by Erin Wright
It was insanity. All of it.
The sobbing hiccups turned into tears, which eventually dried up, until all Ivy could do was stare through the foggy windshield at the side of the library, her eyes burning, her body wrung out.
It was time to go accept her punishment, and tell her family the truth. She’d start there. They loved her. They would understand, or at least not throw her out on her ass into the snowbank.
She hoped.
Waiting for Iris to show up from her mother-in-law apartment next door was probably the longest six minutes of Ivy’s life. It was six minutes on the clock, but ten years in Ivy’s mind.
When she’d come home from Austin’s house, her mother had been frantic with worry over the blotchy face and red eyes of her younger daughter. Instead of answering her cascade of questions, Ivy had asked if Iris could come over so she could tell everyone everything at once, rather than having to repeat herself. One time was awful enough, thankyouverymuch.
Her dad had gone to fetch Iris, and the wait for them to return was slowly driving Ivy insane.
The ticking of the clock, the stares from her mom, the pacing back and forth…
It was like fingernails on a chalkboard. Ivy wasn’t sure if she wanted her dad and Iris to hurry up so she could tell them and get it over with, or never, ever come home so she didn’t have to admit to anything at all.
But finally, in came Dad through the front door, knocking the snow off his boots while guiding Iris in. She was staring at Ivy, a confused look on her face that clearly said, “What the hell is going on here?”
A question Ivy was about to answer. The only thing she could do was tell the truth and hope they forgave her.
When everyone settled down on the floral brocade couch that had graced the McLain’s living room since the early 90s, sitting in a line, all staring at Ivy, she hopped to her feet. She couldn’t just sit there. She had to walk, to pace, to get the panic and energy out of her.
She turned and looked at her family, sending them a pained smile.
“I work at the Rockstar Diner,” she said. She wasn’t entirely sure why she was starting there, but she needed to start somewhere and that seemed like as good of a place as any. “I am a waitress there. That’s how I pay my bills. I live upstairs over my art studio – you know, that one I love to brag about and I post pictures of all the time on Facebook? Well, the upstairs isn’t actually supposed to be an apartment. It was storage for the last tenant. Other than the tiniest bathroom that you ever did see, with a sink, a mirror, and a toilet crammed into it, there’s no running water. I take showers down at the local YMCA and I cook on a hot plate while sitting on my bed.”
She drew in a deep breath. This next part was the worst part, and she wasn’t sure which was going to happen: Getting it all out or passing out. It was going to be close.
“I never made it as an artist. Not really. Not enough to pay my bills. You can’t live on a hundred dollars a month in the Bay area, and that was if I was lucky and actually sold a painting that month.
“I’m not really sure where it all started. The lying. I’ve spent a lot of time in my oversized-closet-turned-apartment, trying to remember how I got into this mess to begin with, and I don’t know. I don’t remember the first small white lie. I probably just exaggerated how much I made on the sale of a painting. I never told you guys that I quit waitressing after I graduated from college; I just let you guys assume that I had. I know that sounds stupid, but I tried to minimize the amount of lying that I did, even if I was just assuaging my conscience by lying through omission.”
Which was when the damn tears started rolling down her cheeks; hot, burning trails, dripping onto her shirt.
“I know that lying through omission isn’t any better than actually saying the lies. I know better than to tell lies of any kind. Y’all raised me better than this.”
She snuffled, scrubbing her face on her arm. “I wanted to be something more than I was. I wanted to rub it in the face of every person who was an ass to me in school. I wanted to prove that I was successful, and I wanted to post that proof on Facebook. The bigger the lies, the less I could back out of them and play them off as a joke. Pretty soon, everyone believed me, and I finally got that validation that I’ve spent my whole life craving.
“But none of it was real.”
She stopped for a moment, black panic swirling around her. She wasn’t done yet, and she knew the shock on her family’s faces was only going to get worse. Her mother’s mouth was hanging open and her dad’s face had gone white. Iris was crying silently.
