Page 34 of Strange Love

I pause our motion and meet her hesitant gaze. “Not unless you want to talk about it,” I assure her. When she doesn’t respond immediately, I add, “I’m here for whatever you need, but I’ll never pressure you to reveal anything before you’re ready.”

“But don’t you think you have a right to know who you’ve decided to ‘fake date’?” Ivy retorts.

“What I know,” I reply, “is that you’ve had a tough day. A tough week. Maybe even several tough years.” Ivy lets out a sigh of agreement. “So let’s just enjoy this moment, okay?”

Chapter 19

“How Will I Know”

Ivy - Age 18, 1988

Igroggily roll out of bed too early on a Saturday morning, with the sun peeking through my curtains, and memories of yesterday flood my mind. Corey and I spent the afternoon together, and it felt like a dream I didn’t want to wake up from. I can’t believe how kind and understanding he was, especially knowing his reputation as a self-absorbed hockey player. Spending time with him showed me a different side that made me better understand why he suggested this fake relationship in the first place. He’s more intelligent, more caring, and deeper than people give him credit for. He’s more than just some good-looking hockey player.

The morning shift at work is missing the bustle and excitement of the evenings, and this slow pace is making it difficult to remain focused on the task at hand - checking all of the returned movies to ensure they’re properly rewound.

“Be kind. Rewind,” I say to myself as I work with a smile on myself. At least Josh let me choose the movie today, so Ferris Bueller is enjoying his day off on the three screens around the store.

I promised Nat yesterday that we would go to the mall after I finished work, and five hours later, as we walk through the familiar glass doors, I could sense the energy and buzz of people around us. The smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls from the food court fills my nostrils. We head towards Contempo Casual, where Sascha’s waiting for us.

Even though I’ve been home for two years, going anywhere alone with my sister is scary for both of us. What happened to me was not my fault, and as much as I understand it on a rational level, my heart hurts thinking about what it did to nearly four years of my life and my family’s life as well. We know this is all part of getting back into life, and it’s important that we do things independently, as any other sisters would do.

As we pass by the various storefronts and kiosks, I can’t help but notice a sense of nostalgia for this place. When I first returned home, I spent my days between home and here, watching movies and observing the hustle and bustle of shoppers. My mom would bring me here, and I would eat a corn dog and drink a lemonade, and people would watch.

The mall is a microcosm of society, with people from all walks of life coming together in one place, and I think about that as I walk across the polished floors, determined to figure out where I belong in this new chapter of my life.

Sascha and I trail behind my sister as she flits from store to store, trying on clothes with reckless abandon. She finally stops in the music store, where Sascha breaks the silence.

“Are you okay?” she inquires.

I grimace, knowing the story about how ‘Strawberry Shortcake went to school’ has made its way through the rumor mill. “I’m fine. Just embarrassed,” I admit with a sigh.”

“Don’t be,” Sascha declares confidently. “Those people don’t know anything about you. They don’t matter.”

“You sound like Corey,” I comment with a small smile.

“Speaking of tall, dark, and handsome,” Sascha teases, “I heard he stood up for you and lit into Amber yesterday.”

“Those girls are so horrible.”

“Vipers,” she responds, and I chuckle at the perfect description.

“Corey and I had a great afternoon,” I confess, a blush heating my cheeks. “He took me skating.”

Sascha’s eyebrows shoot up with interest, her eyes lingering on the record I hold. “I didn’t realize you skated,” she states.

“I don’t,” I tell her with a nervous laugh. “He’s teaching me.”

“Perks of dating a hockey player,” she teases.

“I have no idea what I’m doing, Sascha,” I admit with a shake of my head.

“You’re going out with Corey Delacour,” Sascha says, emphasizing his name with a sly smile. “What’s he like?”

“He’s sweet.”

“Oh, so sweet and dreamy,” she mocks, batting her eyelashes dramatically.

“Shut up,” I say playfully, pushing her shoulder. “Speaking of dreamy, what’s the deal with you and Taz?”