Where the Ivy Hides

by Kimber S. Dawn

  “Me?” I ask, baffled.

  Instead of clarifying, though, his mouth slants over mine, and his warm tongue seeks mine out.

  Every previous mention of Ryker is needed to fuel me through the kiss, I meet Reese kiss for kiss, and bite for bite, and it’s nice.

  It isn’t earth shattering.

  It isn’t chaos.

  It’s kind and loving.

  It’s tender.

  And maybe, at twenty-four… I’m due some tender.

  Surprisingly, it doesn’t take long for me to fall ass over teakettles for Reese Paul Bonacci.

  Not long at all.

  He’s funny. Handsome as hell, and humble.

  He’s easy to be with and he makes the nights pass with little to no pain.

  So, I stay.

  When we become official and tell my parents what Rome has known all along, it’s nice.

  It’s easy.

  And even though it kills me, I adapt.

  Because it’s what I fucking do.

  Though he still has the power to infiltrate my dreams and cause me to cry myself asleep well after Reese has dozed away, I, at some point, am finally able to let Ryker Killian go.

  I pause.

  Try and remember to smile.

  And breathe before trudging forward, once again.

  Chapter 13

  “Ivy, sweetie, did you get the marshmallows for the candied yams?” My mother calls out from the kitchen while Rome and I discuss the new plans he’s currently concocting these days, for when I finally commit and tell Reese I’ll move in.

  Which I won’t.

  It’s not happening. Not yet.

  I catch Reese slouching lower in his seat on the low back couch at the same time Rome does and purse my lips before saying, “No, ma’am. I delegated that to my prince charming, Reese?” I cock my eyebrow and smirk at him, “Did you by chance remember the marshmallows, baby?”

  He coughs and clears his throat before standing and heading in the direction of where Mom is in the kitchen, “Mrs. Payne, first off, Ivy is a damn liar, I was delegated responsibility of the dinner rolls and sodas…”

  Rome and I roll our eyes as our father chuckles sitting next to Rome, listening to the conversations in the room.

  I lean over all inquisitive and stuff, “So, how’s your sweetheart-faced virgin treating you these days? I haven’t seen her around. You slayed that already?”

  My brothers extra-curricular proclivity to virgins is…well, concerning is a good word.

  “Indeed, I did,” he quips. “A little quicker than I usually prefer, though. Not my usual year of pleasure delaying, I know…I don’t think she was as worth the time and effort, I’d hoped she would’ve been, honestly.”

  See.

  Concerning.

  “Ahh…the time and effort involved…” I chuckle. “It must be exhausting to be you, Little Brother.”

  To which my father abruptly stands before saying under his breath and just loud enough for me and Rome to hear, “Just don’t start killing them, son.” He jokes…hopefully.

  Rome and I both look at each other, but Rome mouths, “What the fuck?” And I laugh again, looking up to see Reese coming out of the kitchen, smiling like the Cheshire cat.

  “Dad, tell mom whatever Reese said is a damn lie. Not me.” I look back from my dad to Reese, “What did you tell her? You cooked the pies too?”

  He nods as his grin widens and Dad calls out over his shoulder, “Ivy, come help your mom in the kitchen. I don’t understand why she insisted on a DIY Thanksgiving dinner, but she did, and unfortunately, I think you and I will be the ones paying for it.”

  I hop to my feet and follow him into the kitchen. “You? How you?”

  He stops at the entry way between the kitchen and the garage, tilts his head to the side, then speaks with his back to me, “Ivy, who the hell do you think has to fry that massive turkey carcass? He’s dead, he isn’t going to fry himself. That’s how I’m paying.”

  “Oh.” I say as he closes the door behind him before turning towards Mom and asking her, “Hey, you need some help?”

  Wow. She is flustered. Dad was right.

  Her usual perfectly coiffed long blond hair is hanging around her flustered small face as she hurls…and I mean hurls, one huge pot from the counter, before trading it with another huge pot, and setting it on the stove.

  “Yes. Please.” Her forearm comes up to push the hair out of her face and she smiles, “Sweetie, can you please peel some potatoes for me? That would be wonderful.” She looks towards the door Dad just walked out of and yells to no one, “Roman! Do not put that turkey in that oil yet. Not for another fifteen minutes.”

