Ivy laughs. At the sound, I decide my embarrassment is worth it as I one-handedly give Ms. Phoebe my credit card, still holding Emmy with the other hand.
Offering us a smile, Ivy turns toward the stairs. “Let me just grab my things.”
And my heart soars, because I’m having lunch with Ivy for the first time ever.
∞∞∞
We walk about Birch Borough, having just finished lunch at the juice bar and café that recently opened. People keep nodding at us like we’re the king and queen of the region, with Emmy as the princess. Too bad it isn’t true. Though maybe it could be if you’d just give in to what you really want, my love-starved mind interjects unhelpfully.
“So, ‘The Battle’ scene in The Nutcracker,” Ivy cuts through my thoughts with her striking voice.
Though it still sends a smoky shiver through my frame, I’m getting increasingly used to hearing it again. Just like the classical music I love, I have a feeling that just her voice alone has been rewiring my brain. I feel happier every time I hear it.
“I have all the little mice and soldiers ready,” she continues. “And, of course, my nutcracker prince. We just need to figure outa way to get the tree to grow from the start. That’s really what sets off the scene.”
Little does she know that I’ve already studied the entire ballet. She gave me a list of the numbers the students will be performing, and I searched for them on YouTube. I even found one by the dance legend, Mikhail Baryshnikov. One doesn’t need to even know ballet to have heard of him. I studied each recording late into the night with my reading glasses and a cup of peppermint tea in hand. After familiarizing myself with each scene, I’m even more fascinated with what Ivy’s world consists of.
I hurry to answer her question. “I think I can figure out a way to make it happen. If we get some scrim or even some other great fabric, we should be able to create the illusion of the tree growing. I just need more lights and a better sense of the space for the height I’m building to.”
Ivy pauses on the sidewalk, her eyes bright. “You’ve researched this.”
“Of course I’ve researched. This is important to you.”
She brushes the wisps of hair around her face that I’ve long appreciated out of her eyes. “Yeah, it is.”
“Well, then it’s worth researching.”
We resume walking again. Emmy’s face is cuddled into the side of my neck. I think the grilled cheese she ordered for lunch was truly a comfort food because her chest rises slower and slower as the minutes tick by. She’s close to sleep, and it’s these moments that I want to bottle and never forget as she gets older.
Ivy looks up at me and then tips her head forward toward Emmy. “She’s out,” she whispers.
I sigh and reply with a bit of a smile.
“Do you need to head back?”
“Yeah, I probably should. She’s usually wound up until naptime, but I think the excitement of the season has been wiping her out.”
“Makes sense.”
I want to capture Ivy’s grin in a bottle too. I’d gladly become a scientist or a historian if it meant the ability to research and catalog all the things that make Ivy as wonderful as she is.
“Jace, I know you need to go, but can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
She sighs, leading us under the awning of a nearby store. There’s a view of the river across the bridge in front of us. A brass band plays jazzy Christmas music on the next corner, a space heater and an extension cord powering their holiday spirit.
“Ask me anything,” I encourage, just to make sure she knows I mean it.
“You once asked me what I wanted to be known for. Do you remember that?”
I hate the hesitancy in her tone, but it’s appropriate given all the other things that transpired that night and after. “Yes.” The single word is all I can grit out, even though I want to tell her I memorized every word of our conversation back then. What we shared has been a soundtrack for me during the hardest seasons of my life.
She captures my gaze with her own. “I’d like to ask you the same question now. What do you want to be known for?”
The question pushes the air out of my lungs. I readjust my grip on Emmy, and she shifts. I think of Ivy’s brother, the one who would most likely come after me if he knew I’m not only talking to her again, but I’m also helping her with the show and trying to spend as much time with her as possible before I leave yet again. But he’s not here. And I am. “That’s a big question,” I breathe.
“It is. But you used to seem so sure of what you wanted. I’m wondering if those hopes and dreams have changed as well.”
