“You heard me!” Eliza shouts. “I got your little package.”
“What package?” I ask. “What the fuck is up with the drama today?” Jesus, I have three catty women in my house.
“Your girlfriend sent me a ‘baby gift’ that had a picture of my husband making out with the neighbor.”
I inhale a sharp breath. “Ouch.” My head snaps to Emily. “Wait, why is everyone stalking each other? Fuck!”
“Wow. What goes around really comes back around,” Emily says. “Wasn’t me, though.”
“It was your handwriting, honey,” Eliza spits. “Oh, also the bit about leaving you and Brooks alone. Yeah, who else would it have been?”
My eyes move to Kate who shakes her head. “It wasn’t me!”
They begin yelling at each other, all three of them, my head feeling as if it is about to explode. “ENOUGH!” I shout. “Everyone stop.”
“Whatever,” Eliza says.
“Did I mention I’m glad we aren’t friends anymore?” Emily asks.
“I’m leaving,” Kate says. “I quit watching soap operas a long time ago. I have no desire to star in one.” She jerks her purse from the table at the end of the hall and walks past me. “Call me if you want.”
The door slams, the three of us left in a pool of tension. “You really fucked up my life, you know that?” Eliza says, crossing the foyer to Emily, stopping inches from her face.
“I’m pretty sure you did that yourself.”
Without warning, Eliza’s hand raises and slaps Emily’s cheek. Emily’s hand flies to her face, her mouth open in disbelief.
“Eliza, what the fuck!” I shout. “Emily, are you okay?” I move to be at her side, examining her cheek.
“I’m fine,” she says, rubbing her face.
“Wait a minute,” Eliza says, peering at Emily’s face, attempting to get even closer.
“You need to leave,” I say.
“Did you … have a nose job?”
Emily’s eyes flick up to her. “No. What kind of question is that?”
“Yes, you did.”
“No I didn’t.”
“Come on, Eliza. You need to go. Now.”
Her head turns to me, eyes circling rapidly. “Oh my God. Oh my God...”
“What?” I ask, my tone rough.
“It’s her...”
“Her? What do you mean?”
“Ivy!” Eliza says.
“What about her?”
“Don’t you get it?” She holds up the napkin, and then steps around Emily and into the living room. We follow her as she spins around, holding up the panda sketch and napkin together. “It’s her. Emily is her. Emily is Ivy!”
A short laugh bubbles from my throat. “What? No...”
“Yes!”
“What?” Emily says. “Have you lost your mind?”
I stare at Emily’s face, the brilliant ocean blue souring my stomach, but then I shake it off. “No. She can’t be. That’s a crazy thing to say.”
“It’s not, though. You knew something was weird. These drawings are the same. The same exact drawings. And she’s had a nose job.” She shakes the pictures at me, the veins in her neck inflating.
“I have not had a nose job. I have no clue what’s going on or what crazy shit you’re going on about, but I think I should go home.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Eliza says to me. “Look at her, Brooks. Look at those eyes. I can’t believe we didn’t figure this out before,” she says, her hands in her hair. “They’re Ivy’s eyes. As plain as she was, her eyes were stunning, and they’re right there … in Emily’s head. The drawing is the same, the eyes are the same. And the scar, Brooks. Look at the scar. Get a good, close look at the scar running underneath her nose.”
I shrink away from them, my nails cutting into my palms to make sure this isn’t a dream. I don’t understand this. I don’t understand what she’s saying. Am I dreaming? Is some elaborate hoax being played on me today?
Brooks inches closer to me, his beautiful eyes settling on my face. I want to tell him to back up, to get away from me, that I don’t deserve this, but my words are stuck.
“Maybe it’s just a regular one,” he says to Eliza. “It’s tiny. I can barely see it. It could be from anything.”
Eliza grabs him by the bicep. “I. Know. Plastic. Surgery, Brooks. My mother is the queen of it, and I’ve thought about it myself.”
“I—I’m going to go home.” I attempt to push past them.
“Emily, wait,” Brooks says, taking my hand, a pained look in his eyes. I stare at him through forming tears.
