Edgar laughs. “And why isn’t her effect on you a good thing? I’d say you’ve been a dead man walking these past few years, except for taking care of Emmy. I don’t mind someone reminding you that there’s more to life than work or being a dad. You have to keep allowing yourself to feel, Jace. That’s life: pain and joy. And Ivy isn’t . . .”
He pauses, and I know he was about to say Jenna. He doesn’t need to say her name when the effect of her presence on my life is tangible without words. Emotion creeps up my spine, tingling at the outer corners of my eyes. It’s not that I won’t cry in front of my brother. I’m secure enough to cry whenever I’m moved. But admittedly, the only time I’ve shed any tears over the past five years has been in the context of my daughter. When Jenna finally left us, I didn’t cry. I was too empty by that point.
“What do you want?” Edgar continues quietly. “Not in the past, not in the future, but right now.”
I search my brain, my jaw clenching. Tears start to form, but I suppress them. I don’t want to show this emotion here, not when I’ve got this raw sense of all that should have been pounding in the center of my chest. It would feel good to get the words out, though—the ones I’ve swallowed down since I started to believe that losing my sister was the start of my world unraveling.
“I want to belong to someone,” I finally hear myself admit, and Edgar’s eyes widen, the rest of his face remaining neutral. The tiny sign of acknowledgement pushes me to speak honestly. “I know that could seem old-fashioned. Potentially, it’s even weak for a man to express the idea of ‘belonging’ to someone who has the power to break your heart, especially after the Jenna debacle.” I pause as my heart races with the truth. “I’m hyperaware of the mistakes I’ve made. They feel like a weighted vest around my ribs. But as I’ve been near Ivy again, I’d be lying if I said I don’t want it.”
Taking a deep breath, the effort pulls at my lungs, and I realize my hands really are on fire. I’m feeling too many emotions to look him in the eye; instead, I focus on the Christmas lights strung on the front windows. They seem to project warmth into the darkness outside, hovering only a glass pane and a few thoughts away. If not for the streetlamps glowing with warmth along the sidewalk, the windows would be an impenetrable wall of night.
“What are you going to do about the job offer?” Edgar broaches a new subject.
He’s referring to the call I got this morning from a well-known furniture company in Lakeland, Florida. They’ve seen the pieces I’ve sold online and are interested in having me add artisan pieces to their collection. If my designs are accepted, the deal could reach national distribution. It’s the recognition a woodworker like me could only dream of. But the offer requires that I relocate to design in-house, as the company hopes to utilize my skills for other ongoing projects.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you’d better find out. The woman who got away is just around the corner. She’s single. You’re single. Maybe this is your chance at happiness.”
“I have Emmy.”
“Yes, you do. And she’s the best thing that ever happened to you. But she’s going to grow up. And you . . .” Edgar clears his throat.
Reaching up, I clasp my brother’s shoulder, gripping it tightly through the swelling that’s beginning to rise near my knuckles. Edgar and Angie have been my support since we arrived in Birch Borough. There have been times recently when they’ve stepped in with Emmy when I needed the help, yet they’ve also given me space as we move through the holidays. I’ll always be grateful to them.
“You deserve to be loved,” Edgar says with factual emphasis. “Stop being scared to lose again.”
What would happen if I believed him? I hum, my eyes drifting to the snow that’s begun to fall outside. It’s only visible because of the lights on the street. It’s been snowing on and off for days, each fresh, untouched blanket of snow a sign that the world can keep being made new.
“Thanks, man,” I mutter.
He rises, the emotional weight of what he’s passed to me easing away from his features with a grin. “Let’s go before we’re snowed in.”
I grunt as I put weight on my arms to stand. The pummeling I gave the punching bag is going to hurt tomorrow, especially since I’m due to put together sets for the upcoming show. Ripping off my sweat-soaked shirt, I throw on a clean hoodie and struggle with my jacket, preparing for the layer of ice that will feel as if it’s made a home against my skin in the next thirty seconds.
“Aren’t you going to see her tomorrow since you agreed to help her with Emmy’s performance?” Edgar flips off the light switch, the overcast sky and the dim glow of the Christmas lights outside our only guide to the exit.
“Yep, she’ll be there.”
He laughs, knowing I’ll also be surrounded by a dozen or so kids as I work. “And what are you going to say to her? That is, assuming you can even lift a hammer tomorrow after what it seems you put your arms through tonight. Are you going to tell her about potentially taking a job in Florida?”
I grin, not because of his brotherly banter but at the thought of seeing Ivy again. My heart picks up speed. Even if being near her is temporary, I’ll take it. “I’ll tell her about the job,” I reassure him. “You know I’ll always tell her the truth.”
“Hey! Or maybe you could just tell her now,” Edgar suggests with a smile.
I tense as I look toward the front door. It’s just flung open, and Ivy rushes in, her cheeks reddened by the frigid air. The sky is dark with the snowstorm, but the blush on her face is enticing, the glow of the streetlamps and the Christmas lights reflecting on her face. A scarf is wrapped haphazardly around her neck, its color mixing with her golden hair, and her hands are covered by mittens, per usual. She’s adorable. The sight of her gives me an irresistible urge to pick her up and hold her close. Or perhaps, I’d rather kiss her again. The aftermath of the winter chill through the open door wakes me up from my thoughts and adds some temporary relief to the heat radiating from my hands.
I clear my throat as Ivy approaches.
“Hi, Edgar,” Ivy says with a tentative smile. Her eyes drift to me.
Before this month, I hadn’t seen her in ages. Even after all that time, I know in my bones that looking at Ivy is never going to get old for me. “Jace.” My name on her tongue sends my heart racing, even though she is standing far away.
When she takes a tentative step forward, I move across from her in three strides and then stop short. I’m still not close enough to her, but my body is frozen. My nerves are ridiculous. I’ve been around women before. I have a daughter, for cryingout loud. But Ivy causes something in me to malfunction . . . or reignite.
“I’m sorry to just stop in,” she says quickly. “But I was in the area—well, of course I was in the area; I live here.”The words come out in a muttered rush, a nervous laugh accompanying them. “I realized I needed to ask if you still planned to come by tomorrow. You know . . . to help with the sets. Because we need to get them started. But I don’t have your number. That’s so weird, right? But it’s true. I don’t. I don’t even have your email. So, I decided to just, you know, stop by.”
I tighten my lips to hold back a smile. She’s nervous. I find myself enjoying the sight way too much.
