Where the Ivy Hides

by Kimber S. Dawn

  “It’s okay, Ryker. I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch.” I tell him before kissing him and telling him goodbye.

  Long after Ryker’s gone, I’m in bed tossing and turning as nightmares of Ryker and Jenny bombard my peaceful sleeping dreams. Ryker and Jenny, skin on skin. Sweating. In his bed, against his shower wall, on top of the kitchen counter—in all, and I mean all, of our usual spots. I sleep so terribly that my stomach is in knots when I wake up and I’m queasy the next morning.

  I don’t have much time left with him before he leaves tomorrow night after his party. And I don’t want to spend that time bitching because of my own insecurities.

  I make my way through a long tedious morning, I call Ryker on my way out of SMI to see if he’s on time for lunch. Just as he tells me he loves me before we disconnect the call, I see Jenny in the parking lot, now obviously also haunting me while I’m awake.

  Only, she isn’t haunting me. I watch as she slides into Livvy’s car before Livvy drives away.

  Hmm. That’s odd. The thought strikes before looping through my mind over and over.

  What in the hell is Livvy doing with Jenny? What’s a motorcycle chick with a bad coke habit doing with a twenty-two-year-old bright eyed future master holder of child education?

  But before I can devote too much attention to it, my cell rings-it’s Mom.

  I slide my finger across the screen and answer my phone. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hey, sweetie. How ya holding up?” she asks and immediately my defenses rise.

  “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” She keeps waiting for me to fall apart or have a nervous breakdown. I don’t know what happened before her and Dad’s wedding, but shit, I’m glad I wasn’t there.

  “No, no. I just mean, I know how tiring this all can be. That’s all, sweetie. You headed home?”

  I sigh before confessing I’m a loser, but in different words, “Yeah. I finished at work early. I don’t have any friends, so I won’t have a bachelorette party. What I do have, is a garden tub and a new smut novel downloaded on my Kindle. So home, at my brother’s, is where I’m headed.”

  She’s silent for a few moments before she nervously speaks, “You want me to bring over a bottle of chardonnay and some bonbons? We can watch The Voice.”

  God bless her heart. She tries. She really does try.

  “Mom, I can’t.” I chuckle.

  “Oh.”

  Bless her heart.

  “It’s okay. I’ll put the smut novel off, you bring the bonbons. We’ll watch whatever episodes of The Voice I haven’t seen that’s Tivo’d. It’ll be a blast.”

  And that’s how I spend my last night as single woman. Piled up with my mom on the couch, watching episode after episode of people belt it out in front of the judges of The Voice while eating bonbons and learning about my parents in their ‘early years’ during smoke breaks.

  Chapter 29

  I’m not really sure why I drove to Ryker’s house the next morning. I think I initially went there looking for my diamond stud earrings my mother gave me last year for my birthday. But, I can’t be certain. I just can’t.

  As Jenny the strawberry-blond slutty-sitter steps out of Ryker’s house wearing one of his starched white shirts, halfway buttoned up, and a smile on her face…that’s it—I lose my shit. I lose my mind. The wheels of ration and cognizant thought process halt order, and chaos ensues, wracking havoc on my poor, poor decimated heart.

  Somewhere in my addled and crumbling mind, I hear my breaking heart ask my brain, “But why?”

  And for the life of me, I wish someone would answer it.

  Wasn’t I enough? Wasn’t Lily? Our family?

  I never made it perfectly clear that I didn’t share. Well, besides that bitch I cunt punted in eleventh grade after I caught her sneaking ass grabs. My Ryker’s ass grabs.

  Maybe he wanted just one last hoorah. While it’s understandable, it isn’t fucking tolerable.

  To be completely honest, I’m not totally sold on what my eyes are seeing. To the point that I’m making excuses for it. Because this isn’t Ryker. I don’t know who came after me, and I’m sure there weren’t just a few, but I do know this: Ryker David Killian was not a cheater.

  He wasn’t.

  Whoever Jenny the slutty-sitter turns to and blows a kiss at cannot fucking be my Ryker. It can’t.

  Fuck me. Is that his wedding tux shirt she’s wearing?

  See, after the bachelor party last night, okay, maybe not after, closer to the middle, Ryker was going to have to leave because the only flight we could find that left out was at ten.

