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

by Lauren Campbell

  His fingers reach for my chin, gently guiding my face back toward his. He’s quiet for a few seconds before he smiles. Releases my face. “They’re amazing.”

  “They’re just eyes,” I laugh, nervousness like sap in my words.

  “No, they aren’t. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen eyes like that.”

  Jesus. Maybe he did recognize them. Maybe he knows. Maybe his moment of silence was an absorption of how crazy he’d perceive me to be. He could be contemplating what to do, who to tell, where to have me committed. Fuck.

  In the distance, the horn for the train sounds. Brooks hurriedly looks at his phone. “Shit! It’s about to leave. We can’t miss it.”

  We abandon the coffees, and I feel like a bum for littering. He’s holding my arm, pulling me through the coffee shop, eyes fixed on us, out of the strip mall, and onto the sidewalk. His pace is a slow jog, but I still have trouble keeping up in my shoes. We move across the bridge, his hand squeezing me a bit too firmly, my heels skidding across the pavement. When the horn sounds again, he stops.

  “Fuck it,” he pants.

  I’d like to fuck something, I think.

  “We’ll never make it if we don’t run, and you shouldn’t be running when you were sick this morning. We’ll just get a cab to my car.”

  As he’s pacing the sidewalk, arranging for us to be picked up, I’m on a bench looking up the number for the train station. I ask them to hold the picture we’d taken. Say I’ll pay for it later. No way I’m letting our first photo be thrown in the trash. I’m going to keep it, masturbate to it, kiss it—all sorts of sexy things.

  When our taxi finally arrives, my chat opportunity is stolen by the driver, unable to shut up about his Easter morning and how he couldn’t spend it with his precious little cherubs. Once we reach Brooks’s car and climb out, he’s nosy and asks what our plans are for the evening.

  “Driving back to the ATL,” Brooks says.

  “You’re not gonna wanna do that, son. There’s a bad accident going outta town. Big rig ran off a bridge. Road out’s backed up for miles.”

  Brooks grips the top of the passenger door as he leans into the passenger window. “Seriously?”

  The driver nods. “Best bet is find a place to stay. Sheriff said it’d be well after dark before they clear it up.”

  Brooks’s fingers drum on hood of the car.

  “There’s a good lodge over behind the Taco Bell, and we got a drive-in. Some movie called Cloverfield-something-or-other is playing. Scared the heebie-jeebies outta my wife.”

  “They’re open on Easter?”

  “Town lives off tourism. Everything is open.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  The driver nods to us before pulling away. Brooks looks at me, apology etched in his forehead. “Looks like we’re stuck here awhile.”

  I shrug, quelling my excitement at the thought of spending two hours with him in a dark car. “Guess we’re seeing Cloverfield.”

  His head shakes as he checks his phone. “Doesn’t start for a couple hours. Hopefully they’ll have the accident cleared by then.”

  “Okay. What are we supposed to do until then?”

  “Could drive back to the property. Explore some, if that’s okay. I didn’t check out the grounds as much as I’d have liked.”

  Maybe we’ll even stick our toes in the water and wrestle like old times. Maybe he’ll kiss me again, no childhood boundaries holding us back, no slut wedged between. Just me and Brooks.

  Forever.

  “Think you should let the realtor know we’re here?”

  We approach the back of the house. “Nah. Owners moved up north. No one will care.”

  My heels sink into the damp earth as we head to the river bank, the rushing water a welcome serenade. A small dock extends into the shallow water. He walks ahead of me and steps onto it, then reaches back and grabs for my hand.

  “It’s a little unstable.” He smiles.

  Our hands clasp again, and once I step onto the rickety wood and am secure, he lets go. Ugh. Dating is hard. I follow him to the end, our bodies barely fitting side-by-side, our shoulders pressed together as he stares at the moving water.

  My eyes trail to his, but I say nothing. His are squinted, sun illuminating them brightly just for me.

  “Yeah. I think this is it.”

  “Really?”

  His finger points to the water. “See those fish out there?”

  “No. Where?”

