by Marie Landry
A flash of purple catches in my peripheral vision as someone sits beside me. I know it’s Ivy even before her small hand settles on my leg. I take a moment to study her dainty diamond circlet engagement ring, even though I’ve seen it a million times. It gives me a chance to brace myself for the conversation I know is coming. I didn’t miss the looks she and Piper gave me over the past hour as I chugged coffee and avoided chiming in during the group discussion.
“I wasn’t sure if we’d see you here tonight.” From anyone else, that statement would likely sound passive-aggressive, but Ivy’s words are laced with concern. “You’ve been like a one-woman tornado lately, whipping into work, going at warp speed, then disappearing as soon as your shift is over. Celia said she’s hardly seen you either.”
Luckily, I came prepared for this. When I first met Ivy, she was working full-time for Quest Marketing Solutions. At the time, Celia had dropped out of college and was living with Ivy; the two had grown up together, although they were never close, and the aunt and uncle who raised Ivy guilted her into letting Celia live with her temporarily. Celia had trouble keeping a job, but she came up with a scheme to work at Santa’s Village that involved Ivy doing her the mother of all favors: being a part-time elf for the holiday season. Ivy was desperate for Celia to move out, so she went along with it, working her regular hours at Quest, then doing a part-time evening shift at the Village.
“You know what it’s like when you’re working both a full-time and a part-time job,” I say with what I hope is a casual shrug. “You just keep chugging along or you’ll be dead on your feet.” Ivy and I became fast friends during our time together as elves, and I remember being so in awe of her…and also thinking she was completely nuts for working two jobs, favor or not. Now here I am living a similar life. I try to ignore the little voice in my head that says Ivy’s situation was temporary and mine has no foreseeable end in sight.
Ivy chuckles. “I don’t miss those days,” she says. “Even though I still technically work two jobs, I basically get to set my own hours, so it’s nowhere near as hectic as that was. Most of the time, anyway.”
“Is everything okay with work? And with you and Hugh?” I genuinely care—Ivy is my best friend—but this also gives me an opportunity to steer the focus away from myself. I was known for being a good listener long before I started working for HTC, and I’ve always been able to deal with other people’s problems more easily than my own.
“Everything is great. I love running the Village with Hugh, and helping to manage Piper’s bookstore in the Village is a dream come true for me. So…yeah. Everything is great.” She almost had me convinced until her gaze dropped to her lap—specifically the circle of diamonds on her left ring finger.
“Have you guys made any plans for the wedding yet?” Ivy and Hugh got engaged several months ago. Ivy’s other best friend Bridget, plus Piper, Celia, and I were all ready to start helping them plan the wedding, but Ivy said they’d decided on a long engagement.
“Umm, not really. I know it probably seems like we’re stalling, but it’s not that. We’re madly in love and we already live together, so it’s kind of just a formality at this point. I suggested eloping since neither of us has much family and there’s no need for a big wedding. Then Hugh suggested taking everyone to Scotland and doing it there.”
“How do you feel about that?” I ask.
Biting her lip, she gives me a sidelong glance. “I actually kind of love the idea,” she says with the first hint of excitement I’ve heard from her lately in regard to the wedding. “I hate the thought of getting married without you guys there. You all mean so much to both of us.”
“I think a wedding in Scotland would be pretty freaking epic,” I tell her, giving her a little nudge with my elbow. “Ultimately, it’s about what works for the two of you and what feels right. Whether that’s Scotland or eloping or something else, and whether it’s this year or five years from now, you know we’ll all support you.”
She bobs her head, her dark hair falling forward from where it’s tucked behind her ears. I expect her to push it back, and when she doesn’t, I wonder if she’s leaving it as a curtain of sorts between us.
“Ivy.” I gently brush her hair back, leaving my hand on her shoulder. “What’s going on?”
She inhales deeply through her nose. As she exhales, she blurts, “I thought I was pregnant.”
I blink at her in surprise, unsure if I even heard her correctly. “You…thought?” I ask carefully.
