by B. L. Berry
Much to my surprise, the dinner conversation flows seamlessly. Phoenix impresses my dad, detailing the rooftop garden remodel he’s drafting for a swanky Manhattan boutique hotel. Then he intently listens to me babble about my first encounter with Brock and all of the challenges I foresee in my future. It’s the first dinner I’ve had with a family member where we all seem genuinely happy.
Admittedly, it’s a nice change.
After he clears the plates from the table, our waiter returns with the dessert menu. The decadence of each practically leaps off of the page. I wish I could taste one of everything.
“So, Ivy, have you talked to your sister at all?” Dad shifts in his seat and Phoenix goes silent. The look he gives me speaks volumes, and we both notice the tension shift in the air at our table.
“No, I have nothing to say to her.” I’ve deleted her texts without reading them, and her few attempted calls have been sent straight to voicemail. The thought of even hearing her voice makes me get all stabby.
“Well, I think you should. She’s had a lot going on and—”
“We’re not having this conversation, Dad. After everything that happened, I have nothing to say to her. End of story.”
He looks surprised when I snap, and it dawns on me that he may have no clue as to the full extent of what went down before I left Chicago. It’s not like Genevieve or my mother would ever admit it to anyone. Even so, I’m not about to cater to her ego just because she feels bad or because my dad thinks I should.
Phoenix reaches out and squeezes my knee under the table, offering a small reassuring smile. He’s proud of me. Hell, I’m proud of me.
“I’m sorry. I’m going to pass on dessert. If you’ll excuse me a moment.” I place my napkin on the table and excuse myself to the restroom.
Sometimes a little space and a cleansing breath is all I need.
I wash my hands a little too aggressively and stare at my reflection in the mirror. So much for an enjoyable evening. I get points for trying, right?
When I emerge, Phoenix is waiting for me outside the door with my purse.
“Don’t be mad, but I invited your dad back to our apartment. He says he needs to talk to you about something.”
I stand there with my mouth agape. I’m shocked that Phoenix would do something like this considering my dad is trying to push Genevieve back into my life. He should know better.
“If it’s about Gen, I’m not talking about it.”
“I really don’t think that’s what it’s about. But whatever it is, he made it seem like it was important. Maybe you should just listen? Have an open mind, okay?”
I sigh and take my purse from his hands.
“Fine. But the minute he brings Gen back up, he’s outta there.”
BY THE TIME WE GOT back home it is nearly ten thirty. Between the heavy dinner and the half carafe of wine I single-handedly polished off, I’m getting sleepy and frankly a little tired of all this small talk. I stifle a yawn, trying not to be rude.
I watch my dad take a calculated sip of water and brace himself.
“Say, Phoenix, would you mind if I talk to Ivy alone for a few minutes?”
Oh, shit. This means business.
Phoenix looks to me and raises an eyebrow. I give a subtle nod, letting him know I’ll be okay. I truly appreciate him looking out for me, but he can’t protect me from all of the monsters in this world and demons of my past, no matter how hard he tries.
“No problem, sir. I need to send a few quick emails for work.” Phoenix stands, gives me a soft kiss and walks into the kitchen, giving us some privacy. My dad watches him intently as he leaves the room.
“You know, Ivy, there’s a way that a man looks at a woman when he knows he’s found the one. And Phoenix has had that look on his face all night long.”
I smile at his observation, knowing it’s true. One single look from him makes me feel everything.
“I’ve been watching you both together and what you have is something special. He always puts you first, Ivy. I hope you realize that when you put the person you love first, you will never be second.”
I chew on his words for a moment, recognizing just how true they are. My heart clenches at the thought of my parents’ marriage and I wonder if there was ever a time when my mother put him first.
He stands from the chair and comes to sit next to me on the couch. “I’m so proud of everything you’ve accomplished here in such a short span of time.”
He’s not a man of many compliments, but I can tell he’s building up to something. Something bad. I wring my hands and play with the loose hemline on the bottom of my dress.
“Ivy,” he says, reaching out to place his hand on top of mine and gives it a gentle squeeze. There’s a spark in his eyes that I’ve never seen before, one of happiness and content. But hidden within are traces of anxiety. Resentment. “I came here tonight because I wanted to tell you in person … I’m leaving your mother.”
He lets the words float between us for a while as he silently squeezes my hand. I’m not quite sure how I should feel at this moment given the history with my parents, but relief pulses through my veins. I offer a small, tight smile and a nod. There are no words I can give to a relationship that never made any sense to me in the first place.
There is peace in death. And the death of their relationship is no different.
“Say something,” he whispers.
“Why?”
It’s probably the stupidest thing I could ask. It’s an answer that I certainly don’t need. I don’t think he has ever been truly happy. Even when he followed suit with Mom’s behavior, he never acted out in malice. He was simply … persuaded to act as less of a father toward me.
“Oh, Ivy. There are a million reasons. But we aren’t very good for each other. At least not anymore. As we got older, we simply grew apart rather than together, and now we both want very different things out of life.”
I nod in understanding. Growing together seems to be at the core of every successful relationship. And my mom much preferred to be a raging selfish bitch rather than grow as a person. As a couple. Good for him for putting himself out of his misery.
