“That’s dangerous. Especially for me, based on the look on your face.” I cock an eyebrow at her.
She grins. “You would get to pick my song too. It’s an equal risk.”
“Is it, though?” I smile and look at her doubtfully.
“It will be fun,” she singsongs.
“You’ve got yourself a deal.” I hold out my hand and she shakes it. She steps back from the book. “I know what I’m picking for you, but I want you to go after me so I’m gonna wait for you to sign me up.”
I shake my head and act annoyed by her control of the situation. “That’s fine.”
Ten minutes later, I’m sitting alone in the audience at our little round table, and Ivy steps onto the stage. Someone whistles, and I’m glad I don’t know who it was, and I won’t take the time to look. My eyes are glued to the woman on stage. Her eyes light up with laughter when she sees her song on the screen.
I choseLady in Redby Chris de Burgh, because she is the lady in red and I hope she’ll dance with me later. After karaoke, this place changes to a dance club and there’s nothing I want more right now than to hold her in my arms.
Ivy has a lovely voice. She’s not getting nominated for a Grammy, but still, I never want to stop listening. I’m mesmerized by the way the light hits her, illuminating the colors of her hair, and highlighting the curves of her body. It’s like she was made to be onstage.
She sways gently as she sings, and I’m hit with an image so unexpected that it takes me out of the moment for a second. It’s Ivy, still swaying, but with a baby cradled in her arms. My baby. My heart squeezes and I take a deep breath. Children have always been this nebulous idea, something I imagined would happen someday when I found the right person, but this feeling—this knowing—it’s so strong. I want Ivy and this mysterious baby, and I don’t care what I have to sacrifice to have them.
Because, in the end, I know it won’t feel like a sacrifice.
When I step onto the stage, there is a period of silence when the clapping dies down, and then people realize who I am. Then people scream and clap louder, every phone in the room points at me. I can’t sing terribly well. I’m not a musician, but I can see the appeal. The energy is electric.
I give Ivy a look like,look I’ve already done better than you, and laugh. Then I look at the screen and find my song.Wanna Beby the Spice Girls. Wow, Ivy. Well done. I look back out at Ivy, and she has her head thrown back in laughter. She thinks she has got me good. But she’s forgotten one thing. I’m a performer.
I don’t need the screen; those lyrics were burned into mybrain in primary school when every girl I knew dreamed of being a Spice Girl.
I danced and hammed it up for the crowd. For Ivy. I look at her every chance I get, and each time her smile threatens to knock me off the stage. My song ends to riotous applause, and I’m afraid they won’t let me back off the stage. Back to Ivy. But they do. They make a path, and smile and offer high-fives, as I walk toward the green eyes that I can’t wait to drink in.
I take my seat and Ivy speaks, only I can’t hear her over the still-roaring crowd. She tries again, resting her cheek against mine as she leans in and whispers, “That’s my favorite thing from this entire trip.”
I chuckle. “Even better than fish and chips?”
“That’s not a fair comparison,” she says, but doesn’t elaborate. She laughs as she leans back in her chair.
The crowd continues to be excited as we witness a moving, if more than slightly off-key, rendition ofI Will Always Love you—Whitney Houston’s version. And then karaoke closes with a bloody brilliant cover ofLocked Out of Heaven.
Staff and patrons, me included, move the tables and chairs to the perimeter of the room to make a dance floor; then the lights dim, and music fills the air.
“Dance with me, darling?” I ask, once again having to lean in for her to hear.
“I would be delighted,” Ivy responds in her best Englishaccent. Life with her would be fun and exciting. I know that for sure.
Guiding her onto the dance floor, my hand rests on her lower back, feeling the warmth of her body through the silk of her dress. My entire being is focused on that point of contact.At first, the music is energetic and playful. There isn’t a lot of contact between us, but our eyes are locked in on each other.
After a couple of songs, the music slows, and I wrap Ivy in my arms, and she steps into me like she knows she belongs right here. A cover ofI Can’t Help Falling in Love With Youis playing, and I’m hoping Ivy is paying attention. I hope she’s thinking about falling in love. I know I am.
I trail one hand from her lower back up her spine to the skin I meet halfway, and she shivers. She had wrapped her arms around my middle, but I take them and slide them up my chest and leave them over my shoulders. I rest my forehead against hers for a moment as we sway. Then I kiss her cheek and speak into her ear, “You areeverythingI will ever dream about. I know you know I don’t want this to end, but I want you to know that I will never get over this feeling. It’s like I’ve been stumbling around in the dark, and then I bumped into you.”
Ivy brings her hands to my neck and gently guides my head back to look at her. She stares into my eyes like she's trying to see my past and my future. The gentle touch of her fingers moving into my hair and down onto my neck, over andover, helps keep me grounded while I wait for whatever it is she’s gonna say or do. I can’t help pulling her closer, and when I do I see her gaze flick down to my lips. My heart rate instantly doubles.
Ivy tilts her chin up to me, then slowly brings her lips a breath from mine. “I wanna try this,” she breathes just loud enough for me to hear over the music. I’m not sure whatthisshe means exactly, but whatever it is, I’m up for it. Ivy slides her fingers into my hair and brings her lips to mine.
My world turns upside down.
It’s like breathing for the first time.
Like all my hopes and dreams—past, present, and future—have met in this moment to explode like fireworks around us.
