The Evolution of Ivy: Poison
Page 11
“No, I’m good.”
And I am. Brooks saved me. He saved my life. Saved us.
I’ve sampled enough wedding cake to never want cake again. Eliza is so extraordinarily picky. One cake is too sweet, the other too bland. But forget that I almost left this world and entered The Pearly Gates last night. The cake must have just the right touch of vanilla, because that’s what’s important in life. If it were my wedding, I’d bake a rainbow chip mix from a box and call it a day.
I sit in a chair and lay my head down on one of the tables while she argues with the wedding planner. I didn’t sleep at all last night, not after almost dying. Not after Brooks rescued me. Not after that eye contact we had in a nearly pitch black lake. It was a moment of magic, which looped in my head, barring me from sleep. The numerous shots of vodka I drank weren’t even enough knock me out.
“You good?” Brooks asks, tapping me on the shoulder.
“Just really tired,” I manage, still sounding buzzed, but merely famished for some shut-eye. “I couldn’t sleep after almost drowning.”
“You should have stayed behind and gotten some rest. Teak could have made you lunch.”
I don’t respond. I didn’t want to stay behind, because I didn’t want to miss a second with Brooks, but I do miss the sleep I desperately need.
“Hey, babe,” he interrupts Eliza, who’s bickering over icing. “Do you mind if I drop Emily back off at the cabin while you finish up here?”
My eyes widen underneath the hair spread out over my head. Oh, shit.
“The cabin? We’re almost done,” she says sharply.
“Babe, look at her,” he whispers. “She needs sleep. She almost died last night. I can meet you at the florist in twenty.”
“Almost died?” the wedding planner gasps. “Is she all right? What on Earth—”
“Fine,” Eliza says through her teeth. “Twenty.”
Brooks shakes me. “Let’s go.”
I must have fallen asleep after buckling in, because he’s tugging me out of the car in what feels like only a few seconds later. I’m utterly exhausted, my eyes weighted down. I struggle to keep them open as he guides me, his hand gripping my arm as we climb each step, my feet heavy like they’re tethered to something. He opens the front door and walks me in, leaving me by the staircase to type in the alarm code. I can’t stand up, so I slump down on the steps, aching for sleep as he’s fumbling around and perhaps removing his coat.
“Emily?”
I can’t answer. I’m too tired. And maybe I don’t want to answer. Maybe he’ll have no choice but to pick me up if I just—
He whisks me up into his arms, filling me with sudden energy that I don’t dare show. I wish I could reach up and kiss him, or at least thank him for saving my life last night. As he climbs each step, the movement causes his chest to rub against my nipple, and I feel intense need between my legs. It’s like a dream come true—Brooks carrying me to bed. I wonder how many minutes have passed. Wonder if we’d have enough time for a quickie. But Brooks isn’t a bad guy, so he wouldn’t. Sometimes his goodness sucks.
He kicks open the bedroom door, and I keep my eyes closed as he lowers me onto the bed, not brave enough to let him know I’m awake. Not brave enough to look him in the eye with us alone in this house, alone with this bed—not strong enough not to beg him to fuck me. To love me.
Footsteps head for the door, but then they come closer again, going past the bed and opening another door that’s probably the closet. Slow footsteps this time. Something soft hits me. A blanket. Then stillness for a long moment—is he watching me?—followed by footsteps once again.
I wish more than anything that he’d touched me, that he’d ripped the blanket from me and clawed off my clothes. That he’d told me he felt the same magic I felt. The magic that’s always existed between us—an invisible thread linking our hearts together.
But he didn’t. And he wouldn’t.
So I sleep. And I dream of the day that he will.
“Em? Em!” I’m startled awake, Eliza’s hands shaking me to and fro. “Wake up, you sleepy bitch. You’ve been asleep for almost an entire day!”
“What time is it?” I say, sitting up and swinging my legs over the bed, still wearing the jeans and sweater I wore when Brooks dropped me off.
