The Evolution of Ivy: Antidote (The Evolution of Ivy, Volume 2)

by Lauren Campbell

  “Get him out. He’s done tonight.”

  Deacon reluctantly dresses, and I tell him I am driving him home. When we arrive, I make sure he gets in the bed, and then I shut his door, and I take the couch. I feel like a fucking babysitter. I don’t know how Kara dealt with him, if he was like this.

  I check my phone before going to bed, an unread text alert showing on my screen.

  It’s her. Thanks so much for helping me today.

  Poor Emily. She deserved better.

  Deserves better.

  I hope she finds it.

  The back of my shirt sticks to my skin as my sweat soaks through it. Lucy runs in stride with me, my feet lifting and propelling me at what is probably a record speed for me. I’m pissed and confused, pounding out my anger on my cute little neighborhood road, not bothering to wave or smile back at anyone who passes me, because I have better, more important things to worry about today.

  I really don’t understand. What am I doing wrong? I feel so out of control, so helpless, as if I’m in a car with no steering wheel and no brakes. Maybe I need to take a class on dating or something. Deacon was easier—I wasn’t agonizing over every little thing I said or did, because he made it very clear he was interested in me, and he did the chasing. But Brooks, he’s like a walking definition of confusion, and I don’t know what to think.

  He could have at least responded to my text. Honestly, it’s rude that he didn’t. Jared says to leave him alone, that he’s stupid, and to find someone smarter, but I refuse. You don’t back out on true love, you don’t give up. I’m going to keep him an honest man—help him fulfill his promise and bring our destiny to life.

  I decide I’ll bait him again, see if it works. Maybe he was having an off day. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well, had shitty breath, or maybe I had a booger and it had turned him off.

  I return home and shower, dress, put on nice perfume. I call for an Uber, and then spend the next couple hours following Brooks around after he gets off work. I’ve easily blown a few hundred bucks, but no opportunity has felt right until now. I watch him disappear into Publix, and squeal with delight as I come up with a plan he won’t be able to ignore. I tell the Uber guy he’s free to go before tipping him generously because I’m such a great customer.

  I’m careful as I pluck a cart from a stall and enter through the automatic doors, my eyes sweeping the immediate area for any sign of him. The cart rolls smoothly, the store so quiet I can hear my heart drumming in my ears. I reach up to my lip and wipe the sweat away, pushing the cart faster as I realize I could lose him. When I come to the end and still don’t see him, I figure we must have missed each other and decide to turn around. Quickly, I push my way through each aisle, my armpits growing wet with each passing minute.

  On the fourth or fifth aisle I turn down, I slow as I approach an elderly man in a motorized cart, temporarily blocked as a display is taking up the other half of the aisle. My lungs fill with a deep breath, my teeth gritting as I prepare to turn around, but then...

  Brooks—my beautiful, soon-to-be fiancé.

  He’d been kneeling on the other side of the display, staring at cans in front of him. Just like a man, taking more than two seconds to decide on some tomatoes. Quietly, I back down the aisle, quickly scanning the neighboring aisles to find what I’m looking for—a middle-aged schmuck who’ll take my money.

  “You,” I nod to him, keeping my voice at a whisper. I hand him one hundred dollars. “You can keep it if you follow me around for a few minutes and hit on me, say creepy things, do that whistle shit you guys do.”

  His eyes narrow at me as he stretches out the bill in his fingers. “What?”

  “There’s another where that came from if you just do it and don’t ask questions,” I say through my teeth. I pull the other hundred from my purse and show it to him. “I’ll hide it under the giant Easter Bunny near the front door on my way out. You have my word.”

  He cocks an eyebrow, staring at me for a moment before lifting a shoulder. “Sure, whatever you say, lady, as long as you don’t try to get me arrested. I’ll even grab you if you want!”

  My nostrils flare. “That won’t be necessary.”

  He shrugs as I swing my cart back around, but he follows me as ordered. I urge him to back up a bit, so he keeps a fair distance. When I return to the aisle where I last saw Brooks, my heart slows with relief when I see that he’s still there, fingers trailing over the noodles this time.