“If you aren’t Ivy, call your parents,” Eliza says. “Prove it to us.”
A burst of hope until I remember they must have changed their phone numbers. Didn’t they? “I can’t.” I shake my head, trying to remember the last time I spoke to them.
Why can’t I remember?
Brooks takes the napkin from Eliza’s hands. Stares at it. Dizziness creeps into my head, and I sink to the floor. “I’m not feeling well.”
“I’ll call them,” she says, crouching down and yanking my phone from my purse. “Unlock it.”
I shake my head.
“Unlock it now!”
“Eliza, stop!” Brooks shouts. “I know the drawing and the scar are odd, but … but it’s impossible. What about the rest of her? She looks nothing like Ivy. Nothing.”
Her head snaps up to him. “No shit, genius. She could have had tons of shit done. Didn’t you ever see that makeover show? The Swan or some shit?”
“Eliza!” he says, as she snatches my thumb and presses it onto my phone to unlock it. He jerks her up, the phone still in her hand, but she spins away from him, protecting it.
“Don’t touch me,” she bites.
“Give me my phone,” I say, attempting to stand, but the wooziness overtakes me.
Brooks moves toward her, his hand swiping through the air to take the phone, but she backs away before he reaches it.
“I said don’t touch me,” she shouts. “You really want to endanger my baby?”
“Give her the fucking phone back. This is going too far.”
“Eliza, please … I know you hate me, but this is crazy,” I breathe, my voice weak, acid washing up my throat.
As she begins to swipe through my phone, Brooks yanks it from her, holding it too high for Eliza to take back. “Oh, look,” he says. “She called them … her parents … an hour ago. If she were Ivy, she couldn’t do that, because they’re dead. It was all over the news.”
“Call them then,” she yells. “Something is wrong, whether she’s Ivy or not. You said it yourself! Maybe she had a twin sister who was given up, and this is some fucked up movie-worthy plot.”
Oh God. He’s not going to believe me if he dials those numbers. “Give me back my phone, Brooks.” I try to stand again, but my vision fades from vertigo.
“Okay,” he says to her. “Emily, look. I’m going to call them so we can settle this, all right? Then she’ll go, and I’ll help you get home.”
“No, please...”
He places the call on speaker, the ringing blasting through the silent room, Eliza’s expectant, greedy eyes displaying how much she’s enjoying this.
“Breasts and Legs Chicken,” the boy says.
Brooks furrows his brow. “Yeah, hi,” he says, his eyes piercing me. “I’m looking for...” He pauses, trying to pull the memory of my parents’ names before snapping his fingers. “I’m looking for Lewis.”
“Sorry, there’s no one here named Lewis. Seeya.”
The call ends, and both of their eyes are wide.
“See. Isn’t that fucking weird? You can’t deny that’s weird. Dad is a chicken place?”
Brooks shakes his head. “Maybe a misunderstanding or something. Did he get a new number?” he asks me.
I say nothing.
Eliza says, “Try her mom.”
Tears stream from my eyes. I know I’ll never convince him now. I’l
l have to get in touch with them and make them fucking fly out here to make him believe I’m not this Ivy girl. I don’t understand how either of them would believe I am. It’s not like I’ve never been in his house. It’s not like we both drew pandas wearing Mickey Mouse ears and riding unicycles while sipping martinis on the same day. I’ve seen the drawing before. It’s just what I sketched on a whim, and obviously from memory. Lots of people draw similarly.
The phone begins to ring again before it stops—silence on the other end.
“Hello?” Brooks says.
“I said I didn’t want any more calls from this number.”
“Wait, is this Emily’s mom?”
“I already told that woman she had the wrong number. If I get a call from this number again, I’m calling the police.”
The call ends, and Brooks drops the phone, his jaw slack as he looks at me. A smile tugs on Eliza’s mouth as she nods with what she deems to be confirmation that I’m someone else.
“I know how this seems, but—”
“Stop,” he says, kneeling in front of me. “Why would your parents’ numbers lead to random people?”
I sigh. “I don’t know, okay? I guess they changed them.”
“And they didn’t tell you about it?”