“Nine AM. Sunday.”
“Shit,” I say, verifying what she said with my phone. “Why’d you let me sleep so long?”
“We couldn’t wake you.”
After I dress and brush the twice-baked vodka and cake taste out of my mouth, Teak makes us French toast. Brooks is eerily quiet as we sit down to eat.
“Ladies,” Teak says, setting plates before us.
“Thank you,” I say, but Eliza says nothing.
“And you, sir,” Teak says, pushing an overflowing plate before Brooks, who also says nothing. I notice a flicker of disappointment in Teak’s eyes at the lack of acknowledgment for his hard work, and I’m mad at Brooks. Very unlike him to be so impolite.
Teak finally heads out after cleanup, but not before I thank him in depth and rave about the dishes he’d prepared. Brooks stays behind to pack, and I accompany Eliza to town for her dress fitting.
She looks beautiful in it, the white tulle extending gracefully from her hips. The dainty twirl of her body as she examines every detail. The smile on her face as she approves of it, followed by the quiet but gracious appreciation shown to the lowly patrons. Everything screams princess—the princess her parents raised her to think she is.
But some fairytales don’t have happy endings.
October 9, 2015
Deacon has been blowing up my phone ever since we got back from Colorado, but I’ve ignored every text and every call. While I’m grateful for his interest, as I’ve literally dreamed about these types of interactions for fifteen years, the trip complicated things. Some of it is the guilt of betraying Brooks, but also because there’s no possibility of longevity with Deacon, unless Brooks rejects me. And I don’t plan on that happening.
I’m depressed, and I’m the type to eat away my sadness, so I go through Taco Bell. I order a taco salad—no shell, so I hopefully won’t gain five pounds—but then I ruin it with an empanada. Eliza has been strangely distant ever since we got off the plane. She hasn’t called me, hasn’t texted. It’s like she ghosted me like I’m ghosting Deacon. For God’s sake, don’t we need to be in frequent contact since the wedding is only a little over a month away? But I won’t call her. The last thing I want is to look needy or guilty, so I’ve dissected every moment of the trip. Nothing obvious stands out that could have pissed her off, other than Brooks not letting me die. But she likes me, so that makes no sense unless she recognized me, which would be the worst possible scenario. Then I’d surely never have Brooks. No, if she recognized me, she’d have made it known immediately.
Or perhaps she caught me looking at Brooks a second too long. Doesn’t she know it’ll take a lot more than an interested, hot chick for him to leave, since they’ve been together for a decade? That’s why I have to go through all this trouble with Deacon, so it’s really her fault Deacon’s heart will get broken, not mine. If she’d just been true to her slutty heart after she’d banged Tenth Grade Guy, she’d be with him instead, and then this wouldn’t all be so hard.
Someone is outside my apartment when I get back, leaning against my door with a bouquet of roses. I stop. My heart pounds, because his hair is brown, and I briefly believe it’s Brooks since I want it to be. The flowers move, revealing Deacon’s boyish grin. I want to put my heart in a blender and watch it spin around into a puree like that awesome nineties song. But fuck me, because any girl would be happy to have Deacon, especially Ivy Hobbs. Only I’m not Ivy anymore, and I want what I set out to get.
I take a few hesitant steps, feeling disappointed, fat, and gross. I really shouldn’t have eaten that shit. I hope I don’t have gas later, because that’s what Taco Bell does to me—that’s what it does to everyone.
“
Sorry to just show up again. I just dropped by to make sure you didn’t die of secondary drowning.”
“Oh. You heard, huh?”
“Wish I’d heard it from you,” he says.
I frown.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says. “I really just came by to see if I could use these flowers to convince you to be my date tonight,” he says, passing the bouquet to me.
So, I’m dating Deacon in order to stay close to Brooks, but Deacon just wants to keep me all to himself. That doesn’t help me, that doesn’t help Brooks, and that most certainly doesn’t help get rid of Eliza. It distracts from the goal, if he’s going to be so selfish with me.