  I straighten my dress and walk past Brooks, glancing back to make sure Creep-For-Hire is in tow, but of course he is. He wants that extra money.

  “Please leave me alone before I get the manager!” I say over my shoulder, looking back and giving him a wink.

  “Mmm,” the guy says. “If the manager is a lady as hot as you, we can make it one of them ménage things, whatever they call it.”

  “Go away!” I hiss as my cart edges past Brooks.

  Brooks’s head begins to turn. I pretend I don’t see him and keep going, Creep still following.

  “Damn, baby, you fine.” Maybe he’s enjoying this too much.

  “I’m going to call the police!” I say, turning my head to look at Creep, my eyes intentionally connecting with Brooks’s.

  “Emily!” His eyes widen, the noodle box falling from his hand as he rushes to my side and grabs me by the arm. “Who is this guy?”

  “I don’t know him.” I shake my head. “I think he’s a rapist or something.”

  Color drains from the man’s face, his jaw slackening. “Rapist!? Lady, you—”

  I widen my eyes at him, my fingers waving the money at my side.

  “Get lost,” Brooks says, stepping in front of me. “She’s not interested.”

  The man doesn’t look pleased. Doesn’t look amused that I’ve put him in this precarious position. I mouth the word bunny, and he turns, looking unsure as to whether I’ll actually leave it, but likely not wanting to risk any criminal charge.

  “What a creep,” Brooks says as the man turns from the aisle.

  “I know, right? A woman can’t even shop these days.”

  He shakes his head. “I only need a few more things. Stay with me.” There’s a glimmer in his eyes as he says it, and I want to tell him how I’ll always stay with him and never ever leave, but sigh … another day.

  After abandoning my cart, I follow my love throughout the store, swinging my hips exaggeratedly as Brooks finishes his light shopping. Creep occasionally comes into view, and I wink and flash the money every time. When Brooks is done, I pick out a few things for myself that will drive him absolutely crazy: strawberries, chocolate, candles—most importantly, one of those miniature “neck massagers” they sell that we all know women are using on their pussies instead.

  After I place it in the cart, I see the pulse thumping in Brooks’s neck and note the avoidance of eye contact. The gears are turning. Yes!

  “I have the worst neck pain lately,” I whisper.

  A hoarse clearing of his throat before we reach the check-out. I make sure to bend and twist just right, to torture him like he deserves. Sweat has prickled on his forehead, he avoids my gaze, and insists on paying my thirty-two-dollar bill. I wander toward the doors as he loads his own stuff onto the belt. Stuff the money under the bunny—Creep immediately rushing to pick it up to continue his shopping with a smile on his face and a skip in his step.

  As we enter the parking lot, Brooks asks, “So, you been keeping the gas tank full?”I smirk at him. “Unfortunately for you, huh?”

  He doesn’t get the joke. Maybe he’s the one who needs to take a class. “You need help loading your stuff?”

  “No, thanks.” I smile. Like I need help with one fucking bag. I turn my body as if I’m about to walk away. “Oh, wait. Dammit.”

  “What?”I sigh, my shoulders sagging. “I totally forgot. I took an Uber here, because I had a couple drinks, but with that creep following me around, I forgot to request another car. Would it be too much trouble for you to t
ake me home?”

  “Drinking this early?” He smiles as I nod. A contemplative sound escapes him before he chews his cheek. “Yeah, I guess I could do that.”

  When we pull up at my house, he’s polite and helps me out of the car, my bag in his hand. Inside, he pulls the items from it and places them on the counter, a damp spot having accumulated in the center of his shirt. I really think this is it, the start of our true journey together. He’s going to kiss me, I just know it.

  Disappointingly, Lucy trots in, and he immediately bends to her, raking his hand over her fur before he heads to the door.

  Oh my God, he’s leaving. Really? What do I have to do to get this man’s attention?

  I panic. Yank a coupon from my fridge and call out to him, holding it in the air. “Have you ever eaten at this place?”He turns suddenly, then walks over and looks at it. “No, but I’m sure it’s good.”

  “Hmm. I might check it out later tonight. After I use my massager for a bit. I’m so tense.” My hand rises to my neck, and I close my eyes. Lick my lips.

