The Evolution of Ivy: Poison

by Lauren Campbell

  Our plates are set before us, momentarily interrupting our game. After a long intercession, Brooks finally says, “That’s awesome. How old were you when you realized what the family business was?”

  “Oh, young,” I say. “Like I said before, nudity was nothing growing up, so sex was something they were always open about.”

  Eliza’s eyes narrow. She’s thinking. I quickly realize my mistake, wishing I could pluck my words back from the air. “Wait, when were you guys talking about nudity?” She looks at Brooks, and then at me, and back again. Demands an answer with her eyes.

  “You were passed out after Front Page News, babe. Emily was gonna change you into a T-shirt, and I said you may not be cool with it. But you were sick, so we left you alone.” He squeezes her hand on the table, and the muscles in her neck relax. What a quick-thinking genius.

  “Well, next time, it’s fine, babe. She’s seen me naked now.” She winks at me, laughing. Brooks meets my eyes, but then quickly looks down at his plate.

  “Oh, really?” Deacon nudges me. I’d almost forgotten he was at the table with us. I smile at him, but it’s because Brooks and I just had a moment. He’d protected me. Protected us.

  “My turn,” Eliza says. “Question for Deacon. Aren’t you glad you and Kara broke up?” Her head nods to me.

  Deacon’s lips pull back into a wide grin. Caught off guard. “Yes, I am,” he agrees.

  “Your turn,” Eliza says to me.

  I know it’s a bad idea, but I’m impulsive and can’t help myself. I hold up a finger, signaling I need more time to chew and swallow my chicken. “Hmm. Brooks.” My eyes settle on him, and I set down my fork. “You’re marrying the love of your life in two months. Was she your first love?” I’ve just opened Pandora’s Box. For a second, I want to kill myself. But I know his answer might do that for me.

  He wipes his mouth with a napkin, and I’m certain he’s going to talk about some chick in France or Kate. “Complete honesty?” We all nod, and he points a finger at Deacon—a warning not to laugh. “And baby, don’t get upset…” Eliza holds her hands up and sighs whatever. “There was a girl in fifth grade.” He pauses, a small grin playing at the corner of his mouth. “Shit, that was forever ago. Fuck getting old. Anyway, we just had this connection, I dunno. She was my best friend more than anything, I guess. But I loved her—in my childish fifth grade way.”

  Peripherally, it’s hard to miss the exaggerated eye roll and head shake that comes from Eliza. My entire body is paralyzed. I don’t think I’ve blinked since he began his answer. I’m frozen, waiting for more. Desperate. But he doesn’t keep going.

  “Well?” I manage, my voice foreign and strange.

  “I moved away.” He shrugs. “My parents whisked me off to France to build their company, and we didn’t come back for three years, so … that was it.”

  Eliza snorts. “Uh … I think you left out the part where you came back and she was Shrek.”

  I battle the urge to leap across the table and strangle the life out of the bitch. I didn’t turn into Shrek. She made me Shrek. And who the hell is she to pick on someone’s looks with her hairy legs this morning and her greasy hair.

  “That’s so wrong,” Brooks says. But he doesn’t say I wasn’t Shrek, and it crushes me. Destroys me.

  “It’s just the truth,” she says. The truth is, I may just run her over with my car.

  “Okay, she did become less … attractive. But she wasn’t Shrek. C’mon, that’s harsh,” he says.

  “Oh, please,” she rolls her eyes again. I wish they’d roll out of her head and onto the table so I could cut them up with my fork and stuff them down her throat. “You know that girl was hideous. You just won’t admit it because you were in some stupid puppy love with her when you were twelve.”

  “That’s really fucked up, Eliza. You know, you always seem to forget you’re the one who broke her nose.” Brooks isn’t smiling anymore. I’m still a statue, and Deacon is mute. Just sitting there like what the fuck.