“Thanks for the flowers,” I say. “That’s so nice of you. But I’m actually pretty tired. Another time?”
His smile disappears faster than money in a Western Union scam. “Is this about the trip? Is that why you’ve been ignoring me? I wanted to be there. But this job, it’s—”
“It’s not that.”
“C’mon, you have to come with me. Brooks’s and my parents are throwing one of their dinner parties, and they’re completely insufferable unless you bring a date. This will be the first time I’m alone since Kara—” He stops, mentally pummeling himself for mentioning his ex.
My interest is thoroughly piqued at the thought of seeing Brooks. “Will Eliza be there?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“And I’m invited? I haven’t talked to her in days. I don’t know if she’s mad at me or—”
“Dude, you’re with me.” His copious use of the word dude finally dawns on me. It’s unexpected, given his fancy career. It’s kind of endearing. “And I’m sure you’re fine. Neither of them has said anything.”
I agree to go, and change into a semi-modest ivory dress, then curse myself again for binge eating upon seeing a slight bloat that sucking in doesn’t cure.
When we stop in front of the white mansion complete with fountain, I ask if it’s his parents’ house or Brooks’s.
“This is my parents’. Brooks’s parents’ house is way bigger.”
I don’t know if I can walk into this place without feeling completely out of my element. “I didn’t know an attorney and OB could make enough to own a block.”
“My dad deals with some pretty high-profile cases,” he shrugs.
The driveway is packed with cars, so we park on the street. I haven’t practiced walking in heels enough to confidently walk on this stone, and I almost stumble. A burly security guard opens the door for us when we walk up. A real hoity-toity palace with its fresh cut flowers and expansive curved staircase. People fill the foyer, sipping their wine and drinking their champagne. Most everyone is in black, like it’s a goddamn funeral, and I regret not asking what I should wear. Several men approach Deacon, setting off a round of special handshakes, after which they molest me with their eyes.
“Guys, this is my friend, Emily,” Deacon introduces me. I don’t know why it hurts a little, but he was inside of me. Does that mean nothing to him?
Quickly lost as a bystander to Deacon’s jokes and stories with his old cronies, I spot Brooks and Eliza in a corner with a small group of fellow genetic lottery winners. Eliza sparkles like an emerald in her green jewel of a dress, and I’m now glad that I didn’t wear black. She’s upstaging me right now, and that can’t happen. She makes eye contact with me, and immediately she smiles and waves. I breathe a sigh of relief. She rushes around Brooks, who looks surprised to see me, and wraps me in a tight hug, probably rubbing makeup off on my cotton ball of a dress.
“Hiiiii! You look so great!” she shrieks.
I tell the truth. “You do, too! Where have you been? I’ve tried to call.”
She pulls me through the crowd and up the stairs. I look down at Brooks, who looks up at us and gifts me with the most counterfeit smile ever—like I’m a cockroach. What the hell is his problem? We slip into what is obviously Deacon’s childhood room. Trophies and framed baby photos riddle the walls, accented by outdated sports decor.
“Awesome party, right?” She laughs. “So much bullshit.”
For a second, I’m endeared to her. “Yeah. So, where’ve you been? You dragged me up here without answering my question.”
She sighs. “I’m sorry, I just … well…” Her shoulders lift as she winces. “Brooks doesn’t think you should be in the wedding. I didn’t know how to tell you.” Did she just say Brooks doesn’t want me in the wedding? Her hands make a teepee over her nose and mouth as her forehead wrinkles.
“Oh. Okay.” I don’t know what else to say. This is awful. I need time to process.
“I’m sorry, he—he just feels like we haven’t known each other long enough for you to be part of something that only happens once in a lifetime. You know, the memories, the photos.” That brief feeling of a legitimate friendship I felt with her a moment ago has just disintegrated, and it will never come back. You can’t ask someone to be a bridesmaid and then just change your mind.
