CHAPTER FIVE
Seven thirty in the evening iswaytoo late for me to be drinking coffee, and yet here I am doing exactly that. And wishing it was spiked with whiskey.
I’m sitting in my friend Piper’s bookstore, waiting for book club to wrap up. I had to flub my way through the discussion because I haven’t had time to read beyond the synopsis of the book. I was half tempted to skip tonight’s meeting, but I knew my friends would worry if I didn’t show.
In the five days since I last saw Kieran, I’ve filled every waking moment with work—my regular shifts at Bellevue Village, plus as many clients as I could cram in for HTC. During the sliver of downtime I’ve allowed myself between those things, I’ve mostly been researching subsidies and various funding possibilities for my mom.
I need this coffee to work its magic because I have a long night ahead of me when I get home. The other day I took a break from researching nursing home subsidies to clear out some junk on my computer, and I came across the folder of all the travel articles I wrote over the years before I started working full-time for Hugh and Ivy. There was a file with a dozen or so drafts, which I decided to pitch to some of my old contacts. I ended up selling a few of them, so now I need to actually write the articles, edit the pictures to go with them, and send them off.
If I can continue working two jobs and add in some freelance work on the side, I should be able to keep Mom in Birch Hill even if I can’t get extra funding. I’m sure I’ll eventually get past the exhaustion and the desire to curl up in bed and stay there forever. Staying busy keeps me from worrying and wallowing. My mom is still alive, but her essence—what makes herher—was ripped away, scattered to some hidden corners of her mind, and locked behind impenetrable doors. I have to stay strong for her and keep going. I need to dig deep, find the positivity that’s always come easily to me, and continue being the ray of sunshine my mom always said I was. I can’t allow myself to acknowledge the pain, the anger, the sadness, the hole in my life left by Mom’s absence. I need to fill that hole or I’ll go crazy.
The sound of scraping chairs and animated chatter fills the air, snapping me from my thoughts. I blink several times, trying to orient myself, wondering for a second if I nodded off. I cast my gaze around at the members of the book club, who are all rising and heading to the refreshment table or the stacks. My eyes are drawn to Piper’s red hair; she’s mingling, answering questions, and giving book suggestions.
A flash of purple catches in my peripheral vision as someone sits beside me. I know it’s Ivy even before her small hand settles on my leg. I take a moment to study her dainty diamond circlet engagement ring, even though I’ve seen it a million times. It gives me a chance to brace myself for the conversation I know is coming. I didn’t miss the looks she and Piper gave me over the past hour as I chugged coffee and avoided chiming in during the group discussion.
“I wasn’t sure if we’d see you here tonight.” From anyone else, that statement would likely sound passive-aggressive, but Ivy’s words are laced with concern. “You’ve been like a one-woman tornado lately, whipping into work, going at warp speed, then disappearing as soon as your shift is over. Celia said she’s hardly seen you either.”
Luckily, I came prepared for this. When I first met Ivy, she was working full-time for Quest Marketing Solutions. At the time, Celia had dropped out of college and was living with Ivy; the two had grown up together, although they were never close, and the aunt and uncle who raised Ivy guilted her into letting Celia live with her temporarily. Celia had trouble keeping a job, but she came up with a scheme to work at Santa’s Village that involved Ivy doing her the mother of all favors: being a part-time elf for the holiday season. Ivy was desperate for Celia to move out, so she went along with it, working her regular hours at Quest, then doing a part-time evening shift at the Village.
“You know what it’s like when you’re working both a full-timeanda part-time job,” I say with what I hope is a casual shrug. “You just keep chugging along or you’ll be dead on your feet.” Ivy and I became fast friends during our time together as elves, and I remember being so in awe of her…and also thinking she was completely nuts for working two jobs, favor or not. Now here I am living a similar life. I try to ignore the little voice in my head that says Ivy’s situation was temporary and mine has no foreseeable end in sight.