After a quick glance around to make sure nobody is within earshot, she inches her chair closer to mine. “I was late and I’m never late. Hugh and I are always careful, but you know nothing is foolproof. After a week, I bought a pregnancy test, but I got my period before I had a chance to do the test.”
Her words are void of emotion, so I’m not sure how to react. One of the things we learned in HTC training—and something I learned from Hugh, who was a psychologist in Scotland before he moved here—is the importance of getting someone to open up by asking about their feelings. So even though I already asked, I ask again, “How do you feel about that?”
“Relieved?” The quiet admission sounds like a question. “And guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Have you talked to Hugh about this? About thinking you were pregnant and feeling relieved to find out you’re not?”
“No.” This time the lone word sounds anguished. I take her hand and she grips mine tightly. “We normally talk about everything, but he’s got a lot going on right now working on some deals for his investment company. I didn’t want to add to it by telling him. You know what he’s like—he’d want to know exactly how I’m feeling and what he can do for me, and I love him for that and I know I’m lucky because not every guy is like that, but…” She stops abruptly, sucking in a deep breath. “But…I also know it would mean having the ‘baby talk’ and I’m not sure where my head is at with that right now.”
“Want to talk to me about it?” I ask. “You could practice what you’d say to Hugh. I can even try to fake a Scottish accent for you if you want.”
She smiles faintly. “I don’t think we need to go that far.” She’s quiet for a moment, studying our joined hands. I’m about to tell her we don’t have to talk about it when she says, “I’m not sure if I want kids. I grew up assuming I’d have one or two because that’s what we’re taught to think, you know?” She meets my eyes and I nod emphatically; I never felt the pressure from my mom, but have definitely felt it from society as a whole.
“But when it comes down to it, I don’t know if I actually want any,” she continues. “I feel like I’m missing that mom gene or something. I adored my parents, but they weren’t exactly warm and fuzzy. And you know what my aunt and uncle are like.” Ivy’s parents died when she was twelve and her aunt and uncle took her in; I never met the Chens because they moved back to China a year or so before I met Ivy, but from what I’ve heard they’re about as warm as the far reaches of Siberia.
“So you’re worried about how you’d be as a parent?” I ask.
“Yes and no. Hugh would be an amazing dad, so I’m sure I’d learn a lot from him. Plus instinct is supposed to kick in once you actually have kids, right? I just want to be sure if I have a child it’s because I want one and not because I should want one. Parenthood shouldn’t be an experiment.”
A bittersweet smile twists my lips. Ivy tilts her head back, shaking out her hair. Her eyes meet mine, and they go so wide it’s almost comical. “Oh my god, Mer, I’m sorry, I—”
“Stop. It’s fine.” I squeeze her hand. “I completely agree with you that parenthood shouldn’t be an experiment.” And while I do agree with her, I wouldn’t be here otherwise. At the time I was born, my mom was a children’s aid worker, dealing mostly with young, single mothers. My biological mother, who was barely seventeen when I was born, had already had a baby who’d been taken away and placed into foster care. For whatever reason, when she got pregnant with me she was determined to k
eep me and give me a good life.
My mom worked closely with her from the moment I was born, and my birth mother seemed to give parenting her all for the first two weeks. But then one day my mom got a call to meet my bio mom at her apartment; when she arrived, the place had been emptied, and I was lying in my crib in the middle of the room. My mom took me home with her, nursed me back to health, and fought her hardest to keep me. After months of red tape and mountains of paperwork, she was given the green light to go ahead with adoption papers, and I was officially hers.
I clear my throat, trying to dislodge the boulder of emotion stuck there. I can’t allow even a single tear to fall because this isn’t about me. It’s about Ivy and her feelings and what she needs, and right now she needs me to be strong. Ivy’s hand tightens around mine, making me realize I’ve been squeezing hers with bone-crushing intensity. So much for not showing my emotions.
