He knew she was devastated after I ghosted her. Though I explained it was unintentional, he didn’t relent. I couldn’t blame him. I was younger. I was naïve then.
All these years later, I’ve come to realize that it’s rarer for people to stay with you than to leave you. People shifting through your life can be a blessing. And when you do find the ones who see you at your worst and care about you through it, you have to fight to keep them.
But I didn’t fight for her.
After the incident with Ivy’s brother, I never stepped foot in Birch Borough again. I didn’t visit for Angie’s grand opening at the pie shop. I didn’t visit for Edgar’s ribbon cutting at the boxing studio. I wiped my hands of this town, but now I think I might have been holding a grudge in the wrong direction. The only person I have to blame for my misery is myself.
I take a sip of the hot drink, nearly groaning from the deliciousness of it. The base is real, melted chocolate. Emmy really would love the charming shop.
I think she’s going to love this town too—even if the decorations throughout town are something I personally want to destroy. Well, destroy is probably a strong reaction, but at least tear down. If it weren’t for my daughter, I wouldn’t be celebrating Christmas. I haven’t been able to celebrate it wellsince Mina passed. My brother now lives in Portsmouth, but my sister and my parents relocated here—well, before my parents decided to move to Florida to stay in the warm weather. For the past few years, Emmy and I have moved from city to city. For a while, we landed in Vermont after Jenna left us. But now I’ve decided to finally stop running and let my daughter grow up with family. When I haven’t been training boxers, I’ve been building furniture. It has passed the time when I can’t sleep and gives me something to hold on to that doesn’t fall apart in my hands.
For my whole life, I’ve been fighting against the stereotype of being a jock. Yes, I’m athletic. I like to move my body. It’s how I’ve kept my sanity for this long and processed the world around me. But I’ve come to realize that women look at the size of my shoulders and not the state of my heart. They want a good time and can’t face the truth that my music playlists consist mostly of musicals and classical music. I wear reading glasses. Because of Emmy, I’ve learned to cook. I couldn’t care less about being an influencer and deleted my social media accounts after too many slides into my DMs. Only one woman in my memory once made me feel seen, not for my appearance but for my heart. Her name was Ivy. And as sappy as that may sound, that’s the truth of it.
I believe I have so much love to give that I couldn’t bench press it. But after Jenna’s betrayal, I’ve questioned everything. I’ve questioned myself and questioned whether anyone would welcome my touch ever again. It’s hard to be built to carry so much and have no one to trust you to do so.
Jenna was there when I needed someone, her whirlwind energy entering my life two years after meeting Ivy. She swooped in, told me the things I wanted to hear, and I thought I loved her. Things went too far. I attempted to process the pain by trying to get close to someone and mistook physical affection for commitment. Once she had Emmy, I offered to marry her. That was when things started to unravel.
Her words were cruel and cut deep.
I didn’t make enough money for her. Ironically, I wasn’t fit enough. And as much as she had wanted me to show her affection physically, once she got pregnant, I became the last person she wanted to touch her. Instead, she stopped coming home. It was heartbreaking on many levels. And now my daughter has been the casualty of Jenna’s selfishness.
I’m the one who’s raised Emmy. I was up with her as soon as she got home from the hospital. I’m the one who fed her and held her, who put her against my chest, skin to skin, to make sure she felt my heartbeat. I read to her and dressed her. Immediately, my daughter became my everything. When Jenna decided to officially sign over custody and move to Santa Monica with her yoga instructor, that chapter of my life was over, except for the scars.
I steel myself to pass by the dance studio up ahead, knowing full well that the woman that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about is currently teaching my daughter to follow her dreams. After making eye contact with Ivy as the class began, I couldn’t stay. Now that the class is nearly over, my shoes could be in a superhero movie for how fast they carry me back across town. It’s agonizing, but how can I stay away? The woman is a direct reminder of all the things I’ve lost. Because we should’ve had a chance years ago, and if I hadn’t gotten the phone call about Mina, we might have had our moment.
I hold my breath and pass by the frost-covered windows, which radiate warm light, the sound of a piano through a record player calling to me like a siren on this winter night. It looks like the students are still finishing their practice. I decide against going into the lobby. I make it past the doors and breathe a sigh of relief but suck in a breath when I hear a rush behind me.
Somehow, I know who it is before I see her.
“Hey!” Ivy’s uniquely smoky voice captures me through the cold air. How I’ve imagined hearing that voice again over the years.
Clenching my jaw, I turn to face her, trying not to notice how beautiful she is, even after all this time. She’s better than I remember, and I hate that I now know this to be true when I can’t call her mine.
“Yes?” I say, the saltiness in my tone a little much, even for me.
Ivy’s eyes narrow. Her shoulders roll back as she stands to her full height, which is still almost a foot shorter than me.
“You’re back?” Somehow, it’s both a question and a statement.
The feeling of accusation stiffens my spine. I don’t want to answer her, but I will. “For now.”
Her involuntary sigh unleashes even more frustration. Once, the gleam of affection swirled in her hot-chocolate eyes. Now, they’re distrustful, reflecting a wall between us I want to demolish, but I don’t know how. My thoughts go to my daughter, because protecting her is the only thing I can control.
“Is it going to be a problem?” I grit out, crossing my arms to cover my heart and hating myself for it. I stare down at her, allowing the gruffness to enter my expression.
“Is what a problem?” Ivy rears back.
“My daughter, Emmy. Is it going to be an issue to have her dance here?” My head hitches a nod toward her studio.
Immediately, Ivy’s eyes ignite. “Of course not. I’m a professional. Your daughter will be treated with the same dedication and care as any other one of my students.” Her response is as expected, generous despite the fury I triggered, but it makes me sad to think she will never know Emmy as more than her student.
“Glad to hear it,” I reply without emotion.
“If you’ll just give us another fifteen minutes or so, I’ll have her returned to you.” A sudden sheen of emotion glistens in her eyes as we stare at each other for a moment, neither of us backing down from our ledges of lost time and unspoken words.
Finally, she grunts in frustration and turns back to her studio, clearly freezing, but pauses when she reaches the door. Her elegant back expands with a deep breath. I will her to look back at me, to give any sign that she’s struggling with this reunion as much as I am, but she simply shoves open the door and walks through it.
Shaking off the frustrating experience, I only inhale again when my long strides have taken me several storefronts away. I don’t want to stand in front of her studio window, watching her teach my daughter. But now that I’m near her, I can’t seem to stay away. I turn back toward the studio and get a glimpse of her hands moving through the air in a way that stops my breath. Over the years, I imagined what it would be like to see her dance. I thought of buying a ticket to one of her performances in New York and sitting in the back of the audience just to see her again, but I never could bring myself to do it. Now, I see what I always knew. She’s grace mixed with strength. Her body comes into view through the window, pointe shoes wrapped up in leg warmers and a sweater over a leotard, but then it disappears again.