  “Is everyone going to throw that in my face until the day I die? It was an accident. Accidents happen. It’s not like she was beautiful before, not like I wrecked some future Cindy Crawford’s face. Puberty didn’t like her very much, either.” Eliza keeps rambling, continuing on about how ugly I got and how chunky I was. My body is getting hot. I feel like I’m about to pass out. I want her to suffer for being such a terrible person. No one should have to feel this way.

  Brooks turns to her, and there’s something on his face I’ve never seen, ever. Rage. “Will you just shut the fuck up already?” he says.

  I love him. I love him so much. He is a good person. He is the Brooks I used to know. The Brooks who loved me.

  Eliza’s mouth drops open. She’s stunned. Her eyes are suddenly shiny, like they’re forming tears. She slams her napkin down on the table and stands from her chair. Looks at me. “We’re going,” she commands.

  I gather my phone. Take the napkin Brooks wiped his mouth with as he and Deacon watch Eliza storm off. Shove it in my purse. I bolt after Eliza, and I look back at the love of my life. I shrug apologetically to both of them, but my eyes are fixed on Brooks. He shakes his head at me like he doesn’t know what is wrong with her. Like he hates her.

  July 18, 1999

  I don’t think he’s coming. Maybe he’s sick, or maybe his mom wouldn’t let him come today. I don’t know how long I’ve been waiting, but my mouth is dry from thirst, and the heat is making me tired. Brooks always brings two popsicles with him—one for each of us—and a big jug of water, because the Georgia heat is awful. But every time I’ve asked if we can go to his house, he says his parents wouldn’t like that. I’ve never asked why. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s been about two hours since I showed up. What if he moved already and isn’t coming back? He said they were staying another month, and it’s been a little longer than that. I’m starting to worry I’ll never see him again.

  Brooks and I have gotten a lot closer since school ended last month. We’ve been coming here every day. I wear my bathing suit under my clothes, and he wears his swim trunks. We play water guns and cards and tell stories, and sometimes I draw pandas in the sand when he asks me to. We have so much fun. He’s my first real friend … my best friend. It’s going to be so hard when he’s gone.

  We haven’t even kissed yet. A few days ago, we wrestled in the shallow part of the creek and ended up falling over. He was on top of me, inches from my face. I thought he was going to kiss me then, but he didn’t. Instead, he just stared at me. Then he got up, and we acted like it’d never happened. But I wish it had.

  Leaves rustle in the distance. I turn my head to the trees, but I don’t see anything. Probably just an animal. I run my fingers through the dirt, spelling out our names and drawing a heart. I hear the rustling again, my eyes glancing back to the tree line. I see him! I can make out his favorite yellow shirt moving down the slope. My foot quickly smooths over our names and the heart.

  He’s out of the trees, and he’s jogging to me now. Except there’s only one popsicle in his hand. And no jug of water.

  I run to meet him halfway. We stop when we reach each other, and I know. I know.

  “This is it, Ivy. The last day.” His voice is flat. Lifeless. “We’re about to go. Right now.”

  Dread reaches my throat. My stomach stirs. “But … but can’t you stay awhile longer?” My lip trembles, and I swallow, trying not to cry.

  He shakes his head slowly.

  His hand holds the popsicle out to me. I take it, but then I drop it to the ground. He hugs me. Hugs me so tight I think he might break my ribs. I’d gladly let him if it meant he could stay. I cry into his shoulder, soaking his shirt with my pain. I sniff it and cry more, knowing I won’t get to do it again for over 365 more days.

  When our arms finally let go of each other, tears are building up in the corners of his eyes, but they don’t fall, because he blinks them away.

  “I’ll be back,” he says softly. “I won
’t forget you.”

  “I can’t believe you’re really leaving,” my voice cracks.

  He takes my hands into his one more time. They’re sweaty and warm.

  “Brooooooks!” A voice echoes frantically from somewhere beyond the trees.

  He looks back at the woods and turns around to me again. He squeezes my hands, and then it happens.