“You need to talk to Hugh.” If Ivy notices the wobble in my voice, she doesn’t react. “I know he’s busy, but he’d be the first to say he’s never too busy for you. Find a time where it’s just the two of you with no distractions, and tell him everything. Tell him about the pregnancy scare and the fact you were relieved when you realized you weren’t pregnant. Tell him about your doubts and fears and what you want from your future. You might be on the same page and all your worry is for nothing.”
She nods along as I speak, her lips pressed together. I feel like there’s something she wants to say, so I bump my leg against hers, raising my eyebrows. Finally, she says, “Hugh loves kids, Meredith. That’s the whole reason he started Santa’s Village and then turned it into a year-round thing. It’s the reason he started the Bookworm program for underprivileged kids.”
“Just because he loves kids doesn’t necessarily mean he wants any himself. Maybe he just loves to make them happy and help them, but considers it something to leave at the office, you know? Either way, you won’t know until you talk to him.”
Ivy lets out the longest sigh I’ve ever heard. “You’re right.” She tugs on my hand, drawing me closer so we can hug. “You’re amazing.”
“You’re pretty great yourself,” I murmur into her hair. “And hey, you can talk to me anytime, you know that, right? I may have a lot going on, but I always have time for you. Okay?” She makes a small sound of agreement and I jiggle her until she starts laughing.
“Okay, okay, I promise I’ll talk to you!” She releases me and I notice immediately how much more open her expression is. “I’m going to go get a cookie before they’re all gone. You coming?”
“I’ll be there in a minute. Save me something good, ’kay?”
Ivy leans over to kiss my cheek before popping out of her seat and heading for the refreshments. I sit back in my chair, turning my attention toward the window and the dark evening beyond. Despite nearly every conversation I have lately making me miss my mom fiercely, this one has also left me with a case of the warm fuzzies, knowing I helped someone I love feel better. But it’s also made me realize how wrapped up in myself I’ve been. I’ve been so busy and so stressed I didn’t even see Ivy was going through something until it practically slapped me in the face.
Ivy would be genuinely dismayed if she found out all I’m dealing with on my own, especially after my insistence she talk to me about her problems. I just can’t bring myself to open up about everything. Not yet. There’s nothing anyone can do except sympathize, and I’m afraid that sympathy would erode what’s left of my strength.
But I need to remember I’m not the only one going through stuff. I need to be a better friend.
“Meredith, I’ve set aside the last two shortbread cookies for you, but I’m afraid someone’s going to fight me for them,” Piper calls from across the room.
Forcing a smile onto my face, I jump up and head for the refreshment table. It’s going to be a long night, but right now I need to be present for my friends. When did life become such a juggling act?
CHAPTER SIX
Kieran suggested Connelly’s Pub for our next meet-up with his parents. I suspect they’re used to something fancier, which is why I proposed Luigi’s for our first meeting, but I can’t argue with Connelly’s. It’s one of my regular places and a long-time favorite among Village employees, so I know the food is great and the atmosphere is casual and comfortable.
Despite promising to meet Kieran early so we could have a few minutes to ourselves, I get caught up in management stuff at the Village minutes before I’m due to leave. Short of walking out on the two employees having a dispute, I have to wait until things get sorted. Between that and the fact I’ve been averaging about four hours of sleep for the past several nights, I’m a wreck.
By the time I reach Connelly’s, my heart is racing and I’m so out of breath you’d think I had run here instead of driving. If I were to examine my body’s reaction a little closer and be perfectly honest with myself, I’m sure I’d realize the majority of my anxiety is coming not from the fact I’m late and hate being late, but from the thought of seeing Kieran again after our last encounter.
Before getting out of the car, I take a minute to catch my breath and collect myself. I flip the visor down to check my reflection and make sure I don’t look like a sweaty, disheveled mess. When my phone vibrates in my purse for the second time in as many minutes, I don’t bother checking it since it’s likely Kieran texting to see where the hell I am.