Ivy wanted to die. Just crawl into a hole and never come out again. But just like before, in that damn art closet at the high school, she kept going. Because she had to.
“I said that I work at Rockstar Diner, but even that was a lie. I don’t. Not anymore. I got fired when I didn’t come back after the party. The truth is, I can’t go back. I don’t have the money to. I was barely hanging on by my fingernails, and had scraped and saved for two months to pay for the plane tickets to come home for the big shindig. When Iris fell—” their eyes met and pain flashed in Iris’ deep blue eyes and Ivy felt sick for making her sister feel awful but she had to finish the story and get this all off her chest, “—I canceled my flight back home, but the cost to buy a new ticket…”
She shrugged. All pride was gone. The pride that had kept her going for years, pretending to be something she wasn’t, had disappeared.
“I don’t have it. I can’t leave. I’m stuck here, until…well, I don’t know. You kick me out? I’m going to lose everything – all of my paintings, my clothes, my furniture, my art supplies…When my landlord doesn’t get my rent check for January, he’s gonna start the proceedings, and eventually get me evicted. He’ll sell my stuff, and meanwhile, I’ll still be here. Living in my childhood bedroom and hiding from the world.”
She broke down into hiccuping sobs then, harder, deeper, even more painful than the tears in the car had been.
But as awful as it felt, it also felt cathartic. Maybe her family would hate her, disown her, throw her out on her ear. But at least she wasn’t lying to them anymore.
She hadn’t realized how hard it’d been to hide the truth from them all this time. To pretend that everything was fine, when it hadn’t been.
Maybe telling the truth was awful, but hiding the truth? That was even worse.
She felt her mom’s arms wrap around her, pulling her against her soft chest, whispering in her ear. Ivy couldn’t hear the words over the pain pouring out of her, but she knew they were loving words. Sweet words.
Words of forgiveness.
“I’m–I–I’m so–so–so sorryyyyyyyy!” Ivy wailed. “I didn’t want–want to disappoint yoooouuuuuuuu…” Her shoulders were shaking, her body was shaking and she couldn’t breathe and she couldn’t talk. Her mom’s arms stroked down her back and hair as she whispered in Ivy’s ear and then, her dad was there, on the other side. Her dad, who was not an emotional man. Who had not been raised to hug his daughters or tell them that he loved them. He was holding her and he too was shaking.
Finally, Ivy’s sobs died down just enough that she could hear her father. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he was whispering.
“Sorry?” Ivy choked out, the endless cascade of tears ever falling, burning her eyes, burning her cheeks. “For what? For raising a daughter who lies?”
“For not standing up to those girls at your high school.”
Ivy froze. She remembered. All of it came rushing back. After all this time, she remembered where the lies had started, and now that she remembered, she was shocked she’d ever forgotten. It was the day that Tiffany and Fredrick announced their engagement on Facebook.
Fredrick had been her one and only boyfriend in high school. It’d been a pretty innocent relationship – some kisses, some snuggling together during football games. And then, they were discovered together – Tiffany and Fredrick under the bleachers, making out, when he was supposed to be m
eeting Ivy for the game. It was the fall of their senior year, and it had broken Ivy’s heart.
Years later, and Tiffany and Fredrick were getting married. Posting adorable pictures of themselves on Facebook. Showing off a rock the size of Kansas on her ring finger. Everything Ivy had wanted in life.
They never did end up getting married, ironically enough. He was caught cheating on Tiffany with the gas station attendant for Mr. Petrol's. Which was a sick kind of justice in Ivy’s mind.
But that night of the engagement-fest, Ivy posted about an art show she’d been invited to on Facebook. She’d been so far down the totem pole in terms of popularity and star power, the hosting art gallery hadn’t even bothered to put her on the advertisements for the show. So Ivy had made up her own flyers, posting them on Facebook for all to see.
She told herself that it wasn’t really a lie – after all, she was going to be at that show. She was just making advertisements that reflected that – fixing the oversight of the art gallery.
