Bud Light before she’s even halfway through hers.
“Want another?” she asks without the slightest bit of judgment.
“Something stronger. Maybe a shot?” I’m getting bolder with my selection. I want the pain to fade away. I don’t want to feel it anymore.
“We’ll do one together.” Sophie gives me an encouraging smile before flagging down the bartender.
We clink shot glasses and I tilt my head back with a flourish. The alcohol slides down easily without even a burn. I have no idea what the drink is called. I wasn’t paying attention, but it sure tasted good.
Three beers and two shots later, I’m flying high. I thought the booze might deepen my depression, but instead it’s lifting the haze surrounding my heart. It’s loud and crowded as people are standing six or seven deep, trying to reach the bar. We get to keep our seats as long as we keep ordering drinks and tipping the bartender. He knows we’re here for the night. We’re not going anywhere. He lifts a glass to a guy standing behind me whose arm gets jostled as he goes to reach for it, spilling half of its contents down my shirt. I look down. It wasn’t just any drink. It was red wine. The stain is never going to come out.
“I’m so sorry,” the guy starts yelling loudly in my face over the music and the people talking around us. The bartender hands him a pile of napkins and he tries to wipe me off, awkwardly dabbing at my chest.
“That’s all right. I’ve got it,” I manage to get out, even though my words slur together. I don’t want some random guy feeling me up. Maybe he tries this all the time in bars, but he’s not trying it with me. I have a bigger problem on my hands and I have to tell Eric. I’m going to need his help.
“Excuse me. Coming through.” I elbow my way through the crowd to the door.
“Ivy, where are you going?” Sophie screeches from the bar as someone promptly takes my vacated seat.
I hold up my hand, making the universal symbol for phone call, and stumble through the door as someone opens it from the outside. The couple walking in looks at me with disgust when they see how intoxicated I am, but I don’t care. I have to call Eric. It’s important.
The worker at the cell phone store was able to upload my contacts. And thank God, because I would never have been able to remember Eric’s number in my current state. Staggering on my feet, I drunk dial his number and hold on to a telephone pole for support. It rings once before he answers.
“Ivy? I’m so…”
“Eric, my man. How are you? You’re never going to guess what I did. Don’t be mad, okay? Promise you’re not going to yell at me again.”
“Ivy, what’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing’s the matter, silly. I’m just having a good time after you kicked me out of your house. But I’m okay. I’m fine with it now. But oh I do love your house…it’s so nice…it even has a nursery and I didn’t even know.”
“Ivy, don’t…”
“But I’m not the one giving you babies. No, that was Cassidy. She’s the one you really wanted before you got stuck with me. I can’t even wear her clothes right. You know what, Eric? Some jerk spilled wine all over me and I don’t know how I’m going to get it out of this shirt. That’s why I was calling you to help me. Maybe we can fix it together since it’s obviously so important to you. More important than my feelings at least.”
“I can’t believe you…”
“Yeah, I can’t believe me either. I really trust the wrong guys with my heart, don’t I? I’m just an idiot all the way around. But you already figured that out. I mean, you slept with me then threw me out. Well, you know what? Screw you! I’m keeping the shirt. It’s mine now and there’s no way in hell you’re getting it back. It’s time for you to move on, Eric. Stop living in the past. Stop being such a loser.”
The line goes dead and I realize he’s hung up on me.
“That’s right. You’re a LOSER!” I scream into the receiver, regardless if he can hear me or not.
The people that are in line to enter into the bar start yelling at me to shut up. I give them the finger and point myself in the general direction of the dorm. I’m going back. I’ve had enough. The sidewalks are uneven and I nearly trip and fall a couple of times before I finally go down, skinning my knees in the process. I collapse on the ground and gaze up at the sky, laughing the entire time.
“Ivy, there you are!” It’s Sophie, walking just as bad as I was a second ago. But she’s determined to remain upright as she totters toward me. Reaching my side, she gets to her knees, pushing my hair out of my face. “We have to get you home. You are freaking loaded.”
“So are you, bitch.” But I mean it as a term of endearment as I continue to laugh.
“It’s so not funny. There are cops patrolling around here. If they catch us, we’re going to be in big time trouble.” She yanks on my arm, encouraging me to stand. But I just want to stay here and look at the pretty stars. They’re so twinkly, so sparkly.
“C’mon, leave me alone. Can’t I have some peace and quiet after breaking up with my boyfriend of like five minutes?” I giggle uncontrollably at how silly that sounds.
“What? You didn’t call him, did you?” Sophie’s stronger than she looks as pulls me into a sitting position.