  “Sure, do I have to peel them with a peeler? Or can I just boil the peels off?” My question causes her to hesitate for some reason.

  “Boil?” she asks.

  “Yeah, put them in a pot, ten-fifteen minutes later and the peel slides right off. Boil. That how Aunt Blythe…” I stop my words.

  “No, no…carry on, that’s how Aunt Blythe what, dear?” she asks softly.

  I smile at my mother’s genuine care, “That’s how she told me to do it after I kept taking the skin off my knuckles peeling potatoes because I was in trouble and in the box again.” My cold tone explains.

  At the beginning of that spoken sentence, I had no intentions of ending it that way. I swear. It just fell out.

  And without even the slightest hesitation, my mother returns that conversation ball with, “Well, then I’m glad she held on, right there at the end and afforded herself that extra sixty-four minutes of hellish agony before kicking it in vain. Sweetie, do you cut the potatoes in half before or after the peel falls off?”

  Wait. What?

  “Wait, Mom, what?” I ask as her words loop around my mind again, processing much slower than usual. “Kicked it in vain?” I ask increasing the tone of my voice as Rome walks in the kitchen.

  I look up at him. “She kicked it in vain?” I ask him accusingly and watch as his eyebrows shoot up and he turns to leave. “No. No. She kicked it in vain?” I sternly demand. “Rome-what happened to Blythe? Did she…” I hold up air quotes and ask, “Kick it in vain?”

  When his eyes clash with Mom’s, they narrow and for the second time tonight he mouths towards her, “What the fuck?” while raising his hands, universally signifying his fake ass surrender.

  And again, the woman doesn’t miss a beat, “Honey, I don’t know why you’re growling, it’s very unlady like, and you know I don’t like it.” Her gaze slides from the ingredients in her mixing bowl to mine. “On the outside, I’m sure it’s hard to tell, what with how active we are in the community, but this family doesn’t abide by the same rules as society.” Her tone levels out and she speaks deadpan, “If anyone fucks with our family, we personally seek justice, and by personally, I mean we try, convict, and hang…or cut, until death. Every family has secrets in the graveyard. Don’t look at me like that, Winter Ivy, and stir the peas.”

  And that’s how I found out my parents had killed. That bright, shiny Thanksgiving afternoon, in my mother’s kitchen towards the back of Payne manor. And I gotta say, I kinda saw it coming.

  I’m kidding. I did not. But what do I do?

  Precisely, I adapt and carry on.

  While stirring the peas, I look up from beneath my eyelashes to make sure it’s still just Mom and Rome in the kitchen and I share an ugly I never wanted them to see, “I have a two-year-old daughter. But, I didn’t know what to do, I’m not cut out to be a mom, or I wasn’t at the time, so I gave her away. I wanted to meet the parents, but the lady…the social worker, she didn’t let me. Said it wasn’t a good idea because it was a closed adoption. So…well, you’re a grandma, I guess.”

  Why don’t I ever think before I speak?

  As soon as the words are finished and have left my mouth, I realize that I have again, said too much, especially when the pie dishes Mother is holding hits the ground and her perfectly coiffed attitude g
oes up in smoke. “Winter Ivy Payne. What did you just say?”

  Dad re-enters mid rant, “Jesus. Mary and Joseph, Roman, we’re fucking grandparents.” And I think it catches him off guard because he freezes in his tracks, before turning to me, just as Grandma and Reese enter the opposing entry way.

  Mom’s prattling amps up and so does the speed of her moving around in the kitchen as every else in the room begins talking, and I snap, making a bolt for it outside, but not before grabbing my cigarettes off the counter and my supersized, and only indulged in once a year, alcoholic infused, eggnog drink. And just before the door closes behind me, I hear my mother call out, “Oh for Christ’s sake, the peas are burned!”

  It’s the holidays, by the way. Don’t look at me like that.

  After several cigarettes and even more falling inches of rain, I’m freezing and feel like I’m soaked to the bone. Taking a long drag, I notice my father step out under the terrace with me.