Ivy chuckles. “I don’t miss those days,” she says. “Even though I still technically work two jobs, I basically get to set my own hours, so it’s nowhere near as hectic as that was. Most of the time, anyway.”
“Is everything okay with work? And with you and Hugh?” I genuinely care—Ivy is my best friend—but this also gives me an opportunity to steer the focus away from myself. I was known for being a good listener long before I started working for HTC, and I’ve always been able to deal with other people’s problems more easily than my own.
“Everything is great. I love running the Village with Hugh, and helping to manage Piper’s bookstore in the Village is a dream come true for me. So…yeah. Everything is great.” She almost had me convinced until her gaze dropped to her lap—specifically the circle of diamonds on her left ring finger.
“Have you guys made any plans for the wedding yet?” Ivy and Hugh got engaged several months ago. Ivy’s other best friend Bridget, plus Piper, Celia, and I were all ready to start helping them plan the wedding, but Ivy said they’d decided on a long engagement.
“Umm, not really. I know it probably seems like we’re stalling, but it’s not that. We’re madly in love and we already live together, so it’s kind of just a formality at this point. I suggested eloping since neither of us has much family and there’s no need for a big wedding. Then Hugh suggested taking everyone to Scotland and doing it there.”
“How do you feel about that?” I ask.
Biting her lip, she gives me a sidelong glance. “I actually kind of love the idea,” she says with the first hint of excitement I’ve heard from her lately in regard to the wedding. “I hate the thought of getting married without you guys there. You all mean so much to both of us.”
“I think a wedding in Scotland would be pretty freaking epic,” I tell her, giving her a little nudge with my elbow. “Ultimately, it’s about what works for the two of you and what feels right. Whether that’s Scotland or eloping or something else, and whether it’s this year or five years from now, you know we’ll all support you.”
She bobs her head, her dark hair falling forward from where it’s tucked behind her ears. I expect her to push it back, and when she doesn’t, I wonder if she’s leaving it as a curtain of sorts between us.
“Ivy.” I gently brush her hair back, leaving my hand on her shoulder. “What’s going on?”
She inhales deeply through her nose. As she exhales, she blurts, “I thought I was pregnant.”
I blink at her in surprise, unsure if I even heard her correctly. “You…thought?” I ask carefully.
After a quick glance around to make sure nobody is within earshot, she inches her chair closer to mine. “I was late and I’m never late. Hugh and I are always careful, but you know nothing is foolproof. After a week, I bought a pregnancy test, but I got my period before I had a chance to do the test.”
Her words are void of emotion, so I’m not sure how to react. One of the things we learned in HTC training—and something I learned from Hugh, who was a psychologist in Scotland before he moved here—is the importance of getting someone to open up by asking about their feelings. So even though I already asked, I ask again, “How do you feel about that?”
“Relieved?” The quiet admission sounds like a question. “And guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Have you talked to Hugh about this? About thinking you were pregnant and feeling relieved to find out you’renot?”
“No.” This time the lone word sounds anguished. I take her hand and she grips mine tightly. “We normally talk about everything, but he’s got a lot going on right now working on some deals for his investment company. I didn’t want to add to it by telling him. You know what he’s like—he’d want to know exactly how I’m feeling and what he can do for me, and I love him for that and I know I’m lucky because not every guy is like that, but…” She stops abruptly, sucking in a deep breath. “But…I also know it would mean having the ‘baby talk’ and I’m not sure where my head is at with that right now.”
“Want to talk tomeabout it?” I ask. “You could practice what you’d say to Hugh. I can even try to fake a Scottish accent for you if you want.”
She smiles faintly. “I don’t think we need to go that far.” She’s quiet for a moment, studying our joined hands. I’m about to tell her we don’t have to talk about it when she says, “I’m not sure if I want kids. I grew up assuming I’d have one or two because that’s what we’re taught to think, you know?” She meets my eyes and I nod emphatically; I never felt the pressure from my mom, but have definitely felt it from society as a whole.