“Of course I called him. Why the hell wouldn’t I call him? I had to tell him I ruined his damn shirt!” I scream the last three words at the top of my lungs while removing the offending garment from my body and throwing it in the street.
“Ivy!” Sophie reprimands me, slapping me hard across the face. “This is serious.”
“Jeez, what did you do that for?” I watch as Sophie scampers into the street to retrieve the shirt, dodging traffic in the process. She roughly slides my head through the opening as I struggle with the arms.
“Now get up. I’m not going to ask you again.” Now Sophie’s turned mean, too. I can’t take much more of the people in my life turning on me. First Ryan, then Eric, now Sophie. Who the hell am I supposed to trust? Nobody has my best interest at heart—nobody.
> “Fine, Miss Bossy Pants. If it’ll make you happy.” I slowly get to my feet and march in front of her down the sidewalk.
“This was a bad idea,” she mumbles behind me.
“Yeah, you’re not kidding!” I shout back.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Eric
After a fitful night, I didn’t get much sleep. How could I when the girl I love basically called me a loser? Sure, she was rip-roaring drunk at the time, but it doesn’t matter. I finally got to see her for who she truly is—an immature kid. How did I ever think we could make a life together if, after the first fight we have, she runs away, losing herself in some intoxicated stupor.
I was actually going to apologize when I first heard her voice on the line, but her behavior changed all of that. Who was I kidding, thinking life would offer me a second chance at happiness? Ivy isn’t Cassidy. She never will be. What I had, what I wanted, is gone. It’s never coming back.
After Ivy’s first visit to my house, when Lauren broke up our make-out session on the porch, I realized it was time to start putting some things away. I donated what items remained in Cassidy’s closet to the Salvation Army. The Lutheran church took most of the baby furniture for its annual rummage sale. Bit by bit, I started dismantling the life I had been building with Cassidy in order to make room for something new with Ivy. Well, it looks like that’s not happening now.
I kept one outfit of Cassidy’s aside, however. It was the shirt I gave her for her birthday. I remember how I spent hours in the mall psyching myself up to browse through the junior department. A few girls laughed at me when they spotted me looking through the racks. It wasn’t until they left that I felt confident enough to resume my search. And then my fingers ran against that top. It was so soft, so feminine, just like Cassidy. I knew it was perfect.
She held on to it through the years. Even though it no longer fit her, she said that she was saving it to make a baby blanket out of it someday. She confided her idea to me with a shy smile, unsure of how I’d react. At the time, we weren’t even engaged, and just the possibility of getting her pregnant made me nervous. I could imagine her father standing on the front door with a shotgun, ready to hunt me down.
It wasn’t until she really was pregnant that she mentioned the shirt again. She wanted it for the baby, but she couldn’t find it. She was too weak then to go looking for it. She wasn’t sure if she left it behind at school or if she stored it away at her parents’ house, but she was intent on locating it. It wasn’t until after she died that it turned up among the things she had transferred to the nursery. She had forgotten that she had placed it in one of the bins. When I discovered it as I was cleaning out the room, I broke down. It was like she was speaking to me from beyond the grave. “Here it is. It was where it was supposed to be the entire time.”
I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. I could barely hold it in my hands, but I couldn’t part with it either. So many hopes and dreams were tied up in that silly shirt—my love for her, my love for our unborn baby, the promise of sharing our lives together. It represented a physical tapestry of my joys and sorrows, my failures and triumphs. How could one item say so much?
And then Ivy appeared at the top of my stairs, not just holding it, but wearing it. I saw red. What right did she have to intrude on my personal space? How dare she stick herself where she didn’t belong? I admit I overreacted. She was clueless as to the significance behind that shirt, but it made me question everything about our relationship after seeing her in it. It wasn’t hers. It would never be hers. It was mine.
It was a secret part of my life that I wanted to keep hidden from her, but she pushed herself in. Wasn’t I already giving her enough? Did she have to take everything, even things I was unwilling to give? I was going to let her stay with me. Let her take her time figuring out her next step. I wasn’t pressuring her into anything. I was there to lend a helping hand, give her what she needed. I wasn’t forcing her down the aisle or dictating what her future should be. Yet she couldn’t give me the space to deal with the issues I haven’t resolved. Already our relationship was on an uneven footing. It was doomed to fail.
At least that’s what I’m trying to convince myself into believing. It’s not exactly working though, especially after that amazing night we spent together. Why did everything have to get so fucked up in the morning? And what kills me is if I didn’t rip her dress, none of this would’ve happened. But did I just accelerate the inevitable? Would I like this irresponsible side of Ivy the more I got to know her? And the truth is, probably not.