  I glance at my watch.

  I’m supposed to get married. Tomorrow. I’m supposed to be on a plane, bound for Florida in four hours!

  I glance around at my surroundings. I’m standing on the sidewalk, outside of my cheating boyfriend’s house, struggling with a decision that shouldn’t have to be made today. In some fucking capris jogging-suit pants with BRIDE plastered across the ass that my mom bought and a pair of rubber rain boots.

  Goddamnit, Ryker. Why?

  After Jenny’s yellow slut mobile zips by, I stare at her car until I can no longer see it, then I stare at the spot on the road, far away where I last saw it for another fifteen minutes. Then I get in my little red cooper and drive home.

  As I walk in the front door, there’s a gaggle of excitement and activity in Rome’s great room. Most of our luggage is stowed by the front door, awaiting the driver, while Mom and Dad talk to each other but don’t listen to what the other is saying. When Rome sees me he claps his hands and rubs them together before stepping forward only to falter halfway to me.

  I look down and a moment later feel his hand squeeze my shoulder, and I clench my eyelids together to block out the pain.

  I can’t cut.

  I won’t cry.

  I won’t cut. I can’t cry.

  What if I decide to still marry him? What will I say when we land in St. Lucas on our honeymoon and I refuse to wear a bathing suit? Or get naked. Or let him see me in my panties and bra? He’ll know I’ve cut as soon as he sees the cuts. No. That’s not an option for me.

  I don’t know how, other than call it by the grace of God, but I keep the tears at bay and look up at my brother.

  I’ll call Livvy. I’ll take the win-win-win.

  Then I’ll make these fucking decisions.

  “Sweetheart, what happened?” my brother asks under his breath as our parents get louder speaking over one another.

  “Nothing. It’s nothing. What time did Ryker leave last night?” I fucking sniffle. Like a pathetic, sniveling bride, I sniffle.

  “Around eight, why?” he asks with concern furrowing his brow.

  “Alone?” Why won’t the word vomit cease?

  “Have you noticed since Lily came back into your life, I haven’t referred to you as little sister?” he quietly asks.

  “Wait. What? No, dammit, Rome, are you listening to me? Was Ryker alone—when he left. Was he alone?” I didn’t intend on my voice to echo the way it did. Nor did I plan on my mother and father to abruptly stop yelling over one another, but the entire house is so quiet you can hear a pin drop, just before my father answers the burning loud question echoing across the room for the third time.

  “Of course he was, angel. Why wouldn’t he be?” He looks at Rome. “Rome, tell her.”

  Rome continues spewing insanity, instead, “It’s all about perception. What angle are you looking at it from? See before actually seeing you with Lily Blake, you being a mother to her, you learning and growing as a human because of her, I saw you as a punk kid. My little sister. A girl who has issues so deep she can’t grow up. She’s too busy hacking away at her roots to move forward. And Lily Blake changed that. She changed you. See it’s all in the perspective, big sister. It’s all in how you look at it. Now stop hacking away at your roots again and get on board. Otherwise your fucking life will pass you by like that.” He snaps his fingers of his left hand before tu
rning and leaving the great room.

  And just as he nears the entry way leading to his wing of the house, he stops and tilts his head to the side, then speaks. “Mother, Father, the plane is set to leave in three hours and thirteen minutes. Make sure yourselves are ready and the driver gets everything packed. Including all the brides shit. It’s up to the bride whether or not she gets married tomorrow. She has a ticket. She can make the decision to get on the plane if she knows what’s good for her.” After he finishes speaking he walks away.

  And like the coward I am, I high-tail it in the opposite direction, towards the stairs and my upper floor.

  After I’m locked in my bedroom, I let the tears fall. My back slams against the door, but I hardly notice, I just cry into my hands, screaming why over and over in my head and through my sobs.

  This was supposed to be it for me. This was supposed to be it. MY happy ever after. MINE. I love Ryker, with everything in me, and for the life of me, I still couldn’t understand why that wasn’t enough.

  Why I wasn’t enough.

  I can’t stop my mind from reeling—and why would I? I stumble to my bed before falling on top of it and grabbing my phone.

  It’s almost like I watch myself from the outside.

