I can’t help but swing my head toward her source of happiness, and my distraction causes me to stumble toward the barre. I grasp it tightly with my free hand, still craning my neck toward the lobby. His presence overwhelms me before I see him. The man I never thought I’d see again is standing just a few feet away from the studio doorway. The other parents are busy scrolling on their phones around him, completely oblivious to his tall, broad shoulders, his messy black hair that curls around the ends in different directions, and those whiskey-colored eyes that once marked me for life.
But it only takes five seconds before I clock all the changes in the man who once captured my attention so strongly. The man in the lobby of my dance studio is familiar and unfamiliar in so many ways.
Immediately, I notice his aloofness. Even from afar, his eyes are stormy. His jaw could cut glass. His posture is tense. There’s nothing playful or easy about him. The only break in his somber countenance is when his eyes move to Emmy’s as she waves at him. They soften just slightly before lifting to mine once more.
I can’t control it. My stomach leaps, and then it sinks. The truth settles as I turn toward my class, forcing myself to smile for them. The man that she calls her dad is the hollow version of the man I spent the most magical evening with, the man who didn’tshow up for me when I wanted him to the most, and the man who never got another chance.
My heart races before it breathes out one single word:Jace.
Chapter Six
Jace
Ivy.
My heart breathes the name. It’s the only sense of starlight that has shone through my thoughts over the past few years. Emmy, my daughter, has been my sun. It’s she who has driven me to get out of bed in the morning and keep moving. But just the thought of Ivy—her very existence—has been the compass, the ticking clock, that’s given my nights a reason not to let the darkness swallow me whole. All those years ago, I choked on the disappointment that I couldn’t get to her at the ice-skating rink. It has torn at my heart for years.
But tonight, as if the past eight years didn’t happen, she pulled on my heartstrings in a way no woman but Ivy ever has.
Since Emmy and I have moved into town temporarily, I realized running into her was inevitable after I saw her face on the dance studio’s promotional flyer at the French bakery. Emmy saw it too. That’s why we walked into the dance studio in the first place. I never looked Ivy up once her brother confronted me. So, I’ll admit I dreaded the possibility of reuniting with her.But the sight of Ivy in person tonight did something to me that I didn’t expect. Her presence became paddles to the heart after it failed. The sensation was like my nerves having blood flow to them again.
Ivy is everything life doesn’t seem to want me to have, and that stings.
I tried to connect with her again. I truly did. And I’ll never forget the look on her brother’s face when he told me not to bother. He said that she’d gone back to New York City and was getting ready for another show.I was the distraction her dream didn’t need.
Having Ivy slip through my hands at that time in my life—losing her along with everything else—was enough to nearly drive me mad. After that night, I didn’t feel like I had anything to offer her, so I left without a word. Since then, I’ve grown up. Everything is more serious. Nothing holds the same joy. I’m a shadow of the man I was, and I’m aware of who I’ve become.
Now, I walk the charming, idyllic streets of Birch Borough as the evening deepens and I wait for Emmy’s dance class to be finished, wishing I’d never returned. My hands clench, the bitter cold whispering against my cheeks, reminding me that we’re nearly a month away from Christmas. What was once my favorite season has become a source of my greatest pain. Apart from the brightness that seems to radiate from my daughter Emmy’s eyes, I haven’t been in the spirit.
Christmas shouldn’t make me grumpy. But it does. I’ve come to think there’s too much fanfare around the idea of things magically changing around this holiday. It’s like one winter day, our lives are suddenly going to shift and allow us to embrace our best selves while forgetting the crummy things that happened earlier in the year. It’s a nice idea, just not practical.
And while I would love to imagine that my fractured heart will repair itself when Santa makes an appearance, I know it’s not possible. Because there’s no amount of Christmas magic that can make things right with Ivy again. I let myself believe in the restorative power of the holiday years ago, but after what happened that fateful night, I’m still choking ondisappointment. The last glimpse of Ivy’s smile as we parted at the skating rink is the memory I’ve tried to hold on to, starting during that night I waited outside the hospital until my limbs were frozen and the staff reminded me to go home.
The memory of our first date causes me to bristle. I wrap my coat more tightly around me. This town feels like a ghost town now, but I’m drawn to it as a space to revisit and remember the times that broke my heart.
“Hey, buddy! Watch where you’re going!” an older man clutching a box of wrapped gifts yells while passing me.
Lost in my thoughts, I almost barreled into him on the sidewalk. I can’t bring myself to even apologize. Instead, I ignore him, the sting of grief gripping my throat again.
Eight years ago, I got a call that my sister, Mina, was in a car accident while I was on my way to meet Ivy for our second date. By the time I got to the hospital, Edgar and Angie were inconsolable. We lost her that night. The grief was insurmountable. Mina was my confidante, my cheerleader. Without her, nothing could ever be the same.
It took weeks before I could get through a day without crying, months before I could see a pack of M&Ms without doing the same. In the process of it all, I lost Ivy as well.
Like an idiot, I once believed in fate. I didn’t get Ivy’s number and didn’t make an alternate plan. People miss out on life-changing moments every day. I never wanted to miss out on Ivy.
Since then, I’ve taken out the grief of it all on the punching bag I’ve come to call my anchor, the custom furniture I’ve completed to keep my sanity and make me feel useful, and the hours I’ve spent reading parenting books.
I walk past another storefront, trying to loop through this entire town while Emmy is in her dance class. If I stop, I might scream.
This winter has been another reminder that the things that used to bring me joy no longer do. I want to be the kid I’ve seen in pictures, the version of myself that was happy to suspend belief and wait for Santa, the sibling who would laugh with my sisters and brother and spend all night playing board games and drinking hot chocolate before we passed out in front of the television with powdered chocolate crusted to our faces. As easily as I could fall back into craving just the sight of Ivy, I’m choosing to retreat into the grumpy shell that’s become my armor.
I’m not the same man she met. I was more innocent before the circumstances that caused me to mishandle the heartache of changing plans. The night of my sister’s accident left me reeling. Losing my chance with Ivy put me in a lengthy downward spiral. The result was that I made choices I didn’t like for a few years following the accident. There’s no way I could have a chance with her now, I tell myself, steeling my heart against the crackle near my spine that feels like heat and hope connecting.
Ivy.
Just her name is enough to set me on edge. She’s as beautiful as I remember, the years only deepening her beauty. Her hair is like antique gold, classic and yet mesmerizing. Her eyes can still arrest my heart and call for it to want love again. They’re the exact shade of rich, hot cocoa—the good kind with quality, melted chocolate in warm milk that begs to be topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings, the kind of sweet treat that is more concentrated around the edges with a warmth that could tempt me to stay longer than I planned.
I can’t stay longer than I planned. If it weren’t for my siblings, I wouldn’t be in Birch Borough at all. Angie invited us here so I could help Edgar at the boxing studio for a short time before Emmy and I head to Florida to be with my parents. I’m still building furniture and growing my business. I’ve addedtraining boxers to be at their fittest to my resume. I’m good at these things. They’ve been in my bones since I was a young boy. Now, these pursuits keep my schedule flexible so I am able to be around when Emmy needs me most.