Sometimes, I feel so much older than her, like I’ve gone through so much already and she’s barely scratched the surface. There are only three years separating our ages, but it seems like a lifetime. I have a lot on my shoulders—if I go down, it all falls apart. If she doesn’t complete her internship, the world isn’t going to end. I almost lost everything when Cassidy died. I nearly threw away my business and let my house stand as an incomplete frame. I know what it means to stand at the brink and look over the edge. Times like that test what a person’s really made of, and if Ivy’s response is to get drunk and piss it all away, then maybe I don’t know her as well as I thought I did.
But that’s a lie. I do know her. Going back and forth with this, wrestling with it in my mind, isn’t doing anybody any good. It’s not a decision about whether or not I’m going to give her another chance. It’s when. And for now, I think I’m going to keep my distance. I want to be there for her, but maybe she needs to figure things out on her own. It will only make her stronger in the long run. I’m not doing her any favors by holding her hand through life’s rocky moments. Sometimes it’s best to battle through things without any outside interference.
And I’ll also know where her heart is. If she leaves and I never hear from her again, then she obviously didn’t care that much about me to begin with. I never thought I’d have to put her to the test, but I’m older and wiser now, definitely more cynical. I can’t lose what I never had. I was lucky enough to have one great love in my life. Maybe I’m asking too much to have two.
My dad has been manning the garden center for the last two days. Something he never did before, even after Cassidy died and I let it fold in on itself. Why is he helping me now? He didn’t reveal much about what was said when he drove Ivy back to her dorm. He mentioned that she was crying, but her spirits rallied by the time they arrived on campus. He really seems to like her for some reason, which is strange because he never doted as much on Cassidy, and he’s only known Ivy two days.
I plan on heading back to work tomorrow. I probably won’t be able to do a lot of the heavy lifting but I can inquire around about seeking some part-time assistance until I’m fully recovered from my injuries. I’m sure there are plenty of high school kids looking to make a few extra bucks. Somebody from the football team would be perfect. Practice doesn’t start for a couple more weeks and I should be back to normal by then.
I try not to look at the calendar as I walk by. I never thought I’d make it through the day on Friday. It’s been officially two years since Cassidy died, taking our baby with her. If someone had told me I would be attending a film festival gala and making love to another woman, I’d have said they were crazy. Cassidy made me swear that I would move on with my life. She knew she wasn’t going to make it. But it seems like what I did was the ultimate betrayal. No wonder everything blew up in my face. It was cursed from the get-go. How could I tarnish Cassidy’s memory like that, in the place where she conceived our child?
I guess my guilt erupted when I saw Ivy in that shirt. It felt as though Cassidy was reproaching me somehow, sending me a subliminal message that only I would understand, reminding me of the significance of choosing that date to sleep with Ivy. And it worked. I certainly felt like a prick. A guy who knows better but whose actions are dictated by his dick above all else…yeah, I’m a jerk.
I could possibly forgive myself if it just spontaneously happened, but I pre-planned it. I
didn’t want to be alone that night. I had already made the conscious decision when I left the key under the mat. I was filled with pent-up desire, and I was going to release it, one way or another. I’d gone a long time without sex, and I was finally putting an end to my dry spell.
And it makes me contemplate just how much anger is lying dormant under the surface about Cassidy’s death. I can’t believe how angry I am at her for leaving me, even though rationally I know it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t want to die. But for some sick reason, I wanted to get back at her. I deliberately chose this date in July to sleep with another woman. Wherever Cassidy is, I hope she was watching. Let her see what’s she’s missing after succumbing to her tragic fate.
How mental is that? What the hell is wrong with me? Thoughts like those make me hate myself all the more. What kind of perverted freak have I turned into? Maybe there’s no saving me now. I’m too screwed up for anybody to love.
I better stay away from Ivy. Life hasn’t broken her spirit yet. The last thing I want to do is drag her down with me. She deserves someone without all this baggage. Someone who’s looking at the world with eyes as unclouded as hers. That’s the greatest gift I can give her. I’m tired of being selfish. Now’s the time to let her go because if I see her again I know I’ll be too weak to resist pleading with her to come back to me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ivy
Professor Tate, my advisor, never received an official call from Lauren, terminating my internship, but I explain to him that I just don’t feel comfortable returning to such a miserable work environment. He lectures me about sucking it up, being professional, not letting my emotions impair my judgment. He doesn’t know it’s a little late for that. I listen to his spiel as he drones on about how adversely this decision is going to affect my college career, but after five minutes, he gives up when he knows his message isn’t penetrating my thick skull. There’s no point in trying to have a rational discussion with someone who’s so pig-headedly stubborn.
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