“Holy shit. I was right.” Eliza lets out a deep, bloodcurdling laugh as she holds her stomach. “You’re fucking Ivy Hobbs. Emily Brandt is Ivy Hobbs. Wow. Good job on the makeover.”
“Would you fucking shut up?” Brooks says. “Sit on the couch. Look at baby shit or something. Let me figure this out.”
“What’s to figure out, Brooks? It’s all spelled out for you now, right in your face. Are you blind?”
“But … but why? That’s the part I can’t understand.”
“Hello! Because she never got over you, duh. Little Brooks Jansen was the only guy who ever paid any attention to her miserable, pathetic, worthless little self.”
“But Deacon—”
“He was obviously part of some fucked up Fatal Attraction plan she had going through her mind. Accept it. She fucked with all of us.”
“It’s not true,” I say. “I swear to God, I’m just Emily. Only Emily. I grew up with Evelyn and Lewis, they’re my parents. They changed their numbers or something, but—but I’m going to get them to come out here. Then you’ll see. I don’t blame you for not believing me, but you’ll see.”
He stands up, backing away from me, fingers tapping on his own phone now.
“What are you doing?” Eliza asks.
“Her grandmother … we visited her recently. I’m going to call the nursing home, see if they have numbers for her parents.”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” I say, still feeling weak. “I’m sure they do.”
“Found the number,” he mutters. A pause before he says, “Yeah, hi … I was hoping you could help me with something. I was wondering if you happened to have phone numbers for the family of a resident of yours … Uh huh … Her name is Sarah … Yeah, the one with the Jesus stuff … What? Are—are you sure? But we were there recently … Her granddaughter and me … Emily, blonde hair … You’re positive?” His eyes fall to mine, his gaze cold. “Okay. Okay, thanks a lot.”
“Well? What’d they say?” Eliza asks.
He backs up toward the couch before collapsing on it, his head hanging.
“Brooks?” I ask. “Is she all right? Is my grandmother all right?”
“They said … that Sarah has no family. The woman I talked to said you called to ask about visiting. That you said you wanted to bring some joy to someone lonely without family.”
“What? No...” I shake my head. “No … she’s … she’s my grandmother.” Tears streak my face as the room begins to spin faster.
“Oh, fuck, this is great,” Eliza laughs. “I mean, you ruined my life, but fuck, you’re crazy. No one’s gonna believe this when I tell them.”
Brooks begins breathing heavily, a spinning blob in my vision. “Brooks, I’m telling you the truth.”
“Don’t,” he says. “Fuck. Goddammit, nothing you can say can make this right.”
My hand rises to my temple. “Brooks, please. I don’t understand what’s happening to me. What—what’s going on?”
My heart pumps—thump, thump, thump—so rapidly, I worry it may tire out. I pull myself from the floor and start to walk toward him. This has to be a dream. This can’t be real. What’s going on?
Wake up, Emily. Wake up, wake up, wake up.
As I drag myself to him, muffled voices shout at each other before I open my eyes to a bright light.
I’m sitting against the bookshelf, my knees pulled up, as I watch Dr. Sanders check Emily’s pupils. I called her immediately, once Emily—Ivy—passed out, not wanting to wait for an ambulance when she is just around the corner.
After a minute, she returns the flashlight to her lab coat.
“Dr. Sanders, please help me,” Ivy says, coming to.
“Everything will be okay.” She reaches out her hand to feel Ivy’s forehead. “Temp feels normal. Pupils equal, reactive to light. Tell me what happened, Brooks.”
Her eyes gaze to me. “Her friend called me a few days ago, and said she was acting strange. I went to check on her, and found her in the grass behind her house. She was passed out, disoriented. I was concerned, so I let her sleep. When she woke up, I took her to breakfast, and she drew something on a napkin—the pandas, just like the ones in the framed picture.” I point to both the sketches that are on the coffee table “We went to school together. She drew the one in the frame years ago … when we were kids. I didn’t connect the dots, but I knew something was strange about it. Eliza put it all together. We called the numbers listed as her parents in her phone, and neither are her parents. I called the nursing home her grandmother lives in, but that woman has no family. Emily claims she doesn’t know what we’re talking about, but … she has only been pretending to be Emily.” God, this is fucked up. This is so fucked up.
