by Anna Burke
She’d thought she’d gotten over the pull of Ivy’s body, replacing it bit by bit with more hatred. It didn’t matter that she’d won their most recent battle, pulling the same trick Ivy had pulled on her years ago. It couldn’t matter, not once she’d seen the longing in Ivy’s eyes or heard Ivy’s breath catch when she kissed her.
Ivy wanted her. Ivy wanted her with the same intensity, the same melting, irrevocable need that had driven them together again and again, each clash as satisfying as it was wounding. And if Ivy still wanted her, that meant Lillian couldn’t fool herself into believing the night they’d shared was some sick game on Ivy’s part.
It had meant something to her.
She breathed in the humid air of her greenhouse and tried to capture some of its serenity. The sharp scent of leaves and flowers mingled with the subtler scents of earth and water, but they did not restore her equilibrium. She didn’t know if anything ever would. Ivy’s roots ran too deep. They’d sent hairline fractures into the bedrock even here beneath her greenhouse, the one place she could always count on to ground her.
An hour later found her on the road toward Bath. Her dogs slumbered in the backseat of her Subaru Crosstrek as she took Route One through the coastal towns of mid-coast Maine. When she pulled into the driveway of her parents’ small colonial, situated within walking distance of Bath Iron Works, where one of her mothers worked, Hermione perked up. She knew where her royal presence was most appreciated. Muffin, who believed all humans existed for butt scratches and ear rubs and did not discriminate, exhibited her usual enthusiasm for arriving at any destination where she’d been fed in the past. Lillian let the dogs out of the car to hop around the yard and knocked on the green front door.
Her mother opened it and promptly scooped Hermione into her arms and kissed the dog on the nose. Her other mother, Daiyu, shouted a greeting from the kitchen.
“Hi ma,” Lillian said. “Glad to see I’m still your favorite.”
June Lee held Hermione up for a second kiss and ignored her only child. Muffin barreled past to where Daiyu was presumably preparing something to feed hungry dogs. Lillian heard her mom greet the mutt with an exclamation of how fat Muffin was getting, followed by a series of pet names that should have embarrassed even the most shameless of golden retrievers. She kicked off her shoes and slid into a worn pair of house slippers before padding down the carpeted hallway to the kitchen.
“Mama,” she said to Daiyu. “Muffin is not fat. She’s fluffy.”
“I watched that comedian on Netflix. I know what “fluffy” means.”
“Of course you did.”
Daiyu’s chin-length hair framed her face, and she tucked a dark strand behind her ear as she hugged her daughter. “You look tired, xiao moguai.”
“I didn’t sleep well,” Lillian admitted.
“I’ll make some tea.” Daiyu busied herself with the pot, leaving Lillian to examine the production taking place on the counter. Suet, bird seed, molds, pinecones, and a jar of peanut butter lined the countertop.
“Feeding the squirrels?” she asked.
“Not this winter. I have a new system. Those rats won’t get a single nibble.”
Daiyu’s battle with the squirrels was legendary, even at the veterinary hospital where she worked as a technician. It was also futile. Lillian secretly believed Daiyu’s efforts to protect her bird feeders were only breeding wilier squirrels.
“What is it?”
“Fishing line.”
“Didn’t you try that a few years back?”
“She did,” said June, entering the kitchen with Hermione nestled on her hip. June wore her hair cropped short and graying, but she was still handsome. Stevie liked to call her a silver fox, which amused June and mortified Lillian. Age was chiseling her where it was softening Daiyu, as if it was determined to distill them down to the essence of their natures. It always surprised people when they found out June had carried Lillian instead of Daiyu—though the whiteness of Lillian’s skin should have been a clue.
Sunlight filled the kitchen and glinted off the stainless-steel molds Daiyu pressed her mixture of suet and birdseed into. The smell of steeping oolong filled her with some of the contentment she’d been lacking since Ivy Holden had arrived in Seal Cove.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Daiyu asked. “Brian?”
