“Have I mentioned how much I love your hair?” I ask, reaching up and coiling some around my finger.
“You have. A few times.” She gives a small smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and I decide then that those crinkles might be my second favorite feature of hers.
“Hmm … this probably won't be the last time.” I let her hair slip off my finger and watch the curl reform.
She smiles and shakes her head, but she takes my hand.Shetakesmyhand. It’s the first time she’s done it, and I count it as a major win.
“Please. Just some small earrings. Or a bracelet if you’d rather.”
“No,” she whispers to keep from drawing attention. We wandered into Whitefriars, a crowded shopping area near where I had parked the car, and I brought her to a stop in front of a jewelry store.
“Come on, it’s part of pretending. If this were real, I’d getyou any jewelry you wanted.”
“But when this is over, I would still have it, and I don’t think I’d want it. And I already have the dresses.”
“Oh. I understand. It would make you miss me.” I nod as if this were an undeniable fact. And maybe it is, and this is simply another way she’s protecting her future self. As much as I hate it and wish to shower her with gifts, I get it.
She just shakes her head and smiles up at me. “There’s a man over there with blown glass. He’s got a screen showing him making them. So cool. Let’s go watch.” She’s clearly trying to distract me, and I let her.
We arrive just in time to see the recorded version of the man in front of us bringing the long tube with molten glass on the other end to his lips. He blows and spins and works the glass. I wish I could see it in person.
I pick up one of the finished pieces, a blue, white, and clear vase. “I’m going to get this for a friend back home.”
I pay as Ivy continues to watch the video demonstration.
“So who is this friend who will love that vase?” she asks as we walk away.
“I hope she’ll love it. I’ve made friends with a couple who own a restaurant that I love. I mentioned them when we were talking about your restaurant the other day. Mrs. Parker is almost always wearing this shade of blue when I see her. I’m guessing it’s her favorite. And Mr. Parker is always buying herflowers, so I thought she could put it to good use.”
“That was awfully thoughtful of you.”
I shrug. “They’re the best. Honestly, they’re the closest thing I have to family now.”
She gives me a sweet smile. “So do you just go around befriending restaurateurs?”
That makes me chuckle. “I’d not thought about it, but I suppose I do.”
It looks like she’s about to say something when we’re interrupted.
“Alexander Henry! Oh my gosh! Can we take a picture with you?” Two girls, seeming to be in their early twenties, rush up and into my space. The girl who didn’t speak shoulders Ivy back, then presses her phone into Ivy’s hands without so much as a glance, much less a request of her.
“I would have been glad to take a photo with you; however, you running over here, pushing my friend, then shoving your phone into her hands, and disrespectfully interrupting our conversation has left me inclined not to.” I take the phone from Ivy and pass it back to its owner. “I’m a person, and you’re not entitled to my time just because you’ve seen my movies. And I certainly won't reward you treating my friends like they’re invisible. Goodbye.”
I turn from the stunned girls. Ivy looks at me, eyes wide, as I place my arm on the small of her back and lead her from theshopping center. I fume silently, until she stops, looks at me and smiles. “I’m gonna buy you a snack,” she says.
She’d spotted a falafel street vendor and now leads the way toward the delicious-smelling foods.
We order chicken shawarma and falafel, and once again, I’m delighted to watch her eat. No wonder she opened a restaurant. She clearly enjoys food and the experience of trying new things. Her eyes light up when she takes her first bite of the shaved chicken and sauce in pita bread.
I want to take her everywhere just to feed her all the best food the world has to offer.
“Enjoying that?” I ask as I take a seat beside her. We’ve found a spot nearby on top of a short wall, away from the crowd.
She’s still chewing, but she smiles and gives me a look that saysyou know good and well that I am.
Ivy finishes her bite, and I notice a drop of sauce on the corner of her mouth. I take the napkin from underneath the tray of falafel in my hand and slowly bring it to the corner of her mouth, cleaning the spot.
“You know, you could have just told me,” she teases.