  “I love you, Ivy,” he whispers, and they’re the best words I’ve ever heard. They’re the kind of words that make you close your eyes and feel them—memorize them. But I don’t have time to say it back. I realize my eyes are shut, but before I can open them, his hands let go of mine, and he grabs me by the face. His lips touch mine—my first kiss. His, too. It’s just a peck, but it’s long, and it’s hard, like he’s trying to press his lips into my face so I’ll remember them forever. Something lightly hits my cheek, and as it’s rolling down my face I know it’s one of those tears he’d tried to blink away. But now his lips aren’t on my lips anymore. I open my eyes, and he’s running. Running, running, running … running so fast. Running away from me.

  My throat closes up as I watch him run away, and I can’t tell him goodbye, because my stupid throat won’t let the words come out. I can’t tell him I love him, too, but I do.

  “I’m gonna marry you one day, Ivy!” he shouts, but he’s already at the trees.

  I try to respond, but my voice is a strangled whisper, and I can’t run after him because my feet are cinder blocks.

  His tear is still on my cheek, drying up. I wish it were a magic tear. I wish I could use it to make myself shrink, like in that movie, Honey, I Shrunk the Kids. I could get in his pocket and stay with him until they come back to America. Then I could be big again, and it really would be Ivy and Brooks forever, for real.

  September 25, 2015

  I get the third degree during the entire drive back to Brookhaven for asking Brooks that damn question that has now become sacred to me. I profusely fake apologize and say I had no idea it would cause problems. She says she forgives me, that it’s really her fault and she overreacted. Still, she goes to her apartment, and I go to mine, though we promise to meet for coffee tomorrow as usual.

  Not long after I get home, there’s a knock on my door, and I open it thinking it is her or Jared, but it’s Deacon. I’ve already changed into flannel pants and a cami, because I certainly wasn’t expecting him.

  “Hey,” he says, “Sorry to show up like this, but I wanted to check on you guys. Eliza gave me your address. I didn’t pay attention to the number the night we went to the club.” He’s polite, not attempting to step inside uninvited, but I invite him. Maybe it could happen tonight.

  I show him to the living room and motion to the sofa. We sit, and he starts to talk about Eliza, but I tell him I’d rather watch TV instead—that Eliza must be PMS’ing or something. I hand him the remote, and he settles on a cooking show, because there isn’t much else on.

  “Is this okay?”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I love to cook,” he says. That’s hot.

  I don’t complain. My legs swing across his lap, resting on his thighs as I stare as the julienne zucchini on the screen. This is a nice distraction. I just want to forget the hurtful things Eliza had said and remember Brooks’s forever. Those are words I would want to memorialize.

  Deacon puts a hand on my knee. “I know she’s your friend and all, but Eliza’s a bitch. Brooks deserves better.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “He’ll be fine. But that was over the top. It’s like he’s immune to it, though. Like he doesn’t even know she’s a bitch. If I didn’t want you for myself, I’d ship her off somewhere and hook you guys up.”

  I look at him. “Oh, you want me, huh?”

  He smiles. Some of his hair falls in front of his eyes, and he tucks it behind his ear. “I do.”

  “In what way?” I trace a finger slowly across his lips.

  He hesitates. “In every way. Is that bad?”

  “No,” I say, sitting up. “What’s bad is not doing anything about it.”

  His eyes fill with desire, and he starts to kiss me, but backs away. “Wait. How about dessert or a drink first?”

  He’s too nice. I straddle him, my inner thighs gripping the outside of his. I pull at his hair so that his head falls back, and I bring my lips to his neck—his scent one of money. “Your dessert is right … here.” I guide his fingers and slip them under my flannel pajama pants. He moans as he touches me.

  His rough hands travel up the back of my shirt as I dry-hump him. They unhook my bra with precision. His breathing hard, he takes my breasts into his mouth.

  “Damn,” he says, pulling me down for a kiss. Shoves his tongue into my mouth, then into my ear.

  I start to unbutton his jeans, and at first he starts to help me, but then he grabs my wrists. Moves them away.

  “We can’t,” he says.

  “What do you mean? Why not?” I struggle against his strength. Try to reach for his pants again.