“As long as you’re happy, I’m happy for you, Dad.”
He nods and exhales slowly, clearly still carrying a burden on his shoulders.
“That’s not all …” he continues softly, worry suddenly streaking down his face. “Now, what I’m about to tell you, I don’t want it to make you upset.”
I look over my shoulder wishing Phoenix would magically appear. He gives me strength, and something in my dad’s face tells me I’m going to need all the strength I can get.
“It doesn’t change how I feel about you at all. But it’s something I’ve suspected for years.”
How he feels about me?
I pull my hand out from his to cross my arms and shift in my seat.
“Dad, you’re scaring me.”
“I really don’t know how to say this …” His eyes wander around the room, looking at everything but me.
“Dad!”
“You’re not my daughter,” he whispers and my insides drop to the floor. I feel as if I could throw up. “No, no. I mean, you are my daughter and always will be. You’re just … not mine. Biologically.”
He fumbles over his words as my heart sinks into the pit of my stomach. I swallow hard, reining in the need to vomit. It’s hard to fight the feeling when you’re suddenly this light-headed.
“But it doesn’t mean that I love you any less because you will always be my daughter in every sense of the word. And I will always be your dad.”
I don’t hear anything else he says over the pulsing beat of my heart in my ears. My hands tremble, and I close my eyes, trying my best to force a calming breath. The phrase not my daughter rings through my mind and leaves a biting taste in my mouth. He keeps talking, but I have no idea what he’s saying.
The one sliver of a redeeming person in my family isn’t really my family. I’m no
t even of his blood. And just because I share her blood doesn’t make her my family.
I finally have the answer I’ve been looking for.
Since birth, I have been a thorn in my mother’s side.
And now I know exactly why ... I am a constant reminder of her infidelity and she resents me.
I’ve wasted so much of my young life trying to figure out just what I did to her to make her hate me so much. I always just assumed it was because I was the rebel who couldn’t be contained.
But this?
This explains so much.
The never-ending disapproval. The constant comparison to Genevieve, Mother’s golden daughter. How her glare spoke volumes of loathing and contempt.
My thoughts shift outward when I feel him grabbing both of my shoulders, giving me a gentle shake. Sorrow pools in his eyes and instantly shatters what is left of my heart.
“I love you, Ivy. And that will never change.”
He may not be my father, but this man most certainly is my dad.
THAT NIGHT IN BED, PHOENIX curls up against my back and wraps his arms around me. I’ve been an incoherent mess since my dad left, but his very presence gives me sanity.
He switches from running his fingers through my hair to tracing his hands over my arm. His breath is hot as it skims the back of my neck each time he exhales, enveloping me in a warm embrace.
Phoenix brings his face down close to my ear. “I know there isn’t anything I can do or say right now to take away the hurt you’re feeling. But I want you to know if I could, I would—in a heartbeat. You’re not just someone important thing to me, Ivy. You’re my everything.”
I roll over to face Phoenix and he thumbs away a rogue tear from my cheek. I may be delicate right now, but he doesn’t treat me like glass.
“Listen to me, Ivy.” His eyes pierce mine, as his face turns flat, serious. He speaks slowly. Deliberately. “You know exactly who you are. Where you belong. And what you are—and aren’t—willing to compromise. Nothing from your past will ever shake that.”
I absorb his words and know he’s right. I bury my head in his shoulder. My shoulders quake, but his arms keep me whole.
“Thank you,” I whisper into the darkness between us. “Thank you for giving me strength.” And for loving me in spite of being screwed up and royally damaged.
He kisses the top of my head. “What can I say, Ivy? You’re my weakness. And I’d do absolutely anything for you.”
At that moment, I know he’s speaking the truth in his heart.
THE DAYS THAT FOLLOW MY dad’s visit spiral out of control. I have a hard time concentrating on work, and Brock has been increasingly more demanding. Farrah is all up my ass with details that don’t even matter yet, and I’m still not convinced Phoenix is telling me everything that plagues his mind.
I’ve never really understood the phrase “waiting for the other shoe to drop.” I mean, what’s so bad about a shoe dropping in the first place? Unless, of course, it’s the heel of your favorite pair slipping into the subway grates on the sidewalk. That happened to me this morning and subsequently ruined my red patent leather pumps.
Phoenix is stuck late at the office tonight, so I’ve become a permanent fixture on the couch eating Chinese take-out directly from the carton. And, of course, I’ve made a mess of things because I’m stubborn and insist on using the chopsticks. Which would be fine if I were capable of using them correctly. Which I am not.
I have the TV turned up so loud I barely hear my phone chime, alerting me to a new text message. Tossing the chopsticks onto the coffee table, I snatch up my phone and smile to see a message from Rachel.
Rachel: How are you holding up?
Ivy: Fine.
Rachel: Really? I don’t believe that for one second.
Ivy: Why? Is there a reason I shouldn’t be fine?
Rachel: Glad to see you’re still fluent in sarcasm. Seriously though, I can’t believe Genevieve did that. Are you okay?