“No. “I shake my head and force a grin. “Don’t worry about it. I totally understand. I’m perfectly content just being a guest.”
“Well, that’s the thing…” She grimaces. “He doesn’t want to change the guest list, either.”
I nod slowly. Feign understanding. Tell her it’s okay again, I totally get it, he’s right, and shouldn’t have to change it. But I want out of this room, and I want to throw my heels at Brooks from the top of the stairs, and I want to race down them and out of this white prison and run the entire way home and cry into my white duvet and ruin it with mascara, and not because of the damn wedding. I still have options to come between them, but I want to cry because Brooks doesn’t want me around, and the best I can hope for now is to break them up and nothing more. He hates me.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I would have waited until after the party so that it wouldn’t be so awkward. But don’t worry about anything. Really. Nothing has changed. Brooks doesn’t dislike you. He’s just thinking long term.”
I paste on a happy face, a frog in my throat as I mix with the sea of people. I find Deacon, and force myself to mingle with all these stuck-up losers. Make up lies about my dead parents and their fake sex toy empire. Deacon’s hand stays on the small of my back like I’m his girlfriend, except he’s using me, and not for a noble cause like mine.
A bell rings, and Deacon guides me to a large room with tables, finding the seats with our names. Brooks ends up next to me, and Eliza is on the other side of him. Deacon is next to his dad, and Brooks’s parents are next to them. I would love nothing more than to jab the heel of my shoe into Brooks’s imperfect third toe on his right foot that is longer than all the rest. I still remember it from our creek days. Of course a toe would be Brooks Jansen’s only flaw. Some people are just lucky.
October 9, 2015
I pretend to listen to Eliza’s rant about the wedding planner to her mom, but it’s hard to focus when Emily is next to me. I didn’t expect her to be here, not after Eliza told me she’d changed her mind about her being a bridesmaid. I figured they’d be fighting about it. Ejecting someone from the wedding party is not for the faint of heart. I considered the potential fighting a plus, however—relieved I didn’t need to take matters into my own hands. Eliza had beaten me to it.
She had told me her decision after we’d left the airport. She had been quiet on the ride over to my place, staring out the window, watching the trees.
“What’s wrong, babe?” I ask.
Eliza shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have asked her to be in the wedding.”
I was confused, because she regrettably seemed to like Emily so much. I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t know what to say. I just let her continue staring out the window.
“Will you hate me if I make you the bad guy? Act like it was your idea?”
I swallow. “No. Of course not. Do what you have to do, babe.” I want her to be happy. It’s for the best, because I shouldn’t be around Emily, anyway.
Eliza is beautiful, but she’s afflicted with self-doubt. Her jealousy has grown from day one, a seed steadily watered until it flourished into a fully grown plant. There’s always a look, a touch, a comment that is catalyst for an unwarranted accusation. And despite my reassurance, she distances herself from that person until the friendship dissolves completely. I assumed that’s what was happening after witnessing her decline several of Emily’s calls over the last few days. So, when I saw her escorting Emily up the stairs a bit ago, I was shocked. Figured she would have instructed Deacon not to bring her. But Eliza had seemed happy to see her. It was perplexing.
I have never been fond of Eliza’s jealous behavior, but have managed, since high school, to excuse it as normal. No matter what school it is, everyone wants to date the captain of the football team, and everyone wants to be the prom king’s girlfriend. It doesn’t matter what you look like. As long as you are either or both of those things, shirts come off. Add in decent looks, and panties drop. Eliza’s constant fear that I would ditch her for the next cheerleader had created a lot of friction senior year. But our parents regularly did business together, and they had always encouraged us to work through our issues. And I’m glad they did. I’m content. It has been my plan to take over Jansen Brewing since ninth grade, and so far I am slated to do just that. Distracting myself with hookups and flings would have only derailed my goals. So not only did Eliza and I fall in love in high school, but we just make sense. It’s almost like an arranged marriage, except we actually fell in love first. I feel like the luckiest man in the world.