  When I open them again, he’s looking at my mouth—his eyes stuck, pulse racing in his neck.

  “Yeah, do that,” he says, except I don’t know if he means fuck myself or try the Mexican, but I’m guessing he was talking about the Mexican, because he heads to the door again like a gay man would. “See you later.”

  I suppose when Brooks said, “See you later,” he meant whenever I came up with my next pathetic ruse to get his attention? I’ve given up on my own ideas. This is more complex than I thought it would be. I threw my hands up and did some research. Read a book called Bitches Get Rings: How to Trap Your Man for Good. In a mere day, it has cleared my head—highlighted my priorities. If I want to get Brooks, if I want him to get on one knee and then say, “I do,” I have to make myself valuable. Have to show my worth—supply versus demand and whatnot.

  “Good morning,” two suited men say to me in unison as I reach the top step.

  “Morning.” My smile is polite as I step past the heavy doors.

  I’m quick, weaving through the herd, slinking down the aisle, eyes searching inconspicuously for the back of his head. It’s Easter Sunday. Brooks told Facebook days ago he’d be here when he declined his co-worker’s invitation to meet up. Another time, man. Going to church with the fam, he’d said. So, I’ve been patient. Have read the book twice, and am committed to following its advice. No text asking him what he’s been up to, no accidental butt-dials, no I-thought-you-said-we’d-talk-later-asshole text. Basically, no pathetic, weak behavior.

  I’m set on being a big fucking tease, making him see that he needs me. I stalked him. Followed him. Now, I’m here at church, a place I haven’t been since my parents’ funeral, wearing my Sunday best, prepared to do my best work. My turquoise dress is fitted but modest, only allowing a peek of cleavage—just enough to drive him crazy when he should be thinking about God instead.

  The possibility of Deacon being here with the Jansens isn’t something that occurred to me, so I’m relieved to see Brooks sitting with his family near the end of a pew, no man bun in sight. I smooth my hair and pass by him, not daring to turn my eyes in his direction. Strategically, I stop two pews ahead. Smooth my dress, fluff my hair. Turn around to face him as I pretend to sift through my purse, and then face the front again. As I sit, I smile, knowing soon enough we will be poised at the front of this room, exchanging our vows.

  The pews begin to fill as the distantly familiar hymns drift from the piano. My hands are clasped tightly in my lap in anticipation. I drive myself crazy questioning whether he’s noticed me yet. Did he watch the sway of my hips as I walked, the pull of the dress against my ass as I prepared to sit? If he did, it’s rather impolite that he hasn’t tried to approach me to say hello, or how about, I don’t know, Happy fucking Easter?

  How hard has his shell become?

  Quiet goes the sanctuary as a mustached man takes center stage, his purple speckled tie popping against his demure suit.

  “Good morning,” he breathes into the mic.

  A collective greeting is mumbled back to him.

  “Today, we are here for one reason … and that is Jesus. Today, on this wonderful Easter Sunday, we celebrate that He is risen. And boy, what a joyful day this is, right, folks?” He moves down the stage, eyes piercing the audience. “This morning, I want you all to ask yourselves if you’re on the path? Are you, through Him, on the way to becoming that reborn person you never thought you could be? If the answer is no, are you ready and willing to accept the journey He has set before you? That’s the question for today, my sisters and brothers in Christ. If you haven’t taken that beautiful step … will you?” Yawn. Love ya, Jesus, but this guy’s voice may as well render my coffee decaf. I want to turn around so badly, meet Brooks’s eyes. Give him a wink and a smile. A little tit flash. Wake this room full of dull knives up a little. “...to look around and let me know if you see any familiar faces here this Sunday.”

  Oh, shit. Heads turn. My hand grabs for my purse.

  The pastor waits through silence. Smiles. “I know we’ve got some new faces in here. If you’re sitting next to one of those beautiful new faces, welcome them. Get up and introduce yourselves before we get this celebration started.”

  Stare straight ahead. Stare straight ahead. I didn’t come here to mingle with strangers.

  A hand falls on my shoulder. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before. I’m Marcy.” She’s older, in her sixties, but one of those women you only hope you’ll look like at that age with her still-white teeth and years-younger skin.