  He moves behind me, his right hand gentle on my shoulder, left hand pointing, as his voice moves through my ear and heats my clit. “Just before the big rock in the middle.”

  My eyes circle the area. I finally see two fish spring from the water before plunging back in, droplets of water shooting into the air behind them. “I saw it! Two of them.”

  He moves beside me again, this time our arms both down, hands so close, yet so far. Impatient, I take action, and begin removing my shoes. We’re going to splash, we’re going to wrestle, we’re going to love.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing? Sticking my feet in.”

  He shrugs. “Okay, then.” He takes off his own, pulling off his socks, too, before sitting next to me. The water is cold, a stark contrast to the direct sun. Our feet swing through the shallow water as we take in the serene view. It’s peacefully quiet, no one in sight. No sounds other than the whispered rush of the river and the dance of my heart.

  Using my hands, I scoop water, bathe it over my legs. Playfully flick what remains at Brooks.

  “What was that for?”

  I do it again without answering him, this time aiming for his face.

  He laughs, then wipes the spray from his eyes.

  “That was for not taking me home,” I smile, “and for us being stuck.”

  “So, you’d rather be home right now than on this beautiful river with me, huh?” The smile on his lips quickly fades. Could it have been embarrassment over the possible veiled admission of feelings?

  “No. I’m actually glad I’m with you.” The last few words come out as a whisper. We stare at each other, his eyes drifting to my mouth as I bite my lip in anticipation of something that doesn’t come, because of the cruel ring of his phone. What is it with phones being against us?

  “Sorry,” he says, Deacon’s name burned on the screen. He holds a finger to his mouth as he answers, a quiet command to stay silent. “Hey, man, what’s up?” Pause. “Yeah, I’m out here right now … Well, I didn’t want to interrupt your family stuff … Oh, you did? … Sorry I missed you. I walked over to the neighbor’s to see his new pool table.” He pulls the phone from his ear and looks at the screen again. “Hey, hold on, man. Got another call. Don’t recognize the number, so let me make sure it isn’t important.” He switches over. “Hello?” Very suddenly, his eyes grow wide, and he pushes up from the dock. “Oh, okay, yeah, just uh … just out looking at some property.” He walks to the bank again and paces in front of the dock—barefoot, his eyes briefly flitting to me. “Sure. Sure. Yeah, just let me know. Hey, can I call you later? … Okay, sounds good … You, too … All right. Seeya.” He appears to switch back to Deacon. “Hey, man, you there? … Deacon?”

  He shrugs, then puts the phone in his pocket, his face painted at first with something I can’t decipher. But once he sits down again, it’s so tangible I can almost smell it.

  “Who was that?”

  He flashes me a half-grin. “Oh, that was just my brother wanting to meet up later.”

  Brother.

  My blood runs cold as truth hardens in my veins.

  Brother, my ass.

  That was a woman.

  And Brooks Jansen? Well … he’s a fucking liar.

  If it didn’t seem crazy, I would swear I just heard Emily’s teeth grinding. I may even go so far as to say I see plumes of anger flowing from her this very second, a toxic rage floating from her pores. Something is most definitely bothering her.

&n
bsp; Suspicion?

  I am not the best actor, so it is possible she knows I’d lied about who was on the other end of that incoming call, but so what? Emily isn’t my girlfriend. I don’t owe her anything.

  Which brings me to another question. Why did I lie? Why was I so worried about her knowing Kate was on the other end? If I owe Emily nothing, why did it fucking matter? Why does it fucking matter?

  I’d surrendered to Emily being off limits—Deacon’s returned merchandise. And Kate being the knife that had severed all possibility of me betraying what’s morally right.