  The hurt still bleeds out as tears spill down my cheeks, but the ‘why’s’ have stopped being asked and my face isn’t crumbled in pain as I watch myself slide my phone from my purse and sweep my finger across the screen. I scan my contacts until I see Livvy’s pic, it’s a pic of us at Club Blue’s two years ago, toasting blue margaritas with a line of coke on our pinkies. My thumb hits the call button and the phone begins dialing. Several rings pass and she answers, “Uh oh, I told Reese you were going to get wedding jitters right before your flight and call your old bestie. What’s up, sis. Where ya at?” she jokes.

  I don’t.

  “Win-win-win. And right the fuck now, I’m getting married tomorrow.” I glance at the clock above the bureau.

  “Wait what?” she whispers. “Seriously? Okay. Well, I already got rid of a third of it, so it’s just win-win, right now, is that cool? I can have it to you in…” I hear the phone shuffle on her end, “Shit. Thirty? Is that cool?”

  “That’s fucking perfect, sister. Get your shitty bridesmaids dress, you’re re-hired. And you’re going to Florida. Whether or not I still get married remains to be seen. I’ll see you in thirty, bitch.”

  Well. That’s done. Fucking baby steps. I’m an addict. I hide shit. It’s what I do. It’s how I adapt and survive. I hide. I hide and make them all wonder, just where did that Ivy hide.

  As I hang up my phone and lay it on the bed beside me, I hear a knock on my door before my dad hesitantly walks into my room.

  “Hey, Daddy,” I whisper and wipe the tears from my cheeks after I sit up in my bed.

  “Hey, angel.” He gestures at the down feather chair beside my bedside table, “May I?” he asks.

  After I nod, he continues and sits, “You okay? You don’t have to talk about it. Just let me know you’re okay, angel. That’s all.”

  I look over at him and sadly smile before shaking my head and asking, “What if I’m not?”

  He winces, “I…Well, I hadn’t thought that part of the plan through yet, to be honest with you. Ahh…Do you? I mean, want to? Do you want to talk to me? I mean, your mom says I’m a good listener. But she’s a subpar one, at best, so I don’t really respect her opinion on the matter. Fuck, I’m rambling. Sorry, sweetheart.” His fingers dive into his hair as the heel of his hands press against his temples. “Ivy, why aren’t you okay?” He looks back up at me.

  And I lie.

  Just as slyly as you please, I slide my old liar’s hat back into place, look my daddy in his eyes, and I lie, “I’ll be fine. Daddy? How did you know mom was the one? How will I know Ryker is my one? I won’t until it’s too late.” I look between my father’s piercing blue eyes and feel a piece of me wither and wilt. And then I dare the only set of eyes on this planet identical to mine to look any deeper and call me out.

  Instead, my father chuckles and says, “Oh sweetie, you have no idea. And when you finally do, it’s not only too late, you’ve also aged thirty years in the span of ten and no one else will have you.”

  After he sobers from his own inside joke, he kindly looks into my eyes and tells me, “Angel, don’t question it. When people like us question stuff, it blurs the lines too much. People like us, we were meant to just jump.” He smiles. “Breathe. And jump. Whatever you do, though, Winter Ivy, you have to go forward. Do you understand?”

  I smile at him, “I do, Daddy. Completely.”

  He stands and ruffles my hair. “See you down stairs in a few hours. Oh, and your mom is probably going to be headed up here right after I leave. What you say to her is up to you. Just let me know if I can help, okay, angel?”

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  And that’s really the only lie that I had to tell. The ones that followed just kinda told themselves, or were assumed.

  I figured as long as Rome didn’t let the rumor mill fly, which was never a question in my mind, he found me as a kid and kept it hidden, hell, it’s still hidden. Only he and I know. So, if he can keep his mouth shut, and he will, then until it is go-time, I’m just going to keep winging this shit. Because right now. In front of you, me, and God. I don’t know if I’ll become Mrs. Ryker Killian tomorrow or not. And I can’t promise that I will until it’s march time. Wedding march time.

  Very briefly, and I mean this window of time is a matter of seconds that we’re talking about here, do I vaguely recall glancing at the clock with intentions of calculating the amount of time I have.

