Ivy is singing along with my girls to the Ms. Rachel playlist, which makes it much easier to repeat to myself that she is just a friend. A backup version of Carlie right now.
Yes, she’s beautiful. Yes, she’s caring. This does not mean I should think about dating her. About how easily she’s slipped into our lives in only a day.
She’s a novelty, I tell myself. The girls think she’s the greatest because she’s new and fun.
She said herself that she doesn’t do relationships, and I will not go there again.
Ivy turns to me, smiling as she belts out the chorus to “Old McDonald.” A curly piece of hair at the side of her face has worked its way out of the ponytail and is tempting me to reach over and tuck it behind her ear. My heart does that little hiccup thing again at the happiness in her dancing blue eyes.
Maybe the way my heart is acting is a weird symptom of my migraine? One that’s hanging in there despite the headache, aura, and nausea being pretty much gone?
If Ivy wasn’t sitting next to me, I’d do a full facepalm.
I’m not stupid. I’m attracted to her and I see that. I’ll keep reminding myself that we’re just friends and only friends and wemust stay friends. I interacted with Ivy plenty of times before she moved back to Nashville and was just her friend then. No attraction, no desire to put my hands in her hair ever.
Of course, Shelby had just barely left and I was desperate for help. Margot Robbie could have flirted with me, and I wouldn’t have realized it.
As they launch into the next song, Ivy bobbing her head to the beat like it’s K-Pop, I bite back a smile and start listing reasons we have to stay friends.
I’m a dad in my late thirties with a demanding career. I already don’t have enough time for my daughters. Where would agirlfriendfit in?
Ivy lives several states away in Nashville.
Just because she’s the girls’ new bestie doesn’t mean she wants to be around them all the time. Or that she’d even be good with kids if she had to be with them all the time. Ivy doesn’t want a relationship, so she probably doesn’t plan on having kids any time soon either.
The sophisticated hand clap thing she’s doing with Scarlett right now suggests otherwise.
“Is the headache coming back on?” Ivy asks in a low voice as a new song starts.
“What? No. Why?” I glance over at her as I turn into the parking lot for the skating rink.
“You’re clenching your jaw pretty tight.” She eyes me like she thinks I’m lying.
“Letting worries get to me. I’m fine,” I insist.
She nods, her expression relaxing and the press of her lips sayingI get that. Does Ivy’s easy sympathy come from years as a life coach, or is she just that kind of person? Probably both.
Comparing Ivy to Shelby isn’t healthy—especially since it’s easy to see all the ways Ivy is more caring and thoughtful than my ex. Shelby is a drug addict, but she wasn’t always. And even then? It was rare for her to care about what I was thinking. She was the sun my gravitational pull centered on, and she washappy for it to be that way. I think that’s why, despite all the times she told me she never wanted to get married, she’s the one who said we should get engaged after we’d been dating a couple years. Then the girls were born and that pull shifted. Shelby was still in my orbit, but she had to share space with Scarlett and Zoey, and she wasn’t the center anymore. Maybe that was the initial fissure that started breaking us apart.
The girls insist on holding Ivy’s hands as we walk toward the rink at McGregor Square next to Coors Stadium. The area is bustling with cheerful holiday shoppers, and the rink is busy but not too crowded. I settle for walking next to them, and Scarlett reaches up for my hand with a pleased grin.
We look like a happy family out to celebrate Christmas Eve, all of us bundled up in coats and hats, our noses and cheeks pink with the cold.
Thoughts like that aren’t helping anything.
I turn away from staring at Ivy and the cute way she’s got several layers on to stay warm—a thick Pumas hoodie with the hood peeking out over a puffy coat that goes to her mid-thigh and a thick, knitted beanie she pulled on when we got out of the car.
My phone dings with a text notification, which is a welcome distraction. I frown in confusion, though, when I see that it’s Dane Wilstead, one of my close friends and a surgeon I consult with on a regular basis. I open up the text quickly to see X-rays of a fracture to the tibial plateau on a thirty-two-year-old male and asking what kind of plates I have for him to stabilize it. I tap a reminder that I’m out of town and my colleague, Megan, is on call until I get back.
Dane
Totally forgot. Hope you’re having a great time. You deserve it, but I can’t wait to have you back.
“Daddy? Look! There’s where we get our skates.” Scarlettpulls my attention from my phone, and I type a quickthanksto Dane before pocketing it.
Icanwait until I get back. Even though it’s only been a couple days, and one of them was dominated by a massive headache, I’ve enjoyed having all this uninterrupted time with my daughters. It’s felt easy and uncomplicated. I’m not wary of the next call or text that will take me away from them. Ever since Shelby left, the thoughts that I should switch to something less demanding have been getting louder in my brain. And they’re being joined recently by feelings that I don’t need to hustle to make more money than we need. The big house Shelby wanted in River Oaks feels like too much now, empty and full of things I want to forget.
We get into line at the skate shop, and I focus on being present with the girls as they chatter excitedly to Ivy about the twirls and tricks they’re going to do. Ivy shares a look with me over the tops of their heads, a secret smile about the little girls envisioning themselves as figure skating pros. They’ve been a few times this winter with Carlie, but I’m not sure they’re ready for a triple axel.
