“Call me a nosy eavesdropper, but what’s going on?”
Hugh holds Celia’s gaze for several long beats. Finally, she stands up and faces me. Her expression is so serious it makes my heart do a little tap dance of anticipation.
“I was going to tell you over Christmas,” she says. “Things have been so hectic and, well…” She trails off and glances at Hugh, who nods encouragingly. “I decided to apply for school, even though I knew it would be a long shot to get in for winter semester. I figured if I had to I’d wait until September, except that’d mean I’d have to find another job. We all know how well that’s gone in the past.”
She perches on the edge of the couch, still facing me. “Anyway, I talked to Hugh about it and he pulled a few strings. Turns out he knows a lot of people in Bellevue, including someone in admissions at Loyola.” Her earnest expression cracks and a bright smile overtakes her face. “I’ll be starting school the second week of January, majoring in Advertising and Marketing Communications.”
My mouth drops open and a squeak of surprise escapes. My eyes dart from Celia to Hugh, then back to Celia. “That’s incredible! Congratulations!” I launch myself over the back of the couch and hug her from behind. She laughs, clutching at my arms and pressing her cheek against mine.
“Thanks. It’s been completely nuts getting it all sorted, but I have Hugh to thank for most of it. He’s even giving me a loan, and my parents are helping me with the rest.”
Now my head is spinning. I release my tight grip on Celia and straighten, leaning against the couch for support. Hugh is giving her a loan? And wait… “Your parents? You talked to them?”
“You can thank Hugh for that too.” Her voice is a mixture of giddiness and relief. “He encouraged me to get in touch with them and gave me time off this week to go meet with them. They were so thrilled when they heard about everything I’ve accomplished the last couple months and my goals for the future. They said if I stay on this path, they’ll help pay for school and my living expenses.”
I’m not sure what my expression is, but Celia’s face drops. “I was going to tell you, I swear, I just—”
“No, stop.” I wave a hand to cut her off. “I’m not upset, I’m just surprised and trying to process everything. This is huge.”
“It is,” she agrees, still looking uncertain. “I wanted to make sure everything was set before I told you. I didn’t want you to be disappointed if things didn’t work out.”
“Celia. I would have been proud of you just for trying.” I dip back down to hug her again. “You’re going to do great, and I’ll help you any way I can.” She closes her eyes and squeezes me tight. I peer up at Hugh, who’s watching us with the sweetest smile. I mouth ‘thank you’ to him, and he bobs his head.
Before I can start crying, I release Celia. “Now I’mreallygoing to go get ready.” I hurry to my room and close the door. Fiddlesticks is lounging in the middle of my bed. I gather her in my arms, burying my face in her fur and smiling when she starts to purr.
I figure it’s a given I’ll cry at least once before the night is out. I’m already trying hard not to cry now from the cocktail of emotions swirling around inside me. Just like I’ve been trying not to think about Hugh leaving, I’ve also tried not to acknowledge the revelation I had the night we first slept together. I’ve told myself it’s not possible to love Hugh this soon, especially with him leaving. I can’t ignore the swelling in my chest now, though. That light, airy, sweeter-than-honey feeling I’ve only ever experienced once before, many years ago. I love Hugh.
“Oh, Fiddlesticks. Who knew things could change so much in such a short amount of time?”
The cat gives me a slow blink. Kathleen told me one day last week that a slow blink from a cat supposedly means they love you. I’ll take it. “I love you too, Fiddle-dee-dee.” I kiss the top of her head and set her back on the bed.
From my closet, I pull a thin long-sleeved shirt, along with the infamous wool sweater. I yank them on quickly, give Fiddlesticks a goodbye snuggle, and return to the living room. Celia is still where she’s been for the last hour, and Hugh is now sitting on the arm of the couch. He glances up as I approach. The automatic smile that graces his face when he sees me slips a bit when he realizes what I’m wearing.
“Ivy.” His low voice holds a hint of disbelief.
Celia looks at me, then turns her curious gaze to Hugh. It gives me a chance to give him my best ‘shut up’ face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” I say, my voice too bright. “Are we ready to go party?” Despite the shirt underneath the sweater, my face is already starting to itch. I blink hard, refusing to acknowledge the water building in my eyes. Fiddlesticks appears by my feet, winding around my legs and purring. As I bend to pet her, a sneeze rips out of me, startling us both. Fiddlesticks hops away from me, scowling—if cats can scowl—and lets out an offended squawk-like meow. I sneeze again and she bolts from the room.
Celia laughs. “What is going on with you? Are you getting the world’s most sudden cold? You were fine a minute ago.”
“I…well…yeah. Maybe? It’s fine, though. Just don’t get too close.”
Hugh clears his throat pointedly. “Ivy Sima.”
Ugh, he full-named me. Celia’s expression has slid into confusion as her gaze shifts back and forth between Hugh and me.
“Fine!” I wail, scrambling to free myself from the sweater. I clutch it in front of me. “I’m allergic to this sweater. I’d never worn wool before, so I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, Ce. I love it and it was such a thoughtful gesture for so many reasons.”
My outburst is met with wide eyes from Celia. Her face remains otherwise blank for a moment, and then she bursts out laughing. I’ve never heard her laugh like this, hard and uninhibited. She even snorts a little. Fiddlesticks runs back into the room to see what’s going on. Her gaze darts around the room and then she hightails it back down the hall. Celia doubles over, laughing harder. Even Hugh has started to chuckle.
“OnlyIcould get you a sweater you’re allergic to,” Celia gasps between giggles. She wipes at her eyes and shakes her head.
“You’re not upset?”
“Why would I be upset? It’s not like you have any control over it.”
I set the sweater on the back of the couch. Even just holding it is making me itchy. “I don’t think you’ll be able to return it.”