  My head turns, her other hand sticking out for me to shake. “First time,” I mutter, one solitary nod of my head polite but curt.

  “What’s your name, love?”

  I bite my cheek, the pain a distraction from how much I don’t want this to be my life right now. But maybe if I engage her, this will all be over soon, and we can get on with the service. “Emily. Nice to meet you.”

  “Pastor Maxwell!” she says, her excitement thick, feet skittering toward the front.

  Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no!

  She reaches him on the stage. Turns around and points at me—smile gleaming like a diamond. Pastor Maxwell smiles back, and gestures to the rest of the room. My cheeks begin to heat, my breath quickening. This definitely wasn’t in my plan.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says. “Brothers and sisters in Christ. Our lovely Marcy has found a first-time visitor I’d like for us all to welcome before our service begins today.” His hand waves rapidly before he holds both of his arms out. “Come on up, young lady.”

  The creak of wood as bodies shift to look at me. Inspect me. I’m frozen, my eyes burning from holding them open too long. Marcy motions for me, too, her perfect teeth nothing more than a nuisance to me now. I swallow. Let go of my purse. Stand and do my best to walk to and up the stage with grace.

  Pastor Maxwell’s hands clasp mine, warm and wrinkled, his wedding ring clanking against a turquoise band on my middle finger—the finger I’d like to give to Marcy for calling me out like this.

  “Thrilled to have you, young lady. I’m Pastor Maxwell. What’s your name?”

  My back is still to the audience. There’s no fucking way Brooks doesn’t know I’m here now. Of course he does. He isn’t blind. And dammit, because this is JUST what I wanted, right? To be spotlighted and embarrassed! Not exactly the value I was hoping to exhibit.

  “Emily,” I whisper.

  “Emily!” the pastor shouts, dropping my hands. “Let’s all welcome Emily to our church family, everyone.”

  I slowly turn, a mannequin on display to be judged—eyes on the left side of the room, avoiding where I’d come from, where I know my Brooks sits.

  “Emily, I understand this is your first time here, correct?”

  “Yes,” I say meekly, my stomach turning.

  “Well, we’re happy to have you here on this glorious Easter morning. Aren’t we, folks?”
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  The crowd gives a collective “yes,” and my heart beats faster in my chest.

  “Now, Emily, I have an important question to ask—the most important question you’ll ever be asked.” His hand motions for Marcy, and she zips over to me. “Are you ready?”

  No. “All right.” Not all right. This is one of the most torturous moments I could have imagined. I came here to stalk. To begin the execution of a plan. Not to be interrogated.

  “Emily,” he says, turning to me, taking one of my hands in his again. “Are you a child of God? Have you asked Jesus to live forever in your heart—to forgive you of your sins? Before you answer … if you haven’t, we are ready to help you today. We can walk you through the most important and meaningful step to accepting that gift of everlasting life that He is ready and willing to bestow upon you.”

  My eyes stare blankly at the crowd. I shift on my feet, my hand growing wet in his. I swallow the rising lump in my throat. No wonder my parents didn’t go to church. Is this really what they do? This public burrowing of eyes, ears ready to hear whether you’ll be rooming with them in God’s house in the afterlife or sweating it up with Satan?

  “I...” My eyes sweep involuntarily, landing on my love, my life, and something else. A gorgeous brunette tiptoeing past bodies, clearly making her way to an empty space next to him, delicate pink dress contrasting against her tropical tan and pulled taut against her perfect, medium-size tits. He meets her eyes, and she sits. Grabs his jaw and plants her bee-stung lips right on his fucking cheek. My heart fights its way to my ears, thrashing loudly inside me and drowning out the low whispers of the churchgoers. The devil herself looks at me, then glances to Brooks—a little nudge of her elbow causing him to shrug before his eyes fall on me again.

  “Emily?” the pastor calls.

  My eyes jolt to him, his ridiculous tie overwhelming. I feel as if I’m going to faint. The room suddenly burns hot, my face on fire, head dizzy as I contemplate who in the hell she could be.

  “Are you all right?” Marcy whispers.