“That’s not true.” Blake’s lips press into a firm line. “We’re your parents, always. And if this was going to put you in some kind of actual danger, we wouldn’t do it.”
“But—”
Luke cuts her off now. “It’s my turn!”Then he holds up his list and points at Ivy. “This is Ivy’s voice now!”
“Yeah, that’s a concern for all of us, buddy,” Blake mutters under his breath, raking his hand through his hair.
I squeeze his other hand, but there’s a drip of ice going down my spine.
Actual danger.
Is something that’s clearly so emotionally difficult for our daughter an actual danger?
I’ve been afraid of so many dangers to my children that weren’t real threats, been driven crazy with those fears. It’s been better since I’ve been on the meds, but I still can’t be sure sometimes if my fears are valid or not.
I’m glad the others are all talking because my throat is so dry, I’m not sure I can.
“This isn’t fair,” Ivy yells, jumping to her feet, and stomping them for good measure. “You’re all ganging up on me! You said this is a family, but it’s not. It’sTeam Anti-Ivy!”
“We’re notTeam Anti-Ivy,” Blake says with no small amount of exhaustion. “We’reTeam Cooperation, and you’re beingTeam SassyTone.”
I can only imagine how many interviewers would kill to hear Blake Pless using the words “sassy tone” in such an unironic way. Normally this would make me laugh, but I’m a long way from laughing at the moment.
“And,” Blake continues, “you can join our team at any time. We really want you to.”
Ivy shakes her head. “You don’t want to cooperate. You just want to say you’re the parents and you can do whatever you want, and I can’t even talk to a really nice boy just because he’s a little older than me, and it’s not fair!”
She folds her paper crisply down the center, and then again into quarters, and drops it on the floor—which is basically the Ivy version of crumpling it up (neither she nor I can stand crumpled papers.) Costanza gets up to snuffle at the paper and starts trying to eat it.
She grabs Costanza’s collar and tugs it. “Come on, Costanza.They don’t care about us.”
Costanza spits out the paper and follows her with his now purple-stained tongue lolling out and stump tail wagging happily as she stomps off to the bathroom—the only room she can close herself into—and slams the door.
“She’s really mad,” Luke whispers, wide-eyed.
“I know, buddy.” Blake rubs at his forehead like my headache is catching.
On that note, we end our second, equally unsuccessful family meeting. Blake plays Legos with Luke on the floor while I return some phone calls. I check in withTara about theEWinterview tomorrow, and then with Helene, my CAO, about how Urkel’s neutering went (great, until he somehow got his post-op Cone of Shame stuck in a doggie gate) and the various options the contractor quoted on the little house I want to build for my feline leukemia patients, who can’t be kept with non-infected cats because of the contagious nature of the disease.
All of this makes me miss my animals and the ranch, and wish we were all back there right now. We will be soon, at least for a few days, as Blake and I—along withTroy and the others—have a break in shooting to be on a couple panels at San Diego Comic-Con.
More than anything, I want to be with Blake on the ranch, want him to feel at home there like he always should have been.
Will he still want that, now that the realities of our situation are starting to intrude on the bubble?
Will it make things worse for Ivy?
These questions are circling around my mind when Blake takes his turn making his business calls and Luke and I play Connect Four. Ivy eventually gets bored enough sulking in the bathroom with Costanza that they come out and join us for dinner, which we ordered from room service. She refuses to let herself be pulled into any actual dinner conversation, though, even when Blake brings up some great nearby surfing locations he’s been checking out online.There’s a moment when her eyes light up with excitement—he mentions a beach where one of the famous surfers they’re both obsessed with regularly goes—but she shuts even that down.
She’s a stubborn one, our Ivy.
Finally, bedtime rolls around—eight o’clock, though Ivy’s allowed to stay up reading until nine-thirty—and we get them tucked in and are able to retreat to our room. Costanza finds his dog bed and collapses into it, snoring almost as soon as he drops.
My exhausted body wants to do the same and just sleep for days, but my spinning mind isn’t about to let that happen. Blake looks over at me like he’s about to say something, but then looks away. He obviously has things on his mind, too.
I’m scared to find out what exactly it is he’s afraid to say.
While Blake brushes his teeth, I strip down to my underwear and a comfy cotton shirt I like to sleep in. He emerges from the bathroom wearing just his boxers, and it’s an incredible sight. I want to pull him into bed and press myself against the muscles of his chest, wrap myself in his strong arms. My body wants to do more than sleep right now—it aches all over.
