She clearly remembers her bout with the munchies last night after we got her home. Normally Ivy is the slowest eater in the world, picking at her food like she needs to consider each and every bite. Her frantic consumption of two full bags of Funyuns might have been amusing had it not been because she was a stoned twelve-year-old.
I decide not to press it, though. She’s talking, sort of, and besides, that’s a conversation Blake and I want to have with her together. But there’s one that I owe her on my own, one that is long overdue.
My throat tightens, my pulse picking up. I try to think of the Kim in that picture Bertram sent. I’m not always her, but I know she’s there. I know Icanbe.
I stand and walk over to Ivy’s bed, sitting next to her. She doesn’t scoot away, but she doesn’t move closer. “So, the video,” I say. “You saw some of it, obviously.”
She looks surprised. She clearly didn’t expect me to start withthat.
“Yeah.” She wrinkles her nose. “Not the sex part. Because ew.”
At least that’s something. I don’t want to think about the sheer amount of therapy seeing her parents’ sex tape would require. Just knowing thereisone is bad enough.
Her voice grows quiet. “I really didn’t post it. I didn’t even know about it until I heard people talking.”
“We know,” I tell her. “It was Aaron. He sold it to pay gambling debts.”
Ivy looks alarmed at this, and I let it soak in without comment. It’s probably good for her to know that kids don’t have a monopoly on making truly stupid decisions. “Did you see the part of the video where I talked about having something called OCD?”
Her eyes narrow, her chin jutting out, and my heart squeezes. “That’s what you didn’t want to tell me about.”
“I was afraid to,” I admit. “I shouldn’t have been. But I spent a long time being afraid to tell anyone. I was afraid people would think less of me. I was afraidyouwould.”Tears sting my eyes. “But I should have told you, anyway. I should have tried better to explain what happened when I knew you were old enough to understand it.”
Ivy’s hard expression remains, but she looks down at her hands.
“Would you like me to tell you what it is?” I ask.
“It’s a sickness in your brain,” she says. “It messes up the way you think sometimes. Like depression, like my friend Maia’s mom has.”
Now I’m the surprised one, and she looks a little self-satisfied. “Tanner let me use his phone, and I looked it up. I read a bunch of things about it.” Her smug look slips. “I know that was breaking another rule.”
It is, but one I’m not about to scold her for.
“I’m not glad you broke the rule, but I am glad you already know some things about it.” I put my hand over hers. Her fingers are almost as long as mine now. I remember when she had those chubby little baby fingers, forever smeared with peach jam. I remember how she would wrap those sticky hands around one or two of my fingers, holding on tight.Trusting me to keep her safe, to show her the world.
I long to feel her grasp my hand like that again.
“Is that what made you guys get divorced?” she asks. “Dad said you were unhappy for reasons that had nothing to do with him.”
I nod. “Neither of us knew what was wrong at the time. We didn’t know much about it. But it made life really difficult for both of us.”
“It made you afraid,” she says, studying me. “I remember you being afraid of things. Like when you took down my curtains. I remember you telling Dad they would hurt me. And I was mad, because those were my princess curtains, and they matched my bedspread.”
My heart cracks open. I remember that too, how she cried. Like when I cut her hair. “The OCD made my brain think the curtains might strangle you somehow. I knew it didn’t make sense, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I couldn’t stop being afraid.”
“Are you still afraid?”
It’s a good question, and one that’s not easy to answer. “Not of things like curtains, usually. Mainly because I take medicine and go to therapy. But I still feel afraid sometimes, just like everyone does. And I still have irrational thoughts, but now I know better how to handle them.”
She pauses. “Are me or Luke going to get it?”
It hurts to think she has to worry about this, that I might have passed this on. “Neither of you have any signs of it yet. And I don’t think you will, but if you do, we’ll be able to figure it out much sooner than I did. And we’ll get you the help you need right away, and you’ll be fine.The medicine and the therapy are really good stuff.”
She purses her lips and looks up at me with those beautiful, deep hazel eyes of hers. I think she’s going to have another question, but instead she squeezes my hand, and it takes my breath away. “I’m sorry, Mom. I bet that was really scary. And sad. Especially when Dad wasn’t living with us anymore.” She blinks and looks down. “I remember you being really sad when you thought I wasn’t looking. Both of you.”
Tears leak from the corners of my eyes. “Thank you, honey. It was. Scary and sad. But I always had you and Luke, and I was so grateful for that. I am always so grateful for that.”
Ivy leans into me—not a full hug, but god, it’s wonderful. I press my lips to the top of her head. We sit there for a moment, saying nothing, just breathing together. Until Ivy speaks up again.