  How much time do I have before Livvy walks through my bedroom door? I have to decide whether or not I’m going to just lay out my lucky number of three lines and hit that shit. How much time do I have before Ryker’s plane lands and he calls to let me know he made it in okay.

  And that’s if he left Seattle after the slutty-sitter left.

  Because I haven’t called him.

  And I haven’t heard a goddamn thing from his end.

  As it turns out, I had ample time to decide how my first nose dive into hell would play out.

  I kept shit close to me during the interim of time between finding Jenny skipping out of Ryker’s front door, in his tux shirt, and my wedding. My emotions stay in check, my heart isn’t on my sleeve, and even though I’m chewing holes through my cheeks and tasting the metallic tang on my tongue, goddammit, my smile doesn’t leave my face. However, my mother almost broke me, twice. She constantly asks whether or not she needs torture tools, to which I reply not no, but hell no, then she spends time picking me for information, whilst masquerading as my sort of maid of honor.

  Thankfully I only had to withstand ten minutes of shooing my mom away, while adamantly denying any reason for grapefruit spoons and any wedding jitters on my part, when Livvy walks into my room.

  A whole new bouquet of gift bags in tow.

  “Hey, sweets. Black Louboutin bag has the goodies.” She tosses the bags on my bed before heading towards my bathroom, “Can I pee real quick? What time is our flight?”

  I’ve already emptied the contents of the black Louboutin bag out onto my bed and began mentally calculating how much coke I had to get myself through this will-it-or-won’t-it-happen wedding by the time she finishes speaking.

  “Sure, piss. Four o’clock.” I provide.

  One. Two. Three. Four. I count the coke before asking, “I get two, right?” Shit. I should’ve jumped on this shit when it was still a win-win-win.

  But I didn’t know my fucking life was going to crash down around me two days later, either.

  When she comes out of the bathroom she answers, “Yeah, two off the top. You want me to pack it?”

  Shit. I didn’t even think about that part. Delilah always had our party favors FedEx’d over the day before. I didn’t ask how we got it—it was there. That was all I ever needed to know. I blink up at Livvy
. “Yes?” I ask her. “Are you going to tell me how?”

  She scoffs at me, “Hell no. That’s for me to know and you to wonder. If we go down, I need you as innocent as possible. Someone’s gotta bail me out, and I know Reese won’t do it.” She bends over the lines of coke she lined up while she speaks and snorts them. One. Two. Three. Four.

  Completely out of left field and for reasons I’ll never know, as soon as I see Livvy snort those four lines, the number four becomes significant in my mind. Maybe it’s a sign. Hell, maybe it’s that ever illusive, fate.

  It’s something for me to hold onto, hell think about it. There were four bags and four lines. The plane leaves at four. It hits me. I got the answer. I know what I’ll do.

  Since finding miss slutty-sitter prancing from Ryker’s house to her car, I’ve made two decisions. I decided to not decide, and I called Livvy; I have two more decisions. And I won’t make the fourth without making the fifth. My next decision is the third and my last easy one.

  I look between Livvy packing and the blow on the bed.

  Now, the question is: Do I get my ass on that damn plane?

  Chapter 30

  Ryker

  To be completely honest, between me mum and me Lily Blake and everything else in the world that was going on the day of me and Ivy’s wedding, me head had barely had time to hit the pillow the night before, and me phone was ringing at the crack of dawn, waking me arse up at an ungodly hour on me wedding day.

  No, I was not a good fiancée last night. I didn’t call and let me Ivy know me plane had landed and that I’d made it safe to me mums.

  And I had plans to call her and tell her as soon as I got off the phone with ADT the next morning.

  Apparently, the new security system I had installed in the house last week must have had a default. Or that’s how the security company explained the glitch since there was no evidence of a break in when the alarm went off this morning at eight, Seattle time.

  Now, when Bowen called thirty minutes after I hung up with the security company, his blurted confession sounded much closer to the truth than ADT’s version. But ADT also didn’t know I had loaned out keys to a complete horrid excuse of a child sitter. And after running into Reese, Livvy, and Bowen, me daughter’s ex-sitter, Jenny decided to take Bowen up on his offer for a sleep over. The only problem was, Bowen’s new girlfriend was at his house in his bed, and Jenny still lived with her dad.