“That doesn’t mean it’s your fault, Ivy,” Caleb says. “You have to stop doing this. You’ve always done this. And I have always wondered if that’s why you wouldn’t let me get close to you.”
I pause.
Caleb goes silent.
Gunner refuses to look at either one of us.
A tentacle slaps the window wetly.
“Um, how’s the bread?” I manage.
“Ivy, we have to talk about this sooner or later.”
“I think probably later as we’re — and I’d like to schedule it. I can put it, you know, in my calendar. I can pencil you in. I can make an Apple event, whatever you need. Maybe Google. Maybe we can Zoom.”
“We’re not Zooming. You can’t unsay what we said earlier. You’re gonna have to deal with it.”
“I’m dealing with it,” I say.
“You’re shutting down just like you did before. I’m not gonna let you shut down, Ivy. Not after what you told me and not after that kiss. So if you need to shut down right now to get through whatever?—”
He motions to the tentacles sloppily sliding across the glass and the behemoth glowing eye in the bay in a vague, unconcerned way that frankly is totally bizarre considering what he’s already digested tonight.
“Whatever this is,” he continues, “then I understand that. But this conversation is not done, and you better believe that now that I know how you feel and that you’ve apparently been in love with me this whole time that I will crack that hard little shell around your heart.”
“Oh, is that right?” I say, sounding totally ridiculous like an angry teenager.
“Oh, that’s right,” he responds, and for a second I wonder if we’re going to start poking each other in the chest.
“Fine,” I say.
“Fine,” he agrees. “You’re adorable when you’re mad.”
Then he grins. And just like that, it’s fine. Truly. Not just in the way that you say fine when you’re still mad at somebody, but fine in the way that means maybe I’m OK with somebody finally cracking the shell of ice around me. Maybe this is what Noona meant when she said the storm starts inside.
“Do you think this is my fault?” I ask.
“What do you mean?” he says.
“The storm.”
“Is that how magic works?”
“It’s never worked like that before.”
“Have you considered therapy?” he says.
“What?” I ask, flabbergasted.
“Yeah. Have you considered talking to somebody about how you can blame yourself for everything from a freak storm to a giant, massive magical kraken? Is there like a witchy therapist you could go see?”
“Are you trying to say you think I’m mentally unstable?”
“Therapy is not just for anyone who’s mentally unstable, although I think most people are. Therapy is for anybody who needs to talk about how they feel and is afraid to do that.”
“Do you see a therapist?” I ask, genuinely intrigued.
“Yeah, I absolutely do. And I’ve seen Dr. Avedas for the past seven years.”
