Before long, conversations with Bea and Vivian come back up. It’s like a running agenda. I remember Bea saying Hazel would’ve liked Ivy. I don’t doubt it. My heart is heavy thinking of how much I wish Hazel was here now, on this run, berating me for details.
Vivian told me Ivy was worth it like I didn’t know. Since the first time I saw her, kicking her own ass, she pulled me in.
She’s smart. She’s brave. She tries to go out of her comfort zone and fights anxiety and self-doubt at every turn.
I’m in love with her.
My questions don’t concern Ivy. They’re about me. Can I risk this with wounds that are still healing? Hell, they’ll probably always be healing and ripping open, for the rest of my life. Like the inside of your cheek you can’t stop biting.
Am I willing to rewrite what I thought my future was?
If I can’t have Hazel here, I wish I had some guy friends who’d punch my shoulder and make fun of me for being a pussy. Harass me over beers for repeatedly bringing up a woman. I don’t miss much of anything from the city, but I had more connections there. It’s not even those specific people, my old friend group; it’s just the idea of having friendships.
There’s a known stopping point on my right where I decide to pause.
While I’m staring at mountains, the open cloudless sky, and water in the distance, I ask myself a question looking for a gut-check reaction:What do you want?
The answer is simple.
Ivy.
For as long as she’ll have me.
Loud music is coming from my place. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard it this loud since I’ve lived here. I cautiously open the door, unsure of what I’m going to see on the other side.
“No Diggity” plays throughout the house. I take a few steps in and see Ivy in the kitchen. She’s holding Slate to her. Ivy’s dancing in my kitchen, to a nineties rap song, with my dog. Not only is she dancing, but she’s singing and rapping. And it’s fucking adorable.
She doesn’t know I’m back yet. I let her dance around until she’s facing me. My fingers itch to pull her to me, hold her, dance with her.
When she sees me, her eyes go wide, but she doesn’t stop. She grins. Slate pants like he’s having the time of his life.
“What’s going on?” I ask over the music.
“A dance party!” She’s still spinning around the kitchen.
When the song ends and goes to the next, she turns the volume down, and puts Slate on the floor. He slowly walks to me, smelling for treats. Spoiled bastard.
“Sorry. Everything has been so heavy. I needed to dance it out.” She’s out of breath with her hands on her hips.
“Why are you apologizing? I think Slate’s going to end up loving you more than me, if you keep it up.” I joke with her.
“Ha! How was the run?” She reaches down and scratches Slate’s belly.
“Just what I needed. My version of dancing it out.” I wipe sweat from my face and open the fridge. I bring out fresh fruit and put it on the table.
I want to invite Ivy to go with me to a lodge event tonight. I hate how nervous I am. Overthinking is making it worse. So, I go for it.
“Tonight. There’s this thing. The lodge does this event every month. It’s kind of like a build-your-own s’mores thing—”
“I’m in. I love s’mores. Say less,” she cuts me off while clapping her hands together.
“I should’ve known. You sugar fiend.” I point at Ivy.
Chapter Forty-Seven
DID I EXPECT HOLLAND to invite me to stay at his place? No. Was it hard to pretend I didn’t feel like a burden? Sort of.
These are the thoughts I have while I pack a few of my things.