  He rubs his eyes with his hands. He’s struggling, too, but mentally. “Because. I don’t want it to be like this. I wanna take you out first. You’re worth more than this.” I’m beginning to recognize there are two types of men out there. There are Jareds, who just want to lick your pussy and fuck after some Netflix. And then there are Deacons, who want to take their time and prime you with extravagance first. Do things right and proper.

  I momentarily wish Brooks had a shittier friend.

  “What are you wanting this to be?” I ask, as I get off him and plop back.

  “I’d like to take you out this weekend. On a real date, just you and me. I’d like to see where this goes.”

  “Fine. We can go on a date first. But do I have to wait that long?” I sound like a sex-crazed psycho, but I’m on a deadline here.

  “Well, I suppose if you really want to see me, I could make tomorrow work.”

  “Good.” I kiss him, short and sweet. Proper.

  “I better go, or we won’t be able to stop.” He stands, pulling me up and over to the door with him. He hugs me, then pecks me on the lips. “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

  “Same.”

  It’s sort of exciting, though I don’t want it to be. But I can’t help but be excited for my first real date. I wish I could cut out a giant Brooks face and staple it to Deacon’s head tomorrow, but…

  After he’s gone, I get naked. Smell Brooks’s dinner napkin, which holds traces of his aftershave. Run it over my lips. Think of him while I fuck myself.

  September 26, 2015

  My fist beats on the door. Minutes of silence pass, followed by more beating. I know she’s in there. I text her: Not going away. I’ve called fourteen times, and every time she has declined my call. The door opens finally. She clearly went to bed without washing her face, her eyes a raccoon makeup tutorial. An open bottle of wine sits empty on her coffee table.

  “Can I come in?”

  “No,” she snaps. Her hand pushes against the door.

  I push it open and walk in anyway. She can’t act like she did last night and expect to hide out. I sit down at the breakfast table, elbows on the glass. I lock my fingers together and rest my chin against my fists.

  She strolls into the kitchen and pulls a glass from the cabinet. “Can I get you some water?”

  “No.” Her place is messy. It appears she hasn’t cleaned in days. I’ve never seen it like this, but then again, I’ve never shown up unannounced. My parents had always frowned upon people who did that—said they had no manners.

  “What was last night about?” I ask, really hoping there’s a good explanation for her behavior, maybe a dying child at the hospital where she volunteers with kids. Something with the wedding planning?

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she says.

  “I mean, Eliza … embarrassing me in front of our friends and being a general bitch.”

  “Oh … so you admit the fact that you went out with Ivy
is embarrassing,” her words leaking venom as she spits them.

  I can’t believe she’s going there again. “Eliza...” I shake my head.

  Her nostrils flare, the subsequent clench of her jaw not happening since a stupid fight we’d had years ago. “I wasn’t the only one who talked about her back then, you know.” She narrows her eyes.

  “You’re right,” I lean back in my chair and shrug, but then I lean in close to her. “Except that we’re not in high school anymore. Did you forget? That whole thing was humiliating. I was asked a question. I answered it, and you completely flipped.”

  “And?” Her arms cross tightly over her chest.

  “And … Eliza … you can be a bitch sometimes. All women can. And I know I’m an asshole sometimes, too. But to go on some long rant about an innocent girl who couldn’t defend herself is fucked up. I mean—is this how you’re going to be? Is that who you really are?”

  She shakes her head and looks down at her lap, sighing in defeat. “I don’t get it. It’s like you’re on some mission to defend her and hurt me.” Her head tilts. “You’re awfully defensive of someone you haven’t seen in years.”

  I stand up, exhaling angrily. She has completely missed the point. “This isn’t about her. This is about you. Ivy is ugly, all right? Do you feel better now? We both treated her poorly back then. I admit that. But I grew up, Eliza. But after last night, I am wondering … did you? I wonder if...”

  “If what? What, Brooks?” Her lip trembles on my name. She steps slowly to me, closing the physical distance between us, but leaving the emotional wall intact.

  “I wondered if I want the mother of my children to be as hateful as you were last night.”