It was possible that she’d made her name rather large on the hand bill. Perhaps even added a few stars around her name. Of course she would, right? She was the one designing the flyers. She could pretty them up however she wanted.
Even as she was designing the flyer, she’d felt guilt eating away at her stomach. She hadn’t known then that it would be her constant companion for years to come.
Ivy pulled back, looking at each person in turn. Each person that she loved dearly. “I lied to you, I lied to the world, and sometimes, I even managed to lie to myself. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let you down.” Her throat choked up again but she swallowed hard, pushing the lump down, continuing on. “Truthfully, I need to forgive Tiffany, Ezzy, Fredrick, and everyone else in high school who tried to make me miserable. Who did make me miserable. Hating them has only made me hate myself, and do things that I never should have.”
She took a deep, cleansing breath as her mom rubbed her back in small circles, occasionally patting her comfortingly. Ivy almost felt like she should let out a large, satisfying burp so her mom would stop trying to burp her, but that thought only made her smile.
Smiling. How lovely it was to smile.
She looked up and caught Iris’ eye, who was also grinning. “What?” she asked, confused. “Why are you smiling?”
At that, Iris let out a laugh. “Because! You say that I’m stubborn! You’re taking it to a whole new level!”
Ivy narrowed her eyes at her sister. “At least I’m not working myself into a state of blindness,” she informed her tartly.
“At least I’m not practically homeless!” Iris retorted.
“I just don’t understand where you two get that from,” Mom declared. “You both are just bone-headed.”
Dad let out a snort.
Mom turned on him, jabbing her hands onto her hips and glaring. “And just what was that supposed to mean?” she demanded.
Dad’s snort turned into a chuckle. “You don’t know where our darling daughters got their stubbornness from? Have you met you?”
Ivy was the first to start laughing. Maybe it was the relief of finally telling her family the truth, and not having them hate her. Maybe she’d finally snapped. Gone ‘round the bend.
But whatever it was, she couldn’t help herself. She bent over, sides aching, laughter spilling out of her. Iris and Dad joined in, and then even Mom was laughing. They held each other up as the laughter filled the room.
Moments, minutes, hours later – Ivy couldn’t tell any longer – they finally straightened up as the laughter died away. Mom gave Ivy a huge hug. “I’m proud of you for telling us the truth, dear. I won’t lie and say I’m happy to hear that you’ve been hiding so much from us for so long, but I’m glad you came clean. I have to ask: Does any of this have to do with a certain handsome extension agent?”
Ivy shook her head quickly, paused, and then slowly nodded. “I…uhhh…woke up this morning next to him—” her face flamed red at the idea of discussing her sex life with her parents and she hurried on before her mom could bring up birth control or the birds and the bees or something else equally as mortifying, “—and time had run out. I’d been telling myself ever since Iris fell that I’d deal with this later. After Christmas. After New Year’s. I knew at some point, y’all would notice that I took up residence here and hadn’t moved back out again, but I kept hoping a miracle would hit. Not only that, but…”
She took another deep, cleansing breath. “I don’t like abstract art.” Whoosh. The stress and anxiety she’d been feeling for years disappeared.
She’d never said those words out loud. She’d never let herself think those words. Not so bluntly. Not so forcefully.
But it was true.
Her dad grinned at her. “Damn girl, I’m glad to hear that,” he said with a chuckle. “I never could get into it. You are so talented, but that shit just looked like a drunk man splashing paint everywhere.”
Ivy let out a snort of laughter at that. “Oh Dad,” she said, wiping her tears of happiness and pain away, “I love you.”
He turned red and mumbled something that could’ve been, “I love you too,” or “Roses are blue,” or “I go achoo.” Ivy was pretty sure it was the first option, although with her dad, it was never a guarantee.
“I’m not sure what I’m going to do now,” Ivy admitted with a shrug. It was freeing to say. The shackles were falling off. She didn’t know what she was doing or where she was going with her life, but she did know that she felt like she could fly. “Truthfully, I was working hard as a waitress so I could pursue my dreams of painting abstract impressionism, and I don’t even like it! Is 32 too young to have a midlife crisis?”
Her dad patted her on the arm. “Your mom and I can help you. We can pay for a plane ticket back down to California, and we can lend you some money. We just want you…well, you know, it’s important that…” He gulped, looking uncomfortable.
Emotions – John McLain’s Least Favorite Thing in the World.
Her mom gracefully jumped in, saving her husband just like she’d been doing for the past 40 years. “What your dad is trying to say, dear, is that we just want you to be happy. If that’s down in California, putting together sculptures with used pop cans, or living in your old bedroom and waitressing down at Betty’s Diner, your happiness is what matters.”
“Considering Tiffany works at Betty’s, I’m pretty sure I’m going to skip that second option,” Ivy said, wrinkling her nose.
“Fair enough,” her mom said with a chuckle. “Is there another kind of art you’d rather do than abstract? You could always paint handsome cowboys, you know. I’m pretty sure there’s at least one cowboy who’d be willing to sit for a portrait.” She winked at Ivy.
Ivy stared at her mom.
“What?” her mom asked blankly. “If you don’t like the idea, you don’t have to—”
“Oh Mom, you’re a genius!” Ivy said, throwing her arms around her mom and hugging her ecstatically. “This is perfect!”
She ran down the hallway, wings on her feet, leaving her bemused family behind her.
She had work to do.
Chapter 19
Austin
Austin stared at his book, the words swimming around, chasing each other on the page. It had been – he looked at his watch – 58 hours since Ivy had run out of his house like her ass was on fire, and he was no closer to understanding what had happened now than he was when it had happened.
Girls. You can’t live with them, and you can’t live without ‘em.
Well, actually, that wasn’t true. He’d lived without them for years. He could totally live without them again. In fact, he’d fully planned on living without them. Ivy had just been a slight deviation in those plans, but that phase was behind him. He’d learned his lesson. No girls ever.
Except for horses. Bob needed a girlfriend.
Oh, and Austin should get a dog. What red-blooded cowboy living in the mountains of Idaho didn’t have a dog? He could adopt o
ne. Michelle Winthrop down at the pound was always trying to get pets into a good home. He should drive down and pick one out. A male one, though. Just to be on the safe side.
He glanced at his watch again. Dammit. The pound closed an hour ago.
Well, he’d go tomorrow on his lunch break and bring home a companion. Someone to love him and hang out with him and keep his bed warm at night.
He groaned. He didn’t want a damn dog to keep his bed warm. He wanted a woman. Ivy McLain, to be exact.
Hmmm…does she have a middle name? Austin paused, trying to remember if he’d ever heard either way.
He shook off the thought. Never mind that.
New plan: He was going to drive to the McLain household and he was going to demand to see Ivy and he was going to talk some sense into her, and maybe tie her to a chair until she told him what was going on in that thick, stubborn, beautiful head of hers.
Much better than snuggling up to a smelly, farting male dog that would hump every leg within ten miles.
He tossed his book aside and strode over to his elk antler coat rack, grabbing his jacket off one of the tines. He shoved it on, muttering as he grabbed his keys and wallet. He was done sitting around and wondering what went wrong. He was going to demand some answers. He was going to demand she tell him why she ran off on him the other day. He was going to demand that she tell him if she loved him, because he sure loved—
He yanked the front door open and almost barreled over Ivy.
“Oof!” he gasped, all of the wind forced out of his lungs at the impact. Instinctively, he reached out and grabbed her, yanking her to him, keeping her from falling backwards off the front porch.
They froze, arms and legs tangled together, bodies pressed tight, staring at each other, half suspended in the air, until a snowflake drifted down and landed perfectly on the tip of her nose. She huffed her breath out, trying to blow the flake off.
The small puff of air broke the spell surrounding them, and he quickly straightened up, taking a step back from her. He needed some breathing room. He needed to gather his thoughts.