“I am Emily,” Ivy says. “I don’t know Ivy. I need to get in touch with my—”
“Oh, cut the shit, Em,” Eliza says.
“Ivy...” Dr. Sanders says. “Is that your name?”
She shakes her head. “No! No, I’m Emily! How many times do I have to say it?”
Dr. Sanders turns to me. “Do you mind if I have a few moments alone with her? To examine her?”
“Sure,” I say, standing, exhaustion washing over me. “You should get home,” I say to Eliza. “The show’s over.”
“Whatever.” She stands and waddles over to her purse. “I have to get back to my mom’s, anyway.”
I follow her out, and tiptoe back to the edge of the living room, out of view.
“Ivy … Emily...” Dr. Sanders says. “Do you remember what happened before you passed out at your house?”
“I remember arguing with Brooks in the morning, but that’s it. Then, I was in the yard, and he was spraying water over me, but it was nighttime.”
“Hmm.”
“What’s going on? I’m really getting scared. I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“So, you truly remember nothing about that day?”
“No!” Emily shouts. “What does that have to do with what’s happening now?”
“Good. That’s really good.”
I waltz in the room again, my throat clearing to make my entrance known. “Why is that good?”
“Oh, it’s complicated medical jargon, but she needs to be committed,” Dr. Sanders says to me. “Right now.”
“Committed? That sounds a little extreme.”
Emily sits up straighter. “Wait, committed? What do you mean? What the fuck do you mean? I’m not the crazy one, you guys are! I’m EMILY! You’ll see!”
“Calm down,” Dr. Sanders says, taking out her cell from her coat and pressing buttons. “Yes, I have an emergency situation.”
“Hold on,” I say. “Can’t we talk about this first?”
“There’s
nothing to talk about, Brooks,” Dr. Sanders says, her hand covering the speaker. “She’s experiencing some type of psychotic episode, and she needs to be evaluated.” My heart beats rapidly as she uncovers the speaker and continues. “Yes, sorry. I have an unstable patient who needs to be placed on immediate psychiatric hold.”
Ivy gasps as Dr. Sanders recites my address, sobs spilling from her mouth as she tries to stand.
“Brooks, you need to hold her. She’s unwell. She’s a danger to herself.”
I step toward Ivy, my hand gripping her forearm, before I look back to Dr. Sanders. “What … what do you want me to do?”
“My dog,” Ivy cries. “Who will take care of my dog?”
“Don’t worry about that,” I tell her. “Lucy will be fine. We’re going to get you some help.”
“I’m scared. I don’t know what’s happening.”
Her words muffle in my ears over the next few minutes as my pulse overpowers them, the gravity of the situation registering. Her meeting Eliza wasn’t random. She sought her out. Her dating Deacon was a well-calculated plan to … to what? Stay close to me? Every story, every answered question about her life was contrived.
“Brooks?” I hear my name, as if it is shouted underwater. “Brooks?” Dr. Sanders flashes a light in my eyes.
I shake my head, still holding Ivy’s arm, her sobs incessant. “Yeah. Yeah. Sorry, I—I am trying to wrap my head around this.”
A knock sounds on the door, before Dr. Sanders skitters to it. Two male paramedics rush into the room, the smell of disinfectant on their clothes, my hand breaking away from her as they attempt to calm her with gloved hands.
They pelt questions at Dr. Sanders, my vision tunneled as they bring out a needle.
“No!” Ivy shouts, her greasy hair falling in strings around her face. “No, please! Brooks, tell them! You know who I am,” she wails, her face twisted with pain. “You know me! Tell them!”
A tear pools in my eye before I blink it away. The glint of the needle makes this situation too real as it approaches her arm. I turn around, my chest heaving as I say, “I do know her. Her name is Ivy. Ivy Hobbs.”
Jared arrives just in time. I had sent him a message as soon as the ambulance left, and told him I would meet him at the hospital.
The Evolution of Ivy: Antidote (The Evolution of Ivy, Volume 2) Page 26