Her mothers had liked Brian, though June had always held herself a little aloof, as if she didn’t think he was good enough for her daughter.
“No,” she said. She’d hardly thought about Brian, which she couldn‘t entirely attribute to avoidance. Her breakup had been transcended by Ivy.
“Work?” June guessed.
“Sort of.” She perched on the counter, earning a disapproving look from Daiyu. “Ivy.”
June’s frown clouded her features. Daiyu tutted in displeasure. Lillian had complained bitterly about Ivy all through vet school, and her mothers shared her animosity.
“That girl has no business making your life harder than it is,” said June.
Except Ivy wasn’t a girl anymore. Something about her had changed—grown even, and she didn’t trust herself around it.
“What did she do?” asked Daiyu.
She thought about telling her moms the truth, but wavered. They wouldn’t understand. She didn’t understand. Reason and her feelings for Ivy were like water and clay. One ran right off the other.
“She’s . . .distracting.”
June snorted. “You’re not in school anymore. She is not your competition.”
“She was never your competition. You’re a better doctor and a better person than that privileged . . .” Daiyu trailed off and pursed her lips.
Ivy symbolized everything about America that Lillian hated. Her privilege—courtesy of her race, her good looks, her wealth, and her cultural capital—was everything her moms had fought against their entire lives. They’d raised Lillian to succeed in a world that wanted nothing to do with her or her family, doubly stigmatized by ethnicity and sexuality, and she’d done it. Ivy, meanwhile, had merely set one foot in front of the other on the red carpet the world rolled out to greet her. She could not tell her parents about the other half of her feelings for Ivy. Not only would they not understand, they would potentially see it as a betrayal.
“I just needed to get away for a few hours,” she said instead.
“Good. Your mother could use a hand with her birds,” said June.
“Not fair. You just don’t want to help.”
“So suet me.”
Daiyu and Lillian groaned at the pun. She grabbed the teacups to serve her family and tried to forget about Ivy and the way her lips had yielded beneath her own, or the way Ivy’s body had melted into hers when she’d parted her legs, Ivy’s hands tangled in her hair and her breath coming fast and hot into Lillian’s mouth as Ivy surrendered control for the first time in the entirety of their feuding relationship.
The tea did not quench her sudden thirst.
• • •
Ivy left for work Monday morning with enough time to stop into Storm’s-a-Brewin’. Her first appointment was an in-clinic case, which would put her in direct proximity to Lillian. She whistled at Darwin as she opened the door of her truck for him.
Lillian thought she’d won the last round.
Ivy, however, had other ideas.
Stormy smiled at her as she took her place in line behind a motley assembly of patrons. She flexed her hands in her coat pockets to try to dispel some of the lingering weakness. Yesterday had been bad; today, however, would be better. Or at least, it would be if the power of thought had anything to do with it.
“What can I get for you?” Stormy asked when she reached the counter.
“You told me I should try the dark roast.”
“And I just brewed a fresh pot.”
“I’ll also take your medium roast.”
Stormy’s eyebrows rose, and she tilted her head. “Trying both?”
“Bringing one for a friend.”
>
“A mutual friend?”
Ivy handed over her card without answering.
“Whatever you do, don’t tell her I told you it’s her favorite, or that she sprinkles cinnamon on top and takes soymilk but no sugar. I’m already in trouble.”
Ivy didn’t ask why Stormy was in trouble with Lillian. She suspected the answer had everything to do with Stormy’s impromptu invitation to the club, which, judging by Lillian’s reaction, Stormy had not shared with her friends. Aware of the pressure from the line behind her, she accepted the to-go cups and did not ask Stormy why she had issued the invitation in the first place, or why she had just given her instructions for how to fix Lillian’s coffee.
Second-guessing Stormy’s motives wouldn’t get her anywhere. She’s Lillian’s friend, not yours. The reminder chilled her, despite the hot coffee in her hand. She was alone here, which had been what she wanted. It was too late to wish for something different. Instead, she focused on something more achievable: conquest by coffee.