I rush inside and almost head upstairs to the pub by force of habit. Changing course, I veer toward the dining room, waving at the hostess as I bypass her when I spot Kieran’s wavy hair not far away. He and his parents are at a table for four, with Kieran seated next to his mother, and his dad across from her. Kieran spots me first and he hops to his feet to greet me.
“I’m so sorry I’m late, I got held up at work and—”
“Don’t worry about it, you’re here now.” Kieran gives me a tight smile. There’s a hint of relief in it, making me wonder if he thought I’d bailed on him after all. He inches toward me, his arms twitching at his sides. It dawns on me he’s as unsure as I am about how to proceed.
I close the distance between us, giving him a quick hug, along with an over-enthusiastic thump on the back. The kind of hug I imagine someone would give their brother. I release him quickly, turning my attention to his mom, who greets me warmly and insists I call her Maeve. I brace myself to greet Mr. O’Malley and nearly do a double take when I find him standing behind my chair, waiting for me to sit.
“Thank you,” I say, flopping inelegantly into the seat. My purse falls to the floor, and rather than picking it up I simply kick it under the table. God, Meredith, get it together. “I hope you three weren’t waiting long.”
“Not at all, dear,” Maeve assures me. She seems more relaxed than she did last week. Maybe not having her older children around takes some of the pressure off. Or maybe the half-drunk glass of wine in front of her has something to do with it.
“Meredith.”
My head snaps up to meet Kieran’s eyes. The way he’s looking at me makes me think this isn’t the first time he’s said my name. My gaze drops again to where I’ve mindlessly been straightening everything within reach—my napkin and silverware, the menu, the salt and pepper shakers. He reaches out to cover my hands with his. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, you seem flustered, dear,” Maeve says. “Are you quite all right?”
I open my mouth to answer, but Mr. O’Malley cuts in with, “Have you two had a lover’s spat?”
Kieran’s fingers spasm where they rest on top of mine. “Can’t have a lover’s spat when you’re not lovers.”
I wish they’d stop saying ‘lovers’. For some reason the word is making my cheeks tingle, which likely means I’m blushing. Which, I’m sure, will make Kieran’s asshat of a dad think he’s right.
Kieran leans closer and I meet his concerned blue gaze. “Can I talk to you for a second? Alone?”
“Oh.” I sit up straighter, shooting a glance at Maeve
before looking back at Kieran. “Wouldn’t that be rude?”
His lips press together and he rolls his eyes, tilting his head toward his father in a gesture that clearly conveys a sarcastic ‘please’. I suppose he’s right. Why worry about being rude when you’re at a table with someone who treats you like you’re too stupid to know your own mind.
“Excuse us for a moment,” Kieran says, mostly addressing his mother as he rises from his seat. I stand too and he puts his hand on the small of my back, guiding me to the quiet corridor where the bathrooms and staff room are.
During the short walk, I give myself a stern talking to. It basically goes like this: Get your shit together, Meredith. And if you can’t do that, at least pretend you’re a functioning adult. Kieran has enough stress to deal with from his parents, so don’t add to it with your weirdness. In fact, don’t let there be weirdness.
By the time we stop walking, I don’t even give him a chance to speak before I say, “I really am sorry I was late. I had a work issue and I haven’t been getting much sleep, so my brain is just—” I make an exploding motion with my hands around my head. I expect him to laugh or at least crack a smile, but if anything he looks more concerned than before. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. I know things got a bit awkward between us the other night, but that doesn’t have to carry over into today. I’ll be by your side to lend you support, and then…”
“And then.” He phrases it like a statement rather than a question. He knows what comes next. We go our separate ways and likely never see each other again.
Unable to meet his eyes, I stare straight ahead at his chest. He’s wearing a denim jacket over a black shirt, paired with dark jeans. He’s the perfect mixture of sexy and adorable, and it makes me want to snuggle him, which would cause a whole new set of problems. “Your parents will be returning to Ireland soon and you’ll figure out what you want to do. Whether you decide to stick around, continue with school, and maybe try to make some friends, or you ultimately decide to go home, just remember the decision is yours.”