  “Angel, you have to forgive your mother. Any woman finding out she is a grandmother is inclined to hysteria, and keep in mind, she’s not like she used to be, since the hysterectomy. Hence the irony, hysteria in hysterectomy.” He chuckles at his own dark and also seriously concerning humor before looking back at me. “She loves you, angel. She’s just strung a little tighter than the rest of us.” He clears his throat, “Rome said she told you…”

  I nod, “Yes, sir. Whatever it was, she definitely told me something. I don’t know what to say. Hell, I didn’t know what to say to her. I just wanted to keep the conversation going, so I figured Quid Pro Quo, she told something, I told something,” I explained.

  “And that’s progress. Isn’t it?” He puts his arm around my shoulder and tucks me into him, before warming my arm with his hand, “Ivy, your mother and I knew this transition wouldn’t be easy for you. We knew it and we prepared, then we prepared to prepare you, and I think all of us, me, you, your mom, especially you and Rome, have done much better than I anticipated.” He chuckles, “I like this Reese guy, alright I guess. He needs to man up and decide what he wants and ask me for permission for your hand. But, I’ll give him some more time before I have him…” He air quotes. “Kick it in vain.” He says smiling.

  “Yeah, what’s up with that? Damn, Daddy, you just killed her?” I ask, keeping it light.

  Easy.

  I flick my cigarette out and turn to follow him in, and he shakes his head, ‘No’, answering my question. But before he opens the door and ushers me back in, he whispers, smiling, “Your mom said to draws sticks when it came to that one, and unfortunately, my straw was shorter than hers.”

  Holy shit.

  Heather ‘Mac’ Kenzie Payne, cop turned stay-at-home-mom, just turned killer. Well, not just. But just…right now in my mind, it’s just now fucking occurring.

  “Oh,” I say as I slip in the house, followed by my father, Roman William Payne, Sr, the physician who helps life enter the world and just now turned killer numero dos. Number two.

  Later on the ride home, Reese speaks slowly. And takes shit from not so easy, to not easy at all.

  We turn left on our street, and a few minutes later pull into the garage where he stops me from getting out of the car, “Ivy. Do you think you’ll ever love me enough to say yes if I asked you to marry me?”

  I giggle at his ridiculousness, “I don’t know, Romeo, you’ll have to ask and find out.”

  Please stay easy. Please stay easy. There’s no need to complicate things, Reese, keep it light. Stay easy.

  “Marry me?” he asks.

  Wait. What?

  “Reese…” I warn and slap his shoulder before grabbing my ballet slip-on’s from the floorboard of the car and shouldering my purse. “Why do you always have to get so sappy? Shit, for the love of Christ, please stop it,” I mutter, making my way to the door leading inside the house.

  “No. Stop. You stop, Ivy. Stop brushing everything I say off. I fucking mean it, marry me.” He demands, spiking my frustration to anger.

  “I’m sorry, was that a threat, or a request, Pepe` Le Pew? How kind of you, but I think I’ll pass this time. What are you doing, Reese? And why are you doing it?” I ask as exhaustion begins weighing heavier.

  “I’m asking you to marry me, Ivy, and I’m asking because I love you.” His words sound like ones said by a man on the way to his guillotine. Shameful. Tired. And said point blank. But thankfully he accepts my last ditch effort to keep it easy by smiling at my retort.

  And I’m dead serious, when I say, “Yes. You know I will. Just…not now.” I draw out the ‘owww’ in now as I slowly walk towards him. “I don’t see any reason we should rush to get married, much less, engaged. Let me get through school.” I drape my arms around his neck and softly kiss him, “Let me make sure I want to wake up tomorrow, then, we’ll get engaged and do all this other shit you want.” I kiss him again. “Sound good?” I ask.

  “And kids?” he asks, smiling.

  The fuck?

  “No. No kids.” I swat at him before linking our fingers together and pulling him into the house. “Jesus, Reese. Are you kidding me? We both hate kids!”

  When we barely make it into his living room, I pull him down to the couch before straddling his waist and leaning into him as he jokingly says, “I like them okay. Once they’re older and able to use their motor skills and clean up after themselves, I like kids just fine.”