Ambulatory fell to Morgan today and the clinic truck was already on the road. The rest of the hospital staff was there, however, including Lillian. Ivy was disappointed to see that her car was out of the shop. She ordered Darwin to heel and pushed through the back door, coffee cups in hand.
Georgia greeted her with her usual good humor. Ivy asked after her mother, who, she was relieved to hear, was doing much better after her ordeal in the hospital. Kidney stones were no joke, though Georgia managed one or two at her mother’s expense, imitating her mother’s crush on her surgeon.
“Is Dr. Lee here?” she asked.
“In the treatment area with a drop-off.”
Ivy strolled through the clinic and into the treatment area, affecting her best nonchalant gait. Lillian was examining an African gray parrot with gentle hands, and Ivy leaned in the doorway to watch as Lillian carefully plucked a blood feather from beneath the parrot’s wing.
“Good morning,” she said when Lillian finished.
Lillian’s shoulders stiffened, but there was a warily triumphant cast to the set of her jaw, which Ivy had vivid memories of kissing less than forty-eight hours previously.
“Good morning.”
“Coffee?”
Triumph faded to confusion, then irritation, which made Ivy smile. She’d been right: Lillian had thought she’d won.
“You brought me coffee?”
Sensing the curiosity of the assistant, Ivy fixed a professional smile on her face. “I can see if Georgia wants it. It’s Stormy’s medium roast.”
“That’s . . . very kind of you.”
“Is that a yes?” She waved the coffee in a half circle.
“Yes.” Lillian drew out the syllables in her hesitation.
Ivy set the coffee on the counter and threw Lillian what she intended to be a careless smile. It faltered under Lillian’s eyes, and she found herself clutching her own cup of coffee too tightly.
“Dr. Holden?” Shawna asked.
She jumped, spilling coffee on her hand. She hissed at the pain of the hot liquid against her raw nerves.
Lillian was at her side and plucking the drink from her hand before she had time to register her movement.
“Run that under cold water. Stormy’s coffee is hot.” She steered Ivy toward the sink. Lillian’s grip on her shoulders was authoritative and nothing like the hands that had slid over her body as they danced. She shivered all the same as she opened the cold water tap and thrust her scalded skin beneath it. An involuntary hiss escaped her. The cold triggered an unpleasant numbness, which spread past her wrist and into her forearm.
“Want me to return Grayson to his parents?” asked the assistant who had been left with the parrot.
“Please, and tell them I’ll be in shortly.”
“Your first appointment is outside,” Shawna said when Ivy turned away from the sink. “I’ll get them unloaded.”
“Thank you,” said Ivy.
In the quiet that followed, she pulled her hand out from the water and patted it dry with a paper towel. Lillian remained beside her. It was harder to meet her eyes than it should have been. Her hand hurt in a way that promised a long and unrelenting day, despite her earlier optimism, and that was nothing she needed Lillian to see.
“Are you okay?” Lillian asked.
“Yes.”
Lillian took her hand and turned it over. The familiarity in the gesture cemented her feet to the ground. She couldn’t move. She could barely breathe.
“It looks all right,” said Lillian as she examined the skin. “And serves you right. You do know that, don’t you?”
She looked up. Amusement, anger, and something almost tender filled Lillian’s face.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ivy let her gaze flicker to Lillian’s lips. She saw the flush that crept across Lillian’s cheeks, and satisfaction drowned out the pain.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
They had only a matter of minutes before someone else wandered to the back, and mindful of the clinic security cameras, she checked their angles before speaking.
“But I really don’t. Stay late tonight and explain it to me?”
“What—”
“Oh, and Lillian?” She used Lillian’s full name, enjoying the way it felt in her mouth. Lillian’s flush deepened. “I did like it.”
With that, she pulled away and left Lillian standing there. She forced herself not to look back with a new appreciation for Orpheus.