  Kate was mad cute when we dated—a cheerleader and real Girl Next Door. It felt like I had stepped into a time machine when we’d met at the coffee shop. Only, instead of shit going wrong and praying I could go back to the past, I was glad I got to skip ahead. Maybe I had stupidly expected the same teenage Kate to emerge from her car, Daisy Duke shorts and crop top, but teeny bopper she wasn’t. She was all woman. And single. It was awkward when she had come on to me, but throughout our business talk, I found her to be impressively driven and charming. Unfortunately, looks and charisma weren’t enough. I had bailed on her. Not only because I was running late to get to Emily’s, but also because running into Emily in the park had me all kinds of fucked up. And I was relieved. It had almost felt like I was in the middle of some love triangle, sitting there chatting with Kate while Emily texted. I walked out of there never planning to see Kate again. I walked out of there a weak man, dick and heart after one thing.

  Kate is beautiful, but Emily is exquisite—quite possibly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her voice, her mannerisms, the way she looks at me like she can read my thoughts. Emily makes me feel.

  At least she did until Deacon had texted me while we were at Nelly’s, followed by a text from Kate when I walked Emily to the door. Both felt like signs to leave Emily alone. It took a couple of days, but I accepted it was incredibly shitty to think about Emily in any way—fucking, dating, whatever. Not only is it wrong to begin with, but Deacon would probably be pushed over the edge if he knew about this.

  And the more I have avoided contact with Emily, the less I find myself resisting Kate. Kate now has me thoroughly convinced that her cheating in high school was a set-up—that the person behind it was Eliza. In retrospect, it doesn’t seem implausible.

  So, that’s it. Kate is safe. She isn’t Deacon’s ex-girlfriend, and she doesn’t want a relationship that I am not ready for. Emily, on the other hand, is a flamboyant, shiny mess of caution tape I would rather not get caught up in.

  I had resolved to be distant, to let her down easy.

  But I am quickly losing faith in myself. God, those eyes and the way she bites her lip. I want to put my hand on her leg, trail my fingers up her thigh. Take off her clothes. Taste her. Tell her what her eyes do to me. I want to do every bad fucking thing I can think of with Emily, because being with her feels so good.

  Even though it is so fucking wrong.

  July 1999

  My feet slip and slide on the steep hill as I rush toward the creek. The trees are thick, lizard-green leaves hiding most of my view, but I can see her. She’s standing on the rocks waiting for me, her arms crossed, looking worried. I half-trip on a fallen branch, but I keep going because there is no time. I have to see her. I have to say goodbye.

  I burst from the trees, and she sees me, and begins running toward me. I pull the popsicle I got her from my pocket. We stop in front of each other. I can’t speak. I play football, so running is easy for me. I can’t speak because I’m sad. Because I know this is going to be one of the worst days she has ever had. And because it is one of my worst days, too.

  Her eyes are sad. She knows what I’m about to say, but I have to say it anyway, because neither of us is talking.

  There’s a lump in my throat, so I swallow it. “This is it, Ivy. The last day. We’re about to go. Right now.”

  Her lips shake as she asks if I can stay longer, and her face changes into something terrible when I say no. I hold the popsicle out to her, and she takes it, but it drops from her hand to the ground. She’s … devastated. I do the only thing I know to do. I wrap my arms around her, tighter than I ever have before. She cries into my shirt, and she doesn’t know it, but I cry, too. Even though I don’t have tears, I’m crying for her. I can’t protect her anymore, because I can’t take her with me.

  We pull away from each other, not because we want to, but because we both know we have to.

  “I’ll be back,” I reassure her. “I won’t forget you.” My eyes sting. They want to cry tears, but I don’t let them.

  Her voice breaks as she speaks. “I can’t believe you’re really leaving.”

  I grab her hands, and I hold them one last time. They’re trembling. I try to memorize them—how long her fingers are, how they feel in mine, but I’m afraid I’ll forget.

  “Brooooooks!” I turn my head back to the woods. My mother, calling for me in a panic. Thankfully, I don’t see her, but I have to hurry. Our car to take us to the airport must have shown up.

  My hands squeeze Ivy’s. I’m so nervous, but I have to do this or I’ll regret it the entire time I’m gone. I know she needs this to make it through.

  Our eyes are locked together, her deep blues sparkling with tears, and her heart breaking in front of me. “I love you, Ivy.”