Genevieve did what? And why the fuck am I the last to find out about everything these days?
I quickly dial Rachel’s number from memory.
“What are you talking about?” I command. No hello. No how are you. Just give me the answers.
“Genevieve. She went to the cops.”
Fuck.
“What? Why? She didn’t …”
“She did.”
“And?”
“Apparently that loving husband of hers beat the shit out of her.”
My stomach drops. From the fact he hit her or from the fact she still married him, I’m not entirely sure.
“She filed a police report. Has a restraining order. She’s building a case against him. Everything.”
I don’t say anything. The only thing I’m capable of doing is taking slow, shallow breaths. Even though my sister can be a raging cunt, I never would have wished this upon her. I would never wish this upon anyone.
“Hello? Ivy? Are you still there?”
“Yeah. I just …”
I stare off into space with no fucking clue how to process any of this. The memories rip my heart into countless shreds.
“I know. I wasn’t sure when or how you’d find out. I kind of already assumed your dad mentioned something when he was in town.”
I’m surprised he didn’t say anything either. Perhaps he doesn’t know? Or maybe he decided that dropping the hey, I’m not actually your dad bomb on me was more than enough news for one visit.
“No, he didn’t mention it. He was too busy telling me that my mom resents me because I’m a constant reminder of her inability to be faithful in their marriage.”
Rachel gasps into the phone. And doesn’t say anything. It’s official. The shit show that is my life has finally rendered my best friend speechless.
“Ivy. I …” she trails off, words failing her.
“It’s okay, Rachel. I’ve come to terms with it.”
I know it’s not okay, but I have to pretend that it is to keep my world from crumbling down on me. It’s like my brain knows that I’m only capable of processing little bits of life-altering news at one time and so I’m slowly getting a grip on the truth that is my life rather than falling completely off the deep end.
“It’s like the whole fucking universe is trying to screw me over right now. Karma is finally coming back to bite me in the ass for all those years of defiance and being a total bitch.”
“Karma Sutra!” Rachel snorts into the phone. “The universe has resulted in coming up with the most creative ways to fuck you over!”
I pull the phone away from my ear when she howls wildly on the other end of the line.
“It’s not funny, Rachel!”
She continues to cackle. “Admit it. It kind of is.”
Okay. It kind of is. But I’m not about to tell her that.
“I’m so glad I amuse you,” I deadpan. This girl is utterly ridiculous. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Oh, don’t get your panties tied up and twisted, Ivy. I’m only joking.”
“Allow me to take a page from your book, Rachel. Wasn’t it you who once said that it’s impossible to get your panties in a bunch when you’re not wearing any?”
She snorts into the other end and I’m thankful for the momentary reprieve from the heavy. Rachel takes a cleansing breath and brings me back to the matter at hand.
“What are you going to do? About Genevieve?”
Nothing. There’s not really anything I can do. Or want to do. I kind of just want to move on with my life and pretend nothing ever happened to me.
“I don’t know yet.” And that’s the honest truth. I don’t know.
“Well, I know you don’t want to hear it, but I do think you should at the very least consider making a statement.” She sighs heavily into the other end of the phone.
“You’re right,” I agree. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“Ivy …”
“Hey look, I need to get going.”
I’
m desperate to get off of the phone. I need to stay out of my own head and if I listen to Rachel prattle on about what I should or shouldn’t do with reporting Sully, I’m going to be sick.
“Fine. If I don’t talk to you again before the end of the week, have a wonderful birthday. Be sure to make that man of yours treat you right on my behalf.”
“Thanks, whore,” I tease. If she hadn’t reminded me, I probably would have forgotten all about my birthday.
“Love you, girly.”
“Love you, too.”
I hang up the phone and toss it on the couch next to me.
He hit her.
He actually hit my sister.
I chew on my cuticle and stare off into space, forcing myself to go numb.
Don’t think. Don’t feel. Just turn it all off.
I don’t want to feel anything right now. Especially not sympathy. And especially not for Genevieve.
THE WEEK THAT FOLLOWS PASS in a blur. I tried not to think about everything Rachel told me, but that was a recipe for disaster. The more effort you put into trying not to think about something, the more it consumes your every waking moment. Eventually, it eats away at me until I confess the conversation to Phoenix after pushing my dinner around on my plate for the better part of an hour.
“He hit her?” he says, shaking his head in disbelief. “I mean, I always knew he had an anger problem and control issues … but I never took him as that kind of guy.”
I scoff but don’t bother correcting him. What would he really expect of his former best friend who drugged and raped unsuspecting girls? The real shocker for everyone should be that he hasn’t been caught fucking things up before now. But that’s Phoenix for you, I suppose. Always wanting to see and believe the good in everyone.
“Listen, I don’t want to talk about right or wrong or good or bad with Sully. We both know his true colors, and I’ve experienced firsthand what he’s capable of. I just … I don’t know. I feel partly responsible for what just happened to Genevieve. If I had reported things when they first happened months ago, maybe this wouldn’t have happened? He could have been shipped off to jail and never married Gen. I mean, my family would hate me for even more reasons, but at least this wouldn’t have happened.”