• • •
The day passed in a steady stream of patients. Lillian saw appointments on Mondays and procedures on Tuesdays, which meant, in reality, that on Mondays she squeezed procedures in during what was, in theory, her lunchbreak since she was nearly always booked up. Under no circumstances would she be staying late tonight to talk with Ivy.
Stormy’s text message didn’t help.
SA: Respecting your space, babe, but let me know when you’re ready to talk. Want to apologize and buy your love with chocolate stout. <3
An apology would mean talking about what had happened, which would mean acknowledging that while Stormy had set the weekend’s events in motion, it had been Lillian and Ivy who determined its course. She wished she could talk to Morgan. Morgan would do her best to understand, but her friend had been distracted since Emilia entered her life, and she was too close to the problem. Angie would also understand, but Lillian found herself reluctant to bring it up. What would she even say? I want to fuck the woman I’ve hated for years, and yes, I am also fairly sure I still hate her? Plus, she’s my coworker? That wasn’t healthy. It was downright destructive. And Angie would probably tell her to go for it; self-destruction was basically her MO.
She was barely able to concentrate on her last appointment. By the time she discharged the guinea pig and finished her paperwork, her hands were sweating, and she had to ask Georgia to repeat herself several times. Danielle was off-clinic today, which meant if she stayed after hours, she would be alone with Ivy.
Which she was definitely not going to do.
“I’m taking off unless you need me,” said Georgia.
“I’m all set. Is anyone still here?”
“Equine, I think. Want me to check for you?”
“No thanks. I’ll double-check before I lock up.” She gave Georgia what she hoped was a confident smile.
“Have a good night, Dr. Lee.”
The sound of the door clicking shut echoed in the empty hospital. Lillian tapped her fingers on the counter and stared at the computer. All her paperwork was done. There was absolutely no reason for her to stay, and every reason for her to leave.
A different door opened and closed. Footsteps on the clinic floor made their way from the barn entrance to where she waited, every muscle in her body tense.
“Hey,” said Ivy. The clinic polo worn by the large animal staff clung to her frame, and Lillian flattened her hand on the counter to keep herself from fidgeting.
“I was just about to h
ead out,” she said.
Ivy shrugged and didn’t move, nor did she stop staring at Lillian.
“How’s your hand?” she asked to fill the silence. Someone needed to tell Danielle those polos were a criminal offense. Morgan and Stevie left them strewn around the house, and since she often picked up after them, it was an easy leap to imagine how Ivy’s body would feel beneath the soft cotton.
“Fine,” said Ivy.
She cast around for something else to say. “Thank you for the coffee.”
“Any time.”
“But you shouldn’t have.”
“Why not?” Ivy asked. “I was there. You drink coffee. I grabbed you a cup.”
“You didn’t buy coffee for the rest of the staff.”
“Want me to?”
Lillian glared at her. Ivy Holden could buy coffee for the entire hospital for the rest of the year and think nothing of the expense. “That’s very generous of you.”
“Not really,” said Ivy. “But if that’s what it takes to get you to drink it . . .”
“You can’t do this.”
“What, buy you a drink?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Afraid you might like it?” Ivy’s voice dropped into a low, mocking register.
Lillian stood and pushed her chair back so suddenly it rolled into the cabinet opposite. “Whatever this is—”
Ivy cut her off. “You know exactly what this is, Lil.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You sure?”
“Goodbye, Ivy.” She grabbed her bag and cut through the nearest exam room to get to the safety of her car.
“Lil,” Ivy called from behind her. “You forgot your jacket.”
She paused in the middle of the room and looked back. Ivy held her coat out to her, and the light from the doorway framed her against the darkness of the room. Her lean silhouette posed a challenge. Light played along the curve of her waist and haloed her blond hair, suggesting the very paths Lillian’s hands wanted to explore. But there was also arrogance in that posture. Ivy knew Lillian wanted her. Knew, and mocked her.