  She shuts her eyes, and the tears fall down her face, and I know it’s the right time. I grab her cheeks, and I kiss her, pressing my lips to hers. I have never kissed a girl before, and I know we are too young, but I don’t know what will happen when we are apart. I wanted her to be the first, and me hers.

  The lump in my throat comes back, but I can’t swallow it this time, and I feel a tear escape one of my eyes before it falls to her face.

  I have to go.

  I pull away.

  And I leave her.

  I run.

  I run away from her.

  I left her on the rocks, and I’m gone, and I don’t look back, because I can’t cry any more than I did while I was lying in bed last night.

  “I’m gonna marry you one day, Ivy!” I shout to her.

  And I mean it.

  My body is scrunched on the bench in the window of my new room. I stare out at the people on the street, how they all look so rushed to get to wherever they’re going. We’ve been in France for a few days now.

  I hate it. It’s so different. The way it looks. The people. In Paris, everything is old looking, and I’m not sure they like Americans. At least, not us, anyway. I just want to go back home. I don’t know why I had to come along. I can take care of myself. I know how to microwave mac-and-cheese and take a shower. I could have stayed with my brother. It’s not fair that just because Charles is almost eighteen that he got to stay.

  It makes me bitter, because I miss Ivy. The entire plane ride here, I felt like my heart was going to beat so fast that it would eventually stop. All I wanted was to turn the plane around and go back and hug her again, but I knew all I could have was the memory of it.

  A soft knock plays on the door. “Can I come in?”

  I bolt from the bench and stand in front of the stereo, pretending I’m looking for music. “Sure.”

  My mother enters the room, a warm smile on her face. “Your father and I are going to go down to the patisserie and get some lunch. Would you like to come with us?”

  I drop the disk I’m holding and shrug. “I’m not really hungry.”

  She sits on my bed, lines forming between her eyes, and her mouth pulling into a thin line. “I’ll leave a sandwich in the fridge, then. But you’re coming out with us for dinner tonight. That’s an order. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  Her face softens again, like everything is okay, and it makes me mad. Like my life doesn’t matter. Like being here is better for all of us, when really, it’s just better for them. Money, money, money. Everything is about money with adults.

  “I still don’t understand why I had to come. I
could have stayed with Charles.”

  “I’m not having this discussion with you again, Brooks. We’re here, and we’ll all make the best of it, and that’s that.”

  My eyes turn to my father, who has poked his head in, looking prepared to defend my mother. My face gives a silent apology, and my father’s face relaxes.

  “Brooks,” he says, “some of our neighbors have come to visit and introduce themselves. They have two daughters and a son. One of the daughters is your age.” He winks. “Come down.”

  My face feels hot. Like I give a crap about that girl. “Maybe next time. I don’t feel like it.” Why do adults think people are so disposable? Like I can forget Ivy at the snap of a finger?

  With that, my mother stands, the sun from the window hitting her jewelry and sending dancing light on the white walls. Her eyes are narrowed, and for a second I think she may just slap me for my defiance. But before she can make it over to me, the phone rings. Her eyes snap to the nightstand, and she shakes her head at me before walking over to pick up the phone.

  “Allo,” she says, in her best French accent, and I roll my eyes. She insists we use French as much as possible when interacting with the locals to really assimilate, she says. Whatever that means. “C’est de la part de qui? … Allo? … C’est de la part de qui? … Pourrais-je laisser un message?”

  A loud voice shrills through the phone. A familiar one. I rush over to my mother. “Is that Ivy?” I ask, but her hand covers the phone as she mouths “no” and shoos for my dad and me to leave.

  As we’re leaving the room, our maid, Nicolette, walks in, and my mother says something in French to her before passing her the phone.

  “I swear that sounded like Ivy,” I say to my dad as we walk downstairs.

  He chuckles and pats me on the shoulder. “Your mother said it wasn’t. Cheer up, son. Ivy is a world away. Chloe lives right next door!”

  As the last of the light fades from the sky, Brooks wedges his car in the only space open in the drive-in movie lot. Lawn chairs fill the grassy area in front of the screen. Kids kick and throw balls. Obnoxious college age kids play bean bag toss.