  “Oh yeah?” I chuckle as my hands slide my skirt up and reveal I went commando today. “I like you, just fine. And you can have me. All of me, just no kids.” I nibble on his ear, then lick the sting away as I run my hands up his strong shoulders, and dive my fingers into his hair in order to gain deeper access to our kiss. His hands run from my knees up my thighs, and when they stop and settle on my waist, they do so with bite.

  “Can I, Ivy? Just that simple, and after all this time, can I have you?” he growls before deepening the kiss and raking his blunt nails up my skin under my shirt.

  “Yes,” I moan and tear my top off the rest of the way before kissing him again more eagerly.

  His words are like a bucket of icy watered down piss on anyone’s parade, but especially mine. Ours. Especially, our parade.

  “But can I have you the way, Ryker did? Because, Ivy, what I’m saying, is I want more.”

  Blue-ish red, would be the color I see if you were asking.

  After fifteen seconds and a fuck ton of defense reconstructing, I abruptly stand grabbing my flimsy top and snatching it back over my head on my way towards his room.

  “Reese, go fuck yourself, you vain asshole.”

  “So mature of you, and yet, why am I surprised?” His tone is condescending and I don’t appreciate it. Not at all. “Ivy, don’t leave because I’m finally calling you out on your shit, it’s a game for you, you got caught. You had to know it would catch up to you.”

  In the hallway I stop before deciding fuck it, and I make an unplanned detour towards the front door. Before I slam the door behind me, I spit out over my shoulder, “I’m not a fucking game. And that’ll be your downfall, if you keep playing that way. You’ve been duly noted, go fuck yourself, again. Goodnight, Reese.”

  His yelled out words sting more than the truth does, “Nothing left to fuck, honey, you already finished the job!”

  Adapt. Adapt. Adapt.

  Move forward.

  Shit, move forward. Please.

  I pause.

  I breathe.

  I move forward.

  Chapter 14

  Adapting is funny. It’s hard at first, usually, but it always makes it easier in the long run. Adapt. Evolve. Move forward.

  Unfortunately, no matter how much you are trying to adapt, someone else can drag you back and prevent you from it.

  Adaptation can be a tricky and delicate process. And it sometimes requires a lot more finesse than you’re willing give.

  “Was he fucking high?” Rome bursts after I retell the story of why I’m home for the second time.

&nbs
p; His fingers comb through his inky, black hair. “Jesus, I’m not even banging you, and I know not to go there or mention Ryker. Dude had to be high. I’m just saying.”

  I jerk the blanket on top of his comforter up and huff out a breath. “What the fuck? Mentioning Ryker isn’t forbidden, Rome. Why do you say it that way?”

  “What way?” he quips.

  “That way. That fucking way you just did, like his name is Satan’s being said in church, that way.”

  His head tilts to the side, “Because, it is,” he says point blankly.

  “No, it isn’t.” I shout as I shoot to my feet and storm towards the door.

  “Winter Ivy.” His stern voice halts my steps. “Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face. Reese isn’t the problem here and you know it. Ryker is. And if you can’t get over Ryker for Reese, ya gotta tell him. Reese deserves to know.”

  The silence is loud enough to split the room and my emotions choke off the oxygen to my brain. When I finally feel blessed air rush into my lungs, I gasp and hear my own voice whispering, “I know. I know, little brother. I know.”

  As the sun rises, I toss and turn in my sleep as dreams of Ryker pull me closer and closer towards finding an excuse to use. Any excuse, at all.

  The false present tense dreams, I can deal with. I can deal with watching a nightmare unfold, as long as I know what it is. No, what breaks away the fragile pieces left in Ryker’s wake are the nightmares of memories…good memories.

  Memories of Ryker reaching out for me in the dead of night and pulling me to him. Him mumbling, ‘I love ya, me Ivy, love,’ in the dark. Memories of the way the sun shone through his brown hair, and the way he smiled. Memories of the feeling we both felt every single time he sank into me all the way on every first thrust. The way our eyes shot and held on to each other’s, speaking, and saying so much more than our mouths ever would. Nightmares of the good memories…those are the ones that hurt the most.