“I . . . yes . . . okay.”
She can barely get the words out, and my crotchety mood dissipates as I beam. A candy cane can fluster the ballerina. Who knew? I rotate back toward the elf with the basket. Reading my mind, he points me toward a booth a few rows down with homemade boxes of the candies. I pull out a bill from my wallet and toss it on the table while taking a box. I pay way too much for it, but I don’t care if Ivy is going to look at me like this.
Her expression is both familiar and foreign. Something seems to have shifted between us in the last few minutes. I have no idea how to be anything more to this woman; I have no idea if I even should try. But my heart whispers its plans when she looks at me. I can’t see straight—clearly, because I’ve paid twenty dollars for one box of the peppermint hooks.
Just as I realize I’m holding candy canes tucked under my arm, the elf laughs and hands me his basket. “Here. I think you need this more than I do.” He pats me on the shoulder, shaking his head and walking to the table I just threw money on in the name of unhinged attraction for the woman beside me.
“So this way?” I say with the end of the candy cane still in my mouth. From this moment forward, candy canes, along with hot chocolate, now only belong to Ivy in my mind.
Tensely, she nods, and we keep moving through the booths, passing Christmas cookies and festive housewares, artisan ceramics, jewelry, art prints, and a bright-blue-and-gold tent featuring menorahs. We walk in silence. The end of the row approaches, and I feel Ivy’s coat sleeve brush my own. I flinch at the minimal contact, my hand whipping behind my back as I pull my arm away.
Her eyes widen. “I’m so sorry. I didn't mean to . . .” Her cheeks redden.
I swallow. “It’s not you.” The words are forced but true.
Ivy’s eyebrows lift. “Oh, okay. Well, I’m sorry. We just . . .” Her eyes swim with unshed tears, and so help me, if she starts crying here, I’ll be joining her.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say sharply, the discomfort from seeing her emotion tightening my chest. “I’ll be gone soon anyway, and you can go back to life as usual.”
At that, a tear falls down Ivy’s cheek, and my heart cracks. I yank the candy cane out of my mouth and hold it by my side as I move out of the way with the hope that she’ll follow me. To my shock, she does, and we find refuge from the crowd in an alcove between booths, next to a Christmas tree that is decorated with what looks like a few hundred nutcrackers tucked among the branches.
“Why is this . . . seeing you . . . talking to you so hard?” She says the words to my chest, her eyes still not rising to mine.
I know that it’s better this way—if she thinks I’m disingenuous and angry—but the question feels like another punch to the gut. I sigh, and her gaze hooks on my mouth. Finally, she meets my gaze. There she is. My breathing accelerates; my hands clench into fists. “You don’t owe me anything, Ivy.”
I don’t want to bring up her brother or Mina yet. I think if I told Ivy what really happened that Christmas now, I’d collapse on the sidewalk from the pain of it.
She sniffs slightly and turns her head to look across the sea of people celebrating the holidays surrounding us. “Haven’t ice skated since.” With this confession, she turns back to me and shrugs, knocking the heels of her boots together.
I will myself not to make any sudden movements that would steal from me the sudden revelation that, perhaps like me, Ivyhas never fully moved on. I was a hollow version of myself when Jenna came along, trying to forget instead of heal. I’d given in to the idea that I was only my appearance and only my profession. I hid my reading glasses and stopped enjoying fiction books, replacing my favorites with leadership titles. I only listened to classical music and musicals in my car. I stopped eating carbs. In short, I was miserable. And it was never enough.
“Let’s get this over with,” she says dejectedly as she steps into the crowd once more.
We round a corner, the exit finally in sight. A man with a great voice is on a stage, singing Christmas carols, a band behind him. Ivy stills. I freeze behind her, my frame covering her, protecting her from the chilly wind whipping through and the crowd’s prying eyes.
She repositions herself to face me, lifting her chin to look into my eyes. I tilt my head down to get closer. It hits me with full force that she has no idea I tried to find her or that her brother knows about my search. He’s the one who told me to stay away. I don’t want to start any conflict with her family. Jenna tried to start rumors within my family when we were together, and it was a nightmare.
But I owe her more of the truth. She deserves that much from me. I decide to start with the night I wasn’t there for her. “I tried to get to you that night, but my sister, Mina . . .” I begin, and the emotion chokes me.
Ivy’s brows lift. “The one I met over the phone?”
I’m shocked that she remembers the conversation, but it’s also a beautiful realization that Mina talked to her at all.“Yeah.” I swallow and gather my courage. “Edgar called me when I was on my way to meet you again. Mina had been in a car accident. She didn’t have much time left. I was told to get to the hospital as soon as possible.”
Ivy’s sharp inhale loosens some of the grief I’ve buried.
“By the time I got there, she was gone. And after that, things just sort of . . . fell apart.”
Her mittened hands covering her mouth, a tear falls down Ivy’s cheek. Instinctively, I catch it with my thumb before dropping my hand back to my side.
“That’s terrible. Jace, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, it was. It is. I miss her every day.”
Ivy’s eyes drift to the carolers passing nearby. “Angie has a picture of Mina in her shop, doesn’t she?”
I nod, knowing she’s thinking of the picture of Angie and Mina when they were teenagers, taken out near the ocean, a lighthouse behind them as they wear bibs on a picnic bench and hold up bright-red lobsters.
“That’s Mina.” I grin sadly, the memory enough to remind me that not everything in the world used to feel